Possessive Boss, page 12
I get the sense that she enjoyed that a little too much. I fiddle with my phone and then give up, instead opting to voice dial Mikhail for help.
"You couldn't have started with asking Siri for help?" Lucy quips.
"Not funny," I mutter. But it doesn't matter because the call doesn't go through for whatever reason. "They must be jamming the signal."
"How? We're moving."
"Could have some type of jamming device on the van." I don't see anything in the back with us, but it could be up front or attached to the exterior.
The van exits the highway, and the driver doesn't slow around the bend until he has to slam on his brakes.
Traffic light?
I approach the back window, looking outside at the scenery and trying to pinpoint our location. The van jolts forward, and we're on our way again. But this time, we're heading off-road and down a set of railroad tracks.
My stomach tumbles as I glance out the window. "Get up," I command Lucy, and she struggles to her feet.
Where the hell are they taking us?
We're still on the train tracks. Our speed seems to be moving at the same pace as we hear the sound of a door slamming.
Did the driver just bail?
Was it Otello or another one of Antonio's goons?
Another vehicle, a black SUV, waits perpendicular to us as we blaze past them along the railroad tracks.
Fuck.
"We need to get the door open." I turn around, my back to the van door, but it's locked. I wouldn't expect it to be easy. The mafia isn't going to let us walk away. Not if it's up to them.
I grab the door handle with my cuffed wrists, but it doesn't budge. There's no child safety latch on the back door of a van, but the mafia must have done something to rig the door shut from the inside.
I turn and slam the full weight of my body, shoulder-first, aiming to break the glass. The window doesn't break on the first blow, but it shatters on the third. "You need to climb out," I say to Lucy.
"I can't fit through there!"
A train's whistle blows, and Lucy's voice raises an octave. "Nikita, was that what I think it is?"
"There's a train heading right for us."
She senses the urgency and danger as well. I can't see the direction we're heading, but I'm sure the train is approaching head-on. There's only one set of train tracks.
There's only one other option. We break through the barrier to the driver's seat and steer the vehicle off the tracks. "We need to get to the driver's seat. The minute we make it in there, I need you on my lap. You need to steer while I'm your eyes."
Her mouth is agape as I take as much of a running start as possible and slam my shoulder and body into the partition, separating the van from the back. There's a decent dent and a stream of light. The metal is pliable and nothing like the reinforced door. I ignore the stinging pain and searing injury to my shoulder as I repeat the motion and, this time, break through to the driver's seat.
The cabin is empty.
Not that I expected Antonio or any of his men to stick around. They'd jumped while there were plenty of opportunities and driven off in the black SUV, not wanting to be held responsible for our deaths or the impending disaster.
The vehicle is set on cruise control, and I climb into the driver's seat, my hands behind my back. If I hit the brakes, it won't be enough. The train is coming closer. The horn blares at us to get out of the way.
No shit.
Lucy is ready and doesn't waste a second while straddling my lap, her hands grazing the steering wheel. There's a wall on either side of the brick. "Push left," I say as we swing off the tracks and travel the narrow path between the retaining wall and the train as it whizzes by. I hit the brakes, the passenger mirror clips against the brick wall.
She's gasping, her chest heaving as she rocks inadvertently against my thighs. "Is it over?"
I glance in the rearview mirror. In the distance, the black SUV is closing in, coming toward us. "I wish it were, Malish," I say. "You just need to try to navigate as straight as you can."
I hit the gas, lurching the van forward. "A little right," I say as I give her directions, trying to navigate the narrow path between the train and the wall. As the train breezes past us, I hit the gas harder as the mafia begins to close in on us.
"They're getting closer!" Lucy isn't the only one concerned, not that I voice my fears to her or anyone else.
"It's fine. We've got this," I say, trying to reassure her. "A little left," I navigate, telling her how to steer while we roll along the tracks until we reach a break in the wall and an open road. "Hard right," I say as we veer off the tracks.
