Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
It helps that besides enjoying gorgeous nature, there’s little to do in Nikolai’s remote mountain estate. Well, little to do besides obsess about Alexei. If I didn’t have my game to work on, I would probably go insane. As is—
The sound of something crashing onto the floor reaches my hearing, followed by a woman’s moans.
I roll my eyes. Of course. Nikolai is fucking Chloe again, most likely in his office. Poor girl. From the moment my brother saw her application for the tutor position, he’s been scarily obsessed with her, to the point that I’ve felt compelled to warn her about Molotov men and their dangerous fixations. Not that it’s helped. It’s only been a couple of months, but he’s already bullied her into marrying him.
I do my best to tune out the sex sounds, but it’s impossible. Even muffled by the walls, the noises reach me, reminding me of everything I’ve been trying to forget. Like the fact that Alexei is now in the United States—that for weeks, he’s been circling ever closer. My PI firm hasn’t been able to keep track of all of his movements, but I know he’s out there. I’ve seen the emails in Nikolai’s inbox, talking about the encroaching threat. Despite our best efforts to throw the Leonovs off our scent, Alexei suspects my family of being involved in Slava’s abduction, and he’s looking for Nikolai… and for me. My brothers have tried to keep me in the dark about it, as if I were a child, but I’m not. I know what Alexei is capable of, and I know he doesn’t give up.
Ugh. There I go again, thinking about him, worrying, obsessing. I guess my brother isn’t the only Molotov around here who fixates on things.
With effort, I refocus on my game, editing a few clunky lines of code to make them more elegant. I get so absorbed in my task that when my laptop screen suddenly goes dark, I just stare at it in disbelief for a moment. Of all the fucking times for my computer to crash… When was the last time I hit “save”?
I expect the laptop to reboot on its own within seconds, but it doesn’t. Frustrated, I jab the power button.
Nothing.
What the hell?
I check to make sure it’s plugged in, and it is. There’s no way it could’ve run out of juice.
On instinct, I grab my phone from where it’s lying face down on my desk.
The screen is black, unresponsive. It won’t start, no matter what I do.
My stomach drops, a chill permeating my entire body.
One of my electronics dying is an accident. Two is a pattern. A pattern that can only mean—
A banging on my bedroom door sends adrenaline surging through my veins. I jump to my feet.
“Alina!” Pavel’s voice is tense. “Open up.”
I’m already hurrying over. Heart pounding, I jerk the door open and see Pavel there, along with Lyudmila, who’s holding a sleepy-looking Slava in her arms.
“The three of you need to get down to the safe room,” Pavel says grimly. He’s speaking English, likely so Slava won’t understand. “I’ve lost contact with the guards.”
My adrenaline levels skyrocket. “You have to get Nikolai and Chloe. They’re in his office.”
“Already on it.” He steps over to Nikolai’s office and bangs on the door as Lyudmila hurries down the hallway to the stairs. I run after her, ignoring the discomfort of doing so in high heels. I didn’t change after dinner, so I’m still wearing my red evening gown—a small mercy, as I could’ve easily been in my sleepwear by now.
The safe room is underneath the garage, and both Lyudmila and I know the code. Since she’s got Slava, I punch the numbers into a small gray box on the wall. With a faint hiss, a square piece of the floor near us lifts, separating from the rest, and a smaller square in the middle slides to the side, revealing a handle. I tug on it, and the heavy metal door lifts, hinging toward me to reveal a fold-out ladder underneath. I drop to my knees and jab a button on the side of the ladder, unfolding it into the space below—a bunker the size of a studio apartment, stocked with enough supplies to house several people for six weeks.
As I do this, I don’t let myself think of who or what is out there. I just focus on getting us to safety and ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach.
“You go first,” I tell Lyudmila, grabbing Slava from her. My hands shake, but my voice is steady. “He’ll climb down to you.”
She does as I say, and Slava squirms in my arms, now fully awake. “What’s going on?” he pipes up in Russian, his big eyes wide and fearful. “Why are we here? Lyudmila said it’s just a drill, but what’s a drill? Is it a bad thing?”