Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(26)

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like the cold.”

“You know there are wild animals in these parts. I’d be careful about going out there at this time of night.”

I wave away her concern. “I can handle it. I was always an outdoorsy kinda gal.”

Her smile is as fake as mine is. “I’m afraid I can’t let you out, ma’am.”

I manage to keep the smile on my face, but just barely. “I don’t see why not.”

“I have my orders, ma’am.”

The smile drops and I narrow my eyes at her. “And what were your orders?”

“To make sure you stayed in your room,” she says pleasantly.

“You do realize that aiding and abetting abduction is a crime, right?”

She doesn’t seem in the least bit concerned as she takes a step toward me. “I’m not worried.”

“Is that because you’re stupid or just delusional?”

She doesn’t seem at all bothered by the insult. “I know Don Solovev will protect me.”

“You’re putting way too much faith in a man you don’t really know.”

“But I do know him,” she says. “I’ve worked for his family since I was eighteen years old. And before I worked for the Solovevs, my mother did. The Solovev brothers protect their own.”

“Do you have a name?” I ask, inching closer to her.

“Nicole.”

“Nicole,” I repeat. “I’m going to give you one chance to do the smart thing and let me walk out of here.”

She sighs. “Like I said, I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”

I suppress a sigh of my own. “Very well then. Hard way it is.”

I lunge forward and land a punch right on her nose.

I hear a crunch. She stumbles back, and I see the blood oozing between her fingers.

I don’t bother hanging around to find out exactly how much damage my strike did. Instead, I launch myself out of the front door. The moment I’m out, cold air wraps around me like a cloak I can’t remove. The coat I grabbed is doing next to nothing to keep me warm. My teeth are chattering by the time I’ve taken half a dozen steps.

“Fuck me,” I groan. I head towards the thickest line of trees, hoping it will lead me to the route we used to get up here in the first place.

The trees offer protection from the wind and provide a relatively easy path to follow. I can still see our footprints in the snow from when we arrived. I do my best to step in the tracks so as to hide my own.

The moment I step through the other side of the trees, however, the wind slaps me in the face with its frigid hand. My teeth start chattering. I wrap the coat a little tighter around me, but that does fuck all.

This might kill me. But I don’t give a shit. Better to die in the attempt than to wither in captivity.

I keep going. Away from the protection of the trees, fresh snow has fallen. My boots sink with each step, making the journey doubly hard. The jeep tracks from when we arrived are barely visible now, but I can make them out just enough to stick close.

I follow them down in the dark. I probably should have taken a flashlight or something, but that would have involved wasting more time in the cabin. Time I couldn’t afford to spare.

I walk so long that I start to lose feeling in my extremities. It’s too fucking late and too fucking cold to be out like this. I don’t stop or slow down, though. Doing either only makes the cold worse.

Then, off in the distance, I spy rooflines peeking out over the snow.

“The village,” I breathe.

It’s not the main village I’m familiar with. This is a much smaller one, probably miles away from the rest of civilization. But it’ll do. I just need to find a phone and make a call. My mother’s men will be here as fast as possible.

Then I can get back to my son.

Some women talk about childbirth weakening their bodies. In my experience, having my boy made me stronger. It made me realize what I was capable of. It’s how I know I’m capable of this.

It takes me another half an hour, at least, to get down to the edge of the village. But there’s a wall-marked path to follow and it’s downhill. I’m grateful.

It’s late, but there is a little convenience store with lights on. I walk up to it and knock.

There’s a clunking noise from within. A few seconds later, an older woman pokes her head up from behind the counter. She’s obviously doing some kind of inventory, and her expression is scrunched up with annoyance.

She squints at me through the clear glass doors, but she doesn’t step out from around the counter.

“We’re closed,” she calls out.

“I’m sorry, but all I need is a phone,” I yell through to her. “I just need to make a call.”

She gives me a suspicious once-over. “You shouldn’t be out in this cold. You’ll get frostbite.” I’m hoping that an invitation to enter is coming, but she remains stubbornly behind her counter.

“I just need to make a quick phone call, that’s all.”

“Try the motel down the road,” she says, unswayed. “They have a phone.”

Gritting my teeth, I stalk back down to the sidewalk and follow her directions down the road. The motel sign screams “VACANCY” in neon, bathing the snow beneath it in pink and blue.