There are dozens of train tracks up ahead and another wall, this one much higher than the last at the end of the road.
Shit.
The rail yard.
Getting out and running isn't an option. We can't outrun the mafia with our hands tied behind our backs. "Lucy, I need you to spin the wheel all the way around."
"What?" I swear I can feel her heart pounding against mine as she trembles in my lap.
"We need to turn around," I say. "This is a death trap." If we stay here, we're as good as dead. Either the mafia kills us, or another train slams into the vehicle.
She exhales a heavy breath and inhales sharply. "When?"
I give her a second until I'm sure we're ready, and as I hit the brakes, I shout, "Now!"
She whips the steering wheel, winding it through her hands, and I work the brake and accelerator as we spin around. We make a good team, even if our driving is rough around the edges. What do you expect with two people handcuffed?
"A little to the right," I say, directing her as we whiz by the black SUV chasing us. My foot is heavy as lead, pressing the gas to the floor as we hurry over dozens of train tracks, including one with a train coming toward us.
I exhale a nervous breath, push the gas to the floor, and we sneak by before the train breezes along the tracks. We narrowly miss getting creamed.
She gasps, and with each breath, her chest heaves—Lucy trembles against me. I don't let up on the gas, but the train has stopped Antonio's men from chasing after us with a quick glance in the rearview mirror. It's bought us time. It's more than I could have hoped for, given the circumstances.
"Now what?" she asks, staring at me. "We need to warn your bratva leader. Won't they go after my son?"
We can't make any calls inside the van, and I wait until we've managed to lose the men chasing us and we're back into the city in an old, abandoned warehouse district to slow the engine until we pull over.
"We're stopping?"
"You're right. I need to call Mikhail, and we need to get the handcuffs off."
"Any ideas?" she asks.
"Open the door," I say. She shifts her hips and lets her hands find the door handle, tugging at it.
I let my foot kick the door the rest of the way open. I'm alert. Adrenaline pumps through me as I ensure that we're not being followed or watched. There may be a tracking device on the van, and if that's the case, we only have a few minutes' head start.
"Climb out," I order, and she takes a moment to wiggle her way off my lap and down onto the pavement. "Come around to the passenger door and flip the glovebox open." I need her hands, and I'll be her eyes.
Hopefully, there's some tool or weapon I can use to get out of these damn handcuffs.
Lucy maneuvers around the van and, with her back to the door, pops the handle and pulls it open. "I'll be glad to get out of these cuffs," she says. Lucy is exasperated. It has to be from the car chase and trying to get away from the mafia.
I don't blame her. I'm not keen on having to look over my shoulder and worry that we might be ambushed.
She manages to get the glove box open. "Anything?" she asks and turns around to glimpse the contents.
"Grab the knife," I say.
It's more of a Leatherman with multiple tools. One of them ought to help me break through the cuffs, even if I have to cut the links apart to separate my hands.
She hurries back around the van and hands them to me from behind her back. I shift and turn, reaching for the tool.
"Do you think it will work?" she asks.
Without a doubt, if we don't do anything, we're fucked. "I don't see a lot of choice or any other options." I fiddle with the tool, trying several different options before picking the lock with the tip of a knife.
The metal falls to the ground, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Do me," Lucy says.
I quirk a grin. Yeah, I'd like to do more than just pick the lock on her handcuffs.
But wasn’t that what got us into this mess? Me not paying attention to the club and the mafia shooting the place up.
"Turn around," I instruct, and she turns her back to me.
Grabbing her arms, I pull her closer and inspect her handcuffs while I fiddle with the tip of the knife, pushing it into the keyhole until I get enough pressure that the latch releases.
"Thank you," Lucy whispers and spins around. She rubs at her wrists, and the metal dangles and falls to the ground.
"We need to get back to the compound," I say. There's a small device attached on the roof, and I rip the damn black box off and toss it to the ground. "Get back in the van."
