Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Crap. Crap. Crap.
With my heart beating a mile a minute, I make a beeline for the exit.
Chapter 3
Alek
Papa pointed out Svetlana Ivanov as she entered the club, and I memorized her outfit because I didn’t get a good look at her face. It all happened a little too fast.
Sitting in a car that’s parked by the side of the building, I watch as Vincent lights a cigarette.
“Mama’s going to lose her shit when we come home with the girl,” I state the obvious.
“Luckily, that’s not my problem,” my brother mutters. “I’m going back to St. Monarch’s as soon as we’re done with this job.”
I let out a sigh while scanning our surroundings. “I wish I could go with you.”
St. Monarch’s is a training school slash resort in Switzerland for anyone in the criminal world. It’s the only neutral ground on the planet where we’re taught how to be assassins, smugglers, and anything else crime related. Vincent is learning everything regarding torturing, fighting, and shooting. I’ll go through the same course as him once I turn twenty-one.
“Just one more year.” Exhaling a puff of smoke, he glances at me. “The training is tough.”
“If you can do it, so can I.”
He nods while his eyes flit back to the nightclub’s entrance.
Silence falls between us, and we watch as people enter and exit the building.
Even though I’m not happy about kidnapping a girl, there’s nothing I can do about it. I was born into the bratva. It’s been my entire life, and I always knew I’d fill some role in the organization as soon as I became an adult. It helps that I’m going through the training to be a bratva enforcer with Misha.
Suddenly I’m ripped out of my thoughts when a girl matching Svetlana’s description comes darting out of the nightclub, heading straight for us.
“Shit,” Vincent exclaims. “Grab her.”
I shove the car door open and run after her. The high heels she’s wearing slow her down, and I’m able to catch her before she can disappear around the side of the building.
Nervously, I keep looking around us for the guards while my arms lock around her. As I lift Svetlana off her feet, she cries, “I’m sorry. It was her idea.”
Hearing her American accent makes a frown form on my forehead, but having a job to do, I haul her to the car. Vincent opens the backdoor, and I shove Svetlana inside.
“Jesus,” she hisses, shooting a glare my way.
After I slide in beside Svetlana, Vincent starts the engine, and seconds later, we’re speeding away from the nightclub where Papa and Misha will take care of the guards should they try to come after us.
I turn in the seat to glance out the back window to make sure we’re not being followed before I let out a breath of relief.
“That was easier than I thought,” I voice my thoughts to Vincent, then my eyes lock on Svetlana.
Holy. Fucking. Christ.
The woman sitting next to me is so fucking beautiful, I can only stare at her for a solid minute. She has wavy light brown hair, and her eyes are a mixture of brown and green. Her features are delicate and innocent.
“Do you understand English?” she asks.
Svetlana is Russian. Born and bred.
This woman has an American accent.
Fuck.
“What’s your name?” I ask, praying to all that’s holy I didn’t grab the wrong girl.
“Oh, thank God you speak English,” she lets out a relieved chuckle. “I’m Everleigh. Are you Svetlana’s guards?” She glances out the windows, then nervously brings her eyes back to me.
“What the fuck,” Vincent snaps from behind the steering wheel.
Apprehension tightens the girl’s features. “This was her idea. She left the nightclub with her friends.” She glances out the window again. “You can drop me off right here.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter while quickly pulling my phone from my pocket. In Russian, I tell Vincent, “Papa’s going to kill us.”
“What are you doing?” Vincent shakes his head as he turns the vehicle left up a random street. “Don’t call Papa. Let’s think of a plan.”
“Can you stop the car?” The girl…Everleigh is looking more anxious by the second.
I feel a twinge of panic because I wasn’t lying when I said Papa will kill us for the mistake. We had one job, and we fucked up.
My eyes snap to the girl’s face as I ask, “Where is Svetlana?”
She shrugs while gripping a backpack to her chest. “I don’t know. She left the club ten minutes before me.”
Suddenly there’s a crash of metal, our bodies are jarred, and the car spins to the side.
“Blyadʹ,” Vincent curses, trying to regain control of the vehicle.
Shock vibrates through me, and the air in my lungs bursts from my lips. Instinctively, I grab hold of Everleigh, who’s too stunned to make a sound. I’m slammed against the door, and as the car flips, there’s nothing I can do to stop us from being tossed around.