Kat’s tears wet my shirt. She sits back and wipes them with her fingers. “If I were you, I would want revenge, too.”
Funny, but my revenge–now that I’ve had a taste–feels so worthless now.
Kat
The wind is freezing, but I’m bundled in layers of blankets, huddled on the speedboat Adrian called the tender. The boat slices through the darkness, away from the freighter.
“What about the bodies?” I shout over the noise of the engine.
I know I’m in shock. I’m not clear on what my next five minutes look like, let alone my next days, but I do know I don’t want Adrian to go to prison.
I don’t want to go to jail, either, for that matter.
“I took care of it,” Adrian says.
He cuts the engine before we reach the shore, so we coast in quietly. He helps me out of the blankets and onto the wooden dock, then tosses his duffel bag up. I’m wearing his leather jacket, like I did the first night we met. It smells of his clean, woodsy scent, and I don’t want to ever take it off.
I could easily run. I’d have a head start and could probably lose him. But I don’t want to leave Adrian now. I can’t leave him.
Whatever happens, I have to see it through.
I watch as he wipes the steering wheel and surfaces on the boat down, cleaning it of our fingerprints. Then he climbs out without tying the boat, leaving it to drift off.
A huge explosion out on the water from the direction we came makes me gasp. I don’t have to look at the satisfied gleam in Adrian’s eye to know he was responsible. The evidence is now gone. His tracks covered.
“Let’s find a hotel.” He picks up the duffel bag.
I drag my gaze away from the fire on the water and nod. I let him lead. “Where are we?”
“Antwerp, Belgium. How’s your Dutch?”
“Sorry, not a word.”
“Me neither.” He keeps one hand on my back as he pulls out his phone and checks the map app, then orders us a ride on Uber. Fifteen minutes later, we’re safe and warm in the back of a car. Adrian rummages in his duffel, which he refused to put in the trunk of the car, and hands me my purse.
It’s a simple gesture. Sort of worthless, since he said he already destroyed my phone, but it is comforting to me to have my own belongings in my possession. I pull out my lip gloss and rub it on my lips.
We pull up in front of the Radisson Blu Astrid, and I giggle a little. “Is this where we’re staying?”
“Da.” He throws open the door, climbs out and holds his hand out for me to come his way. I follow instead of going out my own door because I like the attention. I like the care he’s taking with me. And also because Adrian is a guy worth following.
I don’t know whether his plans have changed, but I’m still holding out hope this can come out right.
Somehow.
When we get to the front desk of the hotel, Adrian presents them with a Russian passport and a fake name and pays with a matching credit card. “I’d like the best room available, please,” he tells the clerk.
“Absolutely, sir.” The guy’s gaze slides to me and my soiled school-girl outfit. The braids. The platform heels. Adrian’s jacket.
The guy thinks I’m a sex worker. I mean, who can blame him? It’s five in the morning, and I’m dressed like a stripper who’s been living on the street.
My stomach churns. What was fun for the rave has turned into something sick and disgusting now that I know about my dad and his business. About Adrian’s sister and the other women.
Adrian draws me tightly against his side, claiming me like a treasured bride. He kisses my head as if to show we’re a couple, not a business encounter.
The clerk averts his eyes and types on his computer. “How many nights, sir?”
“Three nights,” Adrian says decisively, and I shoot a look at him that he doesn’t return.
“I have a junior suite.”
“I’ll take it. Is room service available now?”
The clerk looks at his watch. “It starts in an hour.” He slides two key cards across the counter. “Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.” Adrian hands me the keycards. Like returning my purse to me, it feels symbolic. He’s giving me agency. Power.
I could open my mouth right now and tell this clerk I’m a prisoner, but Adrian risked it anyway. I could have told the Uber driver. I guess it means…I’m not his prisoner anymore.
Plans have changed.
I hope.
He picks up his bag and keeps his arm around me as we walk to the elevators.
“Are we staying three nights?” I ask.
“Probably not.” Adrian shrugs. “But I wanted it to seem like we had an itinerary.”
“What is your job in the bratva?” I ask as we step inside the elevator, thinking about how he took down five men, blew up a ship, and sent a boat adrift. Also that he has a fake passport and seems very good at this. It’s foolish for me to be impressed, but I can’t help it.
He’s so damn capable.
And he’s done all this to right the wrongs of my father. I knew he was a hero. An unconventional one, but still a hero.
“I’m the cleaner.” He leans his back against the elevator wall and pulls me against his front.
“That makes sense.”
“I don’t usually make the messes, but when I do, I guess I go big.” He shoots me a rueful look that makes my heart squeeze.
We get off at our floor, and I let us into the hotel room. It’s clean and luxurious, and I head straight for the bathroom.
“Look at this tub!” I exclaim over the huge, deep soaking tub.
Adrian follows me in and turns the water on full blast, opening the bottle of bubble bath and soaking salts and dumping them in.
“Are you getting in?” I asked.
He starts unbuttoning my blouse. “You are,” he says.