"Was that a tracking device?" Lucy asks.
I slam the driver's side door, and she hurries back around to the passenger side and climbs inside.
The moment the door shuts, I hit the gas and whip us away from our destination. "It's likely a jamming signal." I try my cell phone again, this time managing to get through to Mikhail. I leave the call on speakerphone while I drive.
"Where the hell are you?" he asks, answering the phone and recognizing my number.
"Near the rail yard." It's as close an estimate that I can give. I weave through the side roads and pop us back onto the highway. There's no sign of Antonio's men following us, but I can't be certain they're done and will leave us alone.
"Glad you're still alive. And the girl?" Mikhail asks.
"She's with me," I say and glance at Lucy before returning my attention to the road. "Antonio's men may attempt to infiltrate or attack the compound. They're not likely to give up," I say.
"We've got Zion here, safe." Mikhail is silent for a moment before continuing. "You really should reconsider your objective."
I clear my throat. "Which is?"
"Marrying the girl," Mikhail says.
"He already asked. I refused," Lucy says.
I swear I can see the smirk on Mikhail's face. "Well, you ought to reconsider. You may not value Nikita's life or your own, but your son shouldn't lose his mother at such a young age. Who would look after him if you were dead?"
I avoid Lucy's heated stare. She's got her attention entirely on me while she listens to Mikhail over the phone. There's a stern silence from her, and she folds her arms across her chest. The girl is as defiant as they come.
"Keep Zion safe. We're on our way back to the compound." I end the call, and Lucy shifts uncomfortably in the front seat. She's about as uncomfortable as she was with handcuffs on, but it's her own doing this time.
"I can't believe what he suggested," Lucy mutters.
There's irritation in her tone; she's frustrated and angry, and she has every right to be mad.
Just not at me.
This wasn't my fault, and while I might have been careless in the office, I didn't send the mafia after Lucy.
"We're all trying to look out for you," I say.
"I don't care what happens to me. I care about Zion." She's worried about her son and rightfully so. The mafia won't stop until they get what they want. I'm just not sure what it is that they want. While I'd thought it was the flash drive and the stock certificates, Lucy doesn't have those items, and she isn't going to get her claws on them to hand over to Antonio or Aleksandra.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" I glance at her as I attempt to focus on the road. "The painting, it's not just about what was inside it anymore." If that were the case, they'd be after Mikhail and the bratva, and they'd have given up on Lucy and her family. They're hellbent on killing her, which means there's something else more sinister.
The mafia are killers, but they usually seek retribution and revenge. They're not nearly as cutthroat and ruthless as us bratva. We'd sooner bathe in blood than the mafia. This doesn't feel like the entire story. There's something Lucy is hiding from me.
"No," she whispers and glances out the side window. She gnaws her bottom lip between her teeth.
I'd pull over the van if I weren't worried that the mafia might catch up to us. Even if they aren't tracking us, they must be on the way to the compound. They're not about to let us live, not after the train episode.
"Don't lie to me," I growl and shoot a glare in her direction.
She inhales a sharp breath. "You asked me about my son, the father."
I swear if the father is Antonio, I'll kill him myself. "Yes," I say, letting her finish whatever she intends to tell me.
"Zion is a sperm donor baby," Lucy says. "It's supposed to remain confidential. The biological father isn't supposed to even know that he has a child or have any rights to the kid, but somehow he found out."
"And he's mafia?"
"He wants full custody of Zion and wants me dead."
"That's insane." I exit the highway as we head into the city. Traffic is slow. It doesn't matter the hour. "Who's the biological father?" I need to know what we're up against.
"Otello Valentino," Lucy says. "Do you know him?"
"The guy is a fucking drunk. And he wants to raise a kid?" I slam my palm against the steering wheel. "There's no way in hell he's getting near your son."
"He showed up at the motel the night I stole your key before climbing the gate," Lucy says.
