Page 82 of Twisted Prince
“I love you too.” Kieri opens the front door, and as I step out into the bright sunshine, I spot the black Escalade I recognize as belonging to Pyotr Veles. He planned ahead and left his signature sportbike behind to come get me.
My eyes shoot toward Gleb, but his attention is on Kieri.
“Thank you for looking out for her,” he murmurs, his voice so low I almost can’t make out the words. And before Kieri can respond, he tips his head toward the stairs, indicating the unconscious man still lying on my bedroom floor. “I’d call an ambulance for him. Sooner rather than later. They should make it here before he wakes up.”
Eyes widening in shock and fear, Kieri nods. She casts me one last nervous glance, and I smile at her reassuringly. Yes, Gleb is violent, terrifying, and deadly. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that he would never lay a hand on me.
As he focuses on putting our luggage into the trunk of the SUV, I open the back door. I bite my lips together to stop a sob from escaping when my eyes land on the object strapped in the middle.
He even brought a car seat.
35
GLEB
“We really need to get on the road,” I insist, tension thrumming through my body as I stuff cash into the check folder at the little dinner where we stopped for lunch.
Mel’s just returning from her bathroom break with Gabby, and she nods, sensing my unease. “We’re ready.”
Grabbing Mel’s oversized bag stuffed with all the things a toddler might need, I sling it over my shoulder and lead the way back out to the Escalade. I keep my head on a swivel as my gut tells me we’ve stayed too long already.
We made good time heading out of Boston, but that did little to ease my nerves. I want to put as much space between us and that crazy fucking Irishman as I can. And though Mel’s not a complainer—nor is Gabby—we had to make more bathroom breaks than I would have preferred to accommodate the newly potty-trained little girl.
I know the toddler is doing her best, and frankly, she’s far more agreeable to a long road trip than I would have anticipated. It seems that Gabby is about as far from talkative as her namesake would imply. She rode the entire first hour in silence, content to play with the stuffed rabbit her mother handed to her from the front seat.
But as the clock pushed closer to 1 p.m., I knew we weren’t going to make it back to New York without an actual break. So, we made a quick pit stop on the outskirts of New Haven. Grabbing a bite to eat at the truck stop diner seemed like the quickest solution at the time.
Maybe not quick enough, though.
As I open the back door of the SUV so Mel can lift Gabby inside, I scan the quiet parking lot for any potential trouble. My eyes land on two men wearing suits, nearly obscuring one of the truck stop patrons with their bulky forms as they stand in front of the big rig driver, holding up a picture.
Blyat.
One’s definitely my brother—a brother.
“Get in,” I hiss, catching Mel’s elbow and hoisting her into the back seat before she’s done buckling Gabby into her car seat.
“What…?” Mel’s eyes widen as she catches my line of sight, and she complies without argument.
I close the door behind her as quietly as I can, keeping my head turned away so I can watch them in my periphery without calling attention to my face. Still, they catch the sound and turn to look. Miko recognizes me, his brows dropping into a scowl as he bristles.
Then they head toward us.
Vinny must have woken up and immediately sicced his dogs on us because they weren’t forty-five minutes behind.
Rounding the front of the Escalade, I pick up the pace, jumping behind the wheel and starting the car before my door’s even closed. “Buckle up,” I command, catching sight of Mel in the rearview mirror.
She’s still working on Gabby’s car seat.
“I know, I know,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with nerves.
Pulling out onto the main road, I make like I’m heading for the I-95, and as soon as our pursuers are out of sight, I take a sharp jog onto a side street connecting back toward CT-15. It’s a narrow, winding back road that will take us to New York just fine. And if they think we’ve taken the highway, we might just make it out of this without further trouble.
“Jesus, Gleb,” Mel says from the back seat, and when I glance at her in the rearview once more, she’s clinging to the door handle to stay off the floor.
“Sorry,” I grunt. “Now buckle up,” I repeat as I punch the gas.
I hear the click of her seat belt a moment later.
