I spend the next day trying to familiarize myself with everyone on the boat.
Mia seems kind and has no business working for these assholes. I have a feeling she only works for Mikhail because of the money. She never talks unless she’s speaking to Mikhail directly. She is the cook and nothing more.
Dimitri has a sense of humor. He laughs at my sarcasm, which is not something I’m used to. I find it easy to talk to him at times. It’s hit or miss with him, but I’ve noticed something: whenever his shirt is buttoned, I shouldn’t talk to him. His temper is at its highest and he’s almost always busy on his computer or on the phone. But in the off chance his tie is off and his shirt unbuttoned, he smiles a lot. He jokes left and right, just trying to have a good time. I admire him for that. He’s able to separate his work from his life. A part of me thinks he does that because he doesn’t want to take his work home. He tells me he has three kids at home. It’s obvious to me that Anya and his children mean everything and more to him.
Lev is just like Mikhail. They’re always serious. I refrain from saying anything when I’m around them because they always manage to put me on the spot or make fun of me in a sickening way. Mikhail called him “brother” at one of our breakfasts, but they don’t look related whatsoever.
Speak of the devil, I find him leaning the upper half of his body against the side of the boat with his phone up to his ear. Turning his head slightly toward me, he looks me up and down and rolls his tongue over the side of his cheek.
“One moment,” he says to the person on the other end of the line. He watches me as I brush past him, but he grabs onto my hand.
His hand covers the bottom of the phone as he asks, “Where are you going?”
I glance down at the swimsuit I’m wearing and give him a look. “To the hot tub,” I tell him with confidence.
“You’re not going anywhere. I have places to be and I don’t trust you alone, so you’ll be coming with me.”
“I have a tracker on me, and you most likely have cameras everywhere,” I huff.
“Don’t play,” he mutters.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I never gave you a choice, Koldunya.” His hand wraps around mine. “Find a dress to wear. I’d prefer if it were blu—”
“I don’t care what you prefer,” I say, interrupting him.
“Did I say you could talk?” he asks.
“Did you say I couldn’t?” I bite back.
“Go fucking change.” He steps back and walks down the hallway, leaving me to deal with his sour mood. But what’s new?
I walk back to my room with dread and take in a deep breath. I put on the blue dress I wore to Ingret’s birthday dinner. Mikhail found a way to get all my things here, and it’s fucking creepy.
He treats me like his doll, and that frustrates me. It’s not difficult to treat someone like a human being. People have emotions, but Mikhail acts as if I don’t. I don’t like being pushed around and forced to obey his stupid commands, but I have no other choice.
Unless . . .
Spending time with Dimitri served me well because I found one of his burner phones on the counter this morning. I’m scared to use it because I don’t want Dimitri to think I went behind his back. I care for him in a strange way, but I need to call my family.
Reaching for the phone, I dial my brother’s number. It rings a couple of times before he finally picks up.
“Koziov,” he mutters.
“Ruslan?” I ask.
There’s a pause followed by a long, hopeful sigh. “Sloane?”
Hearing my brother’s voice overwhelms me with comfort. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I need your help.”
He yells at someone in the background, probably telling them to shut up. “Where are you? Was it Giovanni?”
“Giovanni? No, it was Mikhail, but don’t—” I try to continue, but he interrupts me at the worst of times.
“Sloane, please tell me you’re just pronouncing that name wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mikhail Stepanov?”
“Yes,” I admit, but then realize I can’t say much else because he doesn’t know anything. The plan was between three people.
“Fuck. Shit, okay.”
“Listen, just tell Dad where I am, but don’t—” I say, but he interrupts me again.
“He’s the Bratva, Sloane.”
Another knock sounds at the door, and I hang up the phone quickly, frustrated with the fact I wasn’t able to tell Ruslan not to send anyone. I just need Dad to know where I am.
“Coming!” I rush to the door, opening it to find Mikhail leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“Are you ready?”
I look down at the dress and heels he’s making me wear. “Yes. I would love it if you gave me dresses in other colors.”
He looks me up and down and licks his lips. “Why would I want to do that?” he asks, stepping up to me and pulling on the dress strap. “No. You complement me this way.”
I complement him. “The color blue complements you?”
He lifts my chin with his thumb. “Your innocence does.”
I swallow, prepared to say something smart back to him, but I hold my tongue.
He leads the way and holds the bottom of my dress up so I don’t trip. Once at the bottom, I notice an area of the ship I’ve never explored. It’s kind of like a garage, but for a speedboat.
I could have tried to leave this entire time?
His hands grab onto my waist, and he lifts me onto the small boat. Something feels off. I don’t know why he’s being somewhat kind, but I’m not complaining.
Mikhail sits behind the wheel and starts the engine.
The wind is chilling, and Mikhail drives the boat like a maniac. I look back at the yacht as it grows smaller and smaller in the distance.
The ride onto the docks doesn’t take as long as I expect it to. We get off the boat and switch over to a car. I give him a glare when he opens the door for me.
Mikhail gets into the driver’s side and puts his hand on the back of my seat while he backs up.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask.
“To see an old friend of mine.”
I nod.
The drive is long, but it’s a straight shot to town. Does he even realize he’s showing me the way back? He pulls the car up to the entry. Getting out, he tosses his keys to a man and tells him something in Russian. Then he comes over to my side and opens the door, holding out his hand for me to grab.
