Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
That may be an inevitability, but I’d like to time it just right.
A deep, authoritative, decidedly angry voice snaps below. “We know you’re up there. Show yourself.”
Fuck.
At least my instincts were right.
I flatten myself and peek down below as quietly as I can. Which one is it? I have a better chance with some of them than others. If I get anywhere near Nikko or Viktor, I’ll jump out a window.
I concentrate. That isn’t Viktor’s voice, though, so I look again. I do a double take. Is that… Lev?
Based on my research, Lev Romanov was young, still a teen, but I obviously missed some crucial points. Lev is most decidedly not a child, neither in age nor stature. Though he isn't the size of a small elephant like Viktor, he’s not small. Tall and muscular, he prowls like a lithe tiger, ready to pounce, and there’s a coldness to his gaze and countenance that sends a shiver down my spine.
What do these guys eat?
He has a commanding presence and sharp, ice-blue eyes that appear cold and calculating. His short, dark hair has a hint of a curl. Wearing a form-fitting black tee, his carved chest and biceps are on display, and his stance suggests he's ready to pounce into a fighting ring.
In other words, I’ve got my work cut out for me.
¡Mierda!
What if I don’t show myself? What then?
“You heard something you shouldn’t have, and we know it. This doesn’t have to end badly for you, but it could.” Goddamn liar. I’m not that dumb.
I don’t respond. “You have five seconds before I’m coming up. One.”
There’s no fucking way he’s telling the truth. You do not eavesdrop on the Romanov brothers and live to tell about it. I wonder how he’d define “badly.”
I look around as if I might’ve missed an escape route earlier, and looking again might make one magically appear.
“Two.”
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I am not coming, and if they want to come and try me, I’m going to—
Something hits the floor at my feet, and the air in front of me is instantly filled with burning, acrid smoke. I fall to the ground a few seconds too late before ingesting a toxic gulp of the fumes.
I sputter and cough.
Remember, you’re a man. Do not give yourself away.
Jesus. Who the fuck carries smoke bombs with them?
I’m on all fours, trying to crawl away from here and toward the loft ladder, but I’ve lost my bearings. My knees ache on the cold, hard floor, and when I crawl forward, I stifle a yelp when a splinter shoots into my palm. I’m wheezing, the air in my lungs painful. I’d do anything for cool, fresh air.
I reach blindly for the ladder and force myself to remember to stay strong, to remember that I can’t cave now. I’m a fighter, and just because I’m outnumbered by a bunch of boys means shit. I’ll let them take me into custody, and then, at the very first opportunity—I’ll escape.
I always do.
Always.
Strong hands grip my wrist mercilessly. I stifle a yelp. I can’t sound like a woman or act like one in any way.
“Let me go,” I growl in the deepest register I can muster. “I’ll surrender.” I’m seized with a fit of coughing.
When he doesn’t let me go, I wrench my wrists away, trying to get free, but I’m dragged toward the ladder. The splinter in my palm aches, and tears from the smoke stream down my face. I turn away so they don’t see me. I throw myself bodily down, freeing myself, and shove.
“Jesus.” I see the silhouette of whoever it is fall a few steps but grab onto the bar and hold on tight. He swings his legs back on and starts climbing toward me again.
I can hardly see from the burning smoke, but I take a quick moment to rear back and kick at him. My kick is off the mark, missing by a mile. Jesus. I’m normally so much better than this.
He yanks my arms and pulls me toward the ladder. I throw my body weight at him. He struggles, wobbling, but uses my body weight as leverage. The smoke has compromised me. It’s clumsy, fighting with everything I’ve got, but then I can’t see a damn thing and can hardly breathe.
I writhe and scream, and when a hand comes into view, I bend and sink my teeth into flesh. He curses and bellows but doesn’t let go.
With a firm arm on me, he pulls me toward him and onto the loft ladder. He shouts below to his brothers. “He’s small and fighting like a motherfucker. I’m throwing him down. It’ll take forever to wrestle him down this ladder. Catch.”
I stifle a scream when the men quickly form a human net with their arms. I claw at Lev and manage to gain an inch or two but don’t scream for fear of giving myself away. With a grunt, he tugs me toward the edge of the loft again. We wobble. He’s standing on a ladder, for God’s sake, the chances of both of us falling—