Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“You think he’s lying?” She gives the driver a quizzical look. “Interesting.”
“I didn’t say he was. Just saying it’s a possibility.”
I pretend I don’t feel the laser-sharp focus of her assessing gaze.
“Well, then,” Vera says, leaning closer to me. She lowers her voice so the driver can’t hear her. “What if I were to say things that would make him blush? If he didn’t speak English, he wouldn’t react, would he?”
What the fuck is she doing?
I give her a dismissive look like she’s an annoying little sister who needs to go away, then pull out my phone and pretend to scroll.
“So,” she says in a whisper as she casually picks at her cuticles. “I don’t like to sleep with pajamas on. Just saying.”
Jesus.
I stare at my phone and don’t look at her. I barely move.
“I don’t like the feel of clothes between me and the blankets,” she continues in a whisper. “I wonder if you do.”
When I don’t respond, she heaves a big sigh.
Maybe Vera Ivanova isn’t as innocent as she looks. Appearances can be deceiving.
With a sigh, she talks to the driver again. “I think you’re wrong. I think it’s actually true.” She lowers her voice. “Either that or I don’t have the effect on him I’d hoped for.”
Oh, but she does.
“Alright, bodyguard,” she says again in her plain, straightforward voice. “I’ve told you one of my biggest secrets. Now I’m going to tell you one more because you don’t have a clue what I’m saying.”
I keep my eyes stoically on my phone as I flip through various notifications. I cast a mildly curious glance at her.
“No one knows I read all the Bourne books. And I have a major, huge crush on Jason Bourne.” She leans in. “And you look just like him. Like just. Like. Him.”
Interesting. Jason Bourne was an assassin and she has a major crush on him.
But it’s so tempting to respond. So tempting.
Don’t react. Don’t react.
I slide my phone into my pocket and look straight ahead while Vera pulls out her phone with a sigh. She puts headphones in and mouths something to herself. I could check to see what she’s doing on the screen mirroring app I have, but she’s sitting right next to me. I don’t want to take risks.
My most important job right now is to get her on that plane. Once we’re in the air, the chances of me being discovered lessen.
The second most important job is to engage with the Ivanov Bratva and make them believe I am who I say I am.
I check the driver’s GPS on the dash and see we’re only two minutes out. I need to prepare.
Most people think airports are adventurous, unless they travel a lot for work, in which case they might find them tiresome and tedious. Some of us, however, know them for what they truly are—dangerous hot zones for criminals, enemies, and anyone you don’t trust. Fugitives escape under false identities, people are robbed and kidnapped. I trust no one, especially at an airport.
It’s late at night when we pull into the drop-off area. I haven’t flown with normal civilians in years. Her father’s an asshole for allowing it. If my sister Polina went on a trip to Moscow, not only would she have a team of bodyguards with her, they’d be in constant contact with us and she’d fly privately. I never understood why some Bratva don’t take care of their women.
But that’s none of my business. She’s nothing to me.
I exit the car and go to Vera’s door to open it for her. I may not be her real bodyguard, but I’ll play the part. She’s young and innocent. Beautiful and vulnerable. She needs a bodyguard, and goddamn if I’ll let anyone hurt her.
I won’t think of what I have to do.
When I open the door for her, she looks up at me with her wide, intelligent eyes.
“Spasibo,” she says with a smug little smile. Thank you.
Ah. So that’s what she was doing on her phone. Studying Russian.
I can’t help but smile at her and nod. “Pozhaluysta.”
You’re welcome.
The driver looks at both of us, tapping his steering wheel, but doesn’t make a move to get our bags. Asshole. I tap the trunk of the car for him to open it so I can get our bags and look in surprise when Vera reaches for one. I don’t think so. My mother raised me better than that, and I’ll be damned if she carries her bags on my watch. I give her a silent shake of my head and a stern look. “Nyet.”
When she huffs at me and reaches for the heavy bag to outright defy me, I make my decision. I turn to her and pick her up, hands under her armpits, before I deposit her on the sidewalk. When she flails and lets go of the bag, I take them and point to her little purse. There. You can take that.