Reaching out, I take Mikhail’s hand in mine. He leads me through the rotating doors into a huge building.
“Where’s your friend?” I scream over the music.
He looks down at me with a smile—one I’ve never seen before. He looks like a decent person when he smiles. Small dimples form on his cheeks.
He looks handsome.
The crowd separates when everyone looks at Mikhail. They must know who he is, otherwise they wouldn’t move.
We get to the side of the club where the booths are. They all look similar, but there’s a man dancing on one of the tables singing to the song that’s about to blow my eardrums. Mikhail lets go of my hand and grabs onto the stranger’s. He grabs a glass filled with alcohol, and they dance together to “Pursuit of Happiness” by Kid Cudi as if no one’s watching.
Mikhail’s neck falls back while he laughs. The sound is like wind chimes on a windy day. Magical.
The other guy, who I assume is Mikhail’s friend, offers me his hand. I shake my head, but he hops to the ground. He stands behind me and grabs onto my waist, making my body move with his. The man is a fucking giant—he’s even taller than Mikhail.
I feel as if my limbs are on strings, the stranger manipulating the way I move. Even without alcohol, I’m beginning to enjoy my time. I turn to face him. My arms can’t wrap around his shoulders, so I grab onto his hands instead, and he continues to move my body to the music.
“Just let everything go and feel it though your body,” he whispers to me.
Letting myself get caught up in the moment, I smile. The man is obviously drunk off his ass, but I don’t mind. I’ve never been out like this before. I feel a small wave of anxiety wash over me at how many people are here, but the stranger makes me forget. I feel every beat of the music in my body. The effect he has on me is dangerous. I’m able to forget my worries.
Then large arms snake around my waist and pull me back. I can tell by his smell it’s Mikhail. He raises my arms out and hovers his own behind mine. When the stranger takes a large sip of his drink and offers me some, I take it without any worries. I’m having a great time even if I’m with a psycho and his friend.
Mikhail takes my body in his and twirls me in a circle. I laugh uncontrollably.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks in my ear.
I nod in response. It would be hard not to.
I know he’s enjoying himself just as much as I am. The moment he saw his friend, his demeanor shifted.
Mikhail leaves my side and whispers something to his friend. They both laugh and walk back to the table. “Sloane.” He calls for me to follow.
And I do. I slide into the booth and wave my hands above my skin to try to cool down.
“We’re going to need cards,” the stranger says as he pulls some out of his pocket.
“Of course you would,” Mikhail says with a smile.
“And your lady will need a drink.”
Mikhail raises his hand, and a waitress comes over. She leans her entire body into him. She speaks to him in Russian, and it seems she’s flirting with him. His hand lifts to her waist, and I look down. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I don’t even feel anything for Mikhail. He can do whatever he wants, just not right in front of me.
The stranger pulls me closer to him and brings his mouth to my ear. “Do you know of any games?”
“No, I’ve never played cards.”
He smiles. “We’ll play something simple then.” His voice sounds different from everyone else’s. His complexion is darker, and he has an accent.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Italy, but I live here in New York.”
“For Mikhail?” I ask.
He shrugs. “He’s worth it.”
I make a face at him. If it’s this version of Mikhail, I understand. But the version I’ve been dealing with? I don’t understand how he’s worth anything.
Lifting my eyes to Mikhail, I see the waitress is still here, but with a drink. She must have left without me noticing.
I didn’t want to notice.
“Is it true?” she asks me, her Russian accent strong.
My eyebrows knit together. “Is what true?”
“The tale of the witch. I want to find out.”
Before I can ask her more, Mikhail waves her off. She slumps over with a saddened expression and walks away.
The tale of the witch.
“Everyone thinks you’re—”
“Max, enough.” Mikhail interrupts his friend.
I watch them both stare at each other. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Max was about to say.
“Give me a number,” Max says, looking at me.
“Five.”
“Higher or lower, Sloane?” Max asks with a bright expression.
“Higher or lower than what?”
“You’re supposed to guess if the card in my hand is higher or lower than the number you just told me.”
“Higher?”
“Damn it,” he says. And then he asks the same questions round after round. “You guys are really screwing the dealer.”
Mikhail laughs and motions his head for me to move closer. He pulls my legs into his lap and reaches for his drink.
Max downs shot after shot without a care in the world.
“How did you guys meet?” I ask.
They both look at each other and burst out laughing.
What the hell is so funny?
“I met him while he was trying to kill my brother-in-law,” Max says, shaking his head.
“Jesus,” I say under my breath.
“I didn’t though,” Mikhail tells me as he places his hand on my thigh. He rubs his thumb against my skin, his touch sending shocks of electricity through my body.
Why is my body reacting to a man as fucked-up as Mikhail?
“No, he didn’t. But I’m not even supposed to be here right now. Giovanni would have my head.”
Giovanni.
“Enough,” Mikhail says, ending the conversation. He lifts my legs off him and gets out of the booth. He takes his phone out from his pocket and places it against his ear. His veiny hands make the phone look small.
“Dimitri,” he addresses him, “yeah, bring her to the house. I’ll be staying here with Max for a bit.”
The house?