I ball my hands into fists, and my stomach coils. "And?" I'm not sure that I want to know what happens next. "If he touched you, I'll kill him."
"He didn't," Lucy says. "I mean, not like that. He threatened me and told me that if I didn't steal the items hidden inside the painting, he'd get possession of my kid like he's a piece of property!"
I navigate the road, heading through side streets to avoid traffic on the main thoroughfare. "And?"
"And he's an asshole!" Lucy jolts with more force than I ever might have expected. "I want to kill him with my bare hands."
She's not the only one. I'd like to murder him too. "And what about Aleksandra and Antonio?" I ask. I need to know how deep this runs with the mafia. Otello clearly wasn't working alone. Were they aware of the connection to the child?
"Everything I told you is the truth. I inadvertently crossed paths with them when I tried to be a good Samaritan," she mutters under her breath. "The mafia demanded that I steal the contents inside the painting. They couldn't step foot on your property without breaking the truce, but an outsider could."
"And Otello?" I ask. "How does he fit into this scenario?"
"Aleksandra and Antonio had been wanting the contents inside the painting, but it was all Otello's plan. He convinced them to send me into the arms of the bratva. First, he had me stumble into you at the club, steal your key and break into your home. He hoped I would get caught and you would kill me. You would take care of his little problem. Kill me, and Zion would be his."
I want to kill the bastard.
"Well, he was sorely mistaken," I say. This was never about the money, at least for Otello. Antonio and Aleksandra went along with it for the windfall. "We need to get to the compound. There's one way out of this mess," I say.
"What is that?"
"Marry me."
ELEVEN
Lucy
"How does marrying you help me?" I still don't understand why he's so gung-ho about spending the rest of his life with me. Unless he doesn't expect it will be for long.
We pull up to the gates, and the attendant on duty makes us pop the back. The guard opens the doors, and satisfied that it's just the two of us, he grants us entrance inside.
Nikita hasn't answered my question. He parks the van out front, not caring about hiding the vehicle. I suppose the mafia knows this is where the bratva live.
Climbing out of the passenger side, I follow Nikita inside through the front entrance. I want to see my son. I need to know that Zion is safe. He leads me upstairs to the playroom, where Madisyn and Hannah sit on a sofa against the wall. The kids are playing, oblivious to the danger just outside the walls of the building.
Zion is safe.
I exhale a sigh that I hadn't realized I'd been holding when he runs into my arms, gripping me as if his life depends on it. "How was your playdate?" I ask, bending down and bringing him into my arms. He's big, almost too big for me to carry, but he still loves it, and right now, I want to know that he's safe.
Just seeing him isn't enough. He's my child. I must protect him.
"Fun," Zion says. "We got to have ice cream sandwiches!"
"Oh, you did?" I laugh at his wide-eyed grin. The kid must still be on a sugar high. He wiggles his way out of my grasp, and I put his feet firmly back down on the floor.
"I hope that was okay, to give him ice cream," Hannah says. "I wanted a snack, and he saw what I was eating."
"It's fine. Thank you both for watching him." I stumble forward, falling onto the sofa in a heap, sitting beside the two young women. They seem to have it all together. Me? I'm a complete mess.
Am I going to marry Nikita?
I need to keep Zion safe, and I can't fathom another plan that will work. I hope that the mafia will leave us alone once I become part of the bratva.
"First thing tomorrow, we're going to the courthouse and getting married."
"Isn't there a waiting period?" I ask. It's not that I'm not willing to marry Nikita. I'm just not sure it's as good a plan as he thinks it is.
"Yes, but it's only twenty-four hours, and the judge is willing to waive the waiting period."
"You know the judge?" I shouldn't be surprised, considering the depth and reach that the bratva has over the city, but it's still a shock, nevertheless.
"Who don't we know?" Nikita says with a wry smirk. He glances me up and down. "But we have to make this wedding convincing, like we're madly in love."
