Yuri stared out of the window at the darkening landscape.

He’d made the wrong choice after Iestyn Ogden’s downfall. That was becoming crystal clear.

In Yuri’s experience, following arrests like Ogden’s, most accessory players were caught trying to flee. It was why Ogden’s organization had been dismantled in the span of a week. Maybe two. Because the rats had jumped ship and fled. The problem with running was that it drew the attention of predators. The police. Rivals. Bottom feeders. Yuri had learned that lesson the hard way growing up. It was why he never ran. He laid low and bided his time.

He should have slipped out of the country a week ago. But then Donny, damn him, would have been free to peck away at Yuri’s clients, stealing what Yuri had worked for, built off the sweat of his brow and the blood from his veins. Even now, Yuri was just discovering the scope of the man’s deception. He’d stolen money, people’s loyalty, even some resources. It’d all simply vanished.

At least Donny couldn’t take the jet. But all the money in the world couldn’t push through a flight plan.

Just a little more time.

That was all he needed.

A hop across the border into Canada would complicate matters nicely, and by the time the law enforcement agencies put their heads together—he would be gone. Extradition took valuable time, and different countries, even friendly ones, weren’t quick to work together.

First, Yuri had to get off the damn ground, though.

He turned from the window and shoved his phone in his pocket.

Freya sat at an empty, metal desk, hands in her lap, wrists bound together. Her skin was pale, ashen. Her sister’s betrayal had broken some part of her spirit. He hoped, for her sake, she found it again. Charles seemed besotted with her, which bode well for acquiring that last payment.

“Would you care for something to drink?” He crossed to the mini fridge and opened it.

“No.”

“You should drink something.”

“What’s going to happen to Michelle? And me?”

“Nothing you won’t survive.” He pulled out a bottle of water.

“Are you going to sell me to Charles still?”

“He does fancy you.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“I’m not so certain.”

Charles was a funny creature. There was no telling which way the sociopath would go, when it came to Freya.

“How do you plan on passing me off as both myself and Michelle?” she asked.

“Details to be worked out once we’re airborne.” He figured a wig and a spray tan, along with some wine, would help loosen her up to play the part.

“Did Thomas help you figure those things out before...?” Freya stared at the ancient black and white tile floor.

“No, Thomas was never anything more than a very capable head of security. It was Donny who used to handle these details, but...well...” Yuri paused. “I wonder if Donny is even dead?”

It could go badly for Yuri if Donny were still alive.

When this was over, Yuri was coming back for Jaxon. He’d painted the target on his back. Yuri would enjoy hunting him down. Him, and Shelby Amos.

“What’s taking them so fucking long?” Yuri muttered to himself and strode across to the door leading to the hanger.

The longer they sat here, the more time it gave the feds to circle up and close ranks. It was time to leave Seattle.

Freya dug her nails into her thighs.

Yuri took another step toward the door, past the rows of desks.

She stopped breathing.

He reached for the knob.

She bit her lip, and the world seemed to slow.

Yuri yanked the office door open and stepped through. The solid metal door clanged shut, leaving Freya alone.

She snatched the desk phone off the receiver. She’d never heard something as beautiful as that dial tone. She jabbed the buttons, dialing Jaxon’s number from memory.

Beep. Beep.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize that extension,” an automated voice said.

“Shit.”

She tapped the button in the cradle, killing the call.

Zero, one, or nine were the usual suspects for dialing out.

She’d just have to try them all.

The nine button had the most wear.

Beep. Beep.

“Fuck.”

She hung up again.

The zero, then.

Her hands shook as she dialed.

Voices were right outside. Muffled, but there. What would Yuri do if he caught her on the phone? She didn’t want to think about that.

The line rang. And rang.

“Please, pick up. Please?” she whispered.

“Uh, hello?”

“Jax! It’s—”

“Freya? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at an airport. Yuri is trying to get a flight to Canada or something. He wants to take me to Finland.”

“I know.”

“You...do? Michelle...?”

“Do you know what airport you’re at?”

“Um...” She pulled open the desk drawer, looking for something with a name on it.

The office door creaked open.

“I don’t care what it takes. We’re leaving in half an hour.” Yuri stepped through the door.

Freya stared at the man, frozen with the phone in one hand and the other wrapped around a pencil.

“Freya?” Jaxon said.

“What the hell are you doing?” Yuri roared.

He vaulted the desk and snatched the phone from her hands. Freya pushed back, her chair rolling with ease across the tiles. She scrambled around a desk. Yuri grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back to him.

“You’re going to regret that.” Yuri’s voice was low, dangerous, deadly. “Move.” He kicked the back of her calf and shoved her forward.

Freya would have fallen, were it not for Yuri’s hold on her. She cried out and staggered along, mostly dragged out of the office toward her fate.

“You’re lucky you’re worth something alive,” Yuri said. He pitched his voice over the whine of an engine.

Outside the hanger, a small, sleek plane had a team of people bustling around it. Yuri’s people, the ones with guns, stood by. Most of them appeared bored.

“Stay there.” Yuri shoved her down onto some sort of plastic crate. He turned to the closest man. “If she moves, shoot her.”

Freya gulped and glanced up at the man. He had cold eyes, and an even more chilling smile. She shivered and hugged her arms around her.

The whine of engines drowned out most sounds, so she didn’t try to hide her sob. What was the point?

She should have called 9-1-1. Or the police. But her instinct had been to call Jaxon. If only she could have had more time, a few moments to say something personal.

What would she say?

Thank you?

I’m sorry?

Freya leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands.

She was alone, and the only person who cared about her, she didn’t deserve.

A thud behind her startled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She twisted to look.

Charles crouched in the darkness, his gloved finger laying across his lips.

The gun-toting guard was on the ground at his feet, blood pooling under him from a gash across his throat. She stared first at Charles, then the man.

To think, before today she’d seen plenty of dead bodies, but not fresh ones. She’d been unbothered by them. Probably because of the lack of blood. There was something about it that terrified her.

“Freya,” Charles whispered and held out his hand.

She stared at it.

Which devil did she pick?

Yuri wanted to use her, then likely kill her.

Charles wanted her here. In his own, twisted way, he wanted to create his fantasy life with her.

She had a chance with one of them.

Freya glanced over her shoulder at the circle of people clustered around Yuri. One man loaded luggage into the small plane.

Now or never...

She turned, scooted to the edge of the crate, and took Charles’ hand.

Charles grasped her elbow with his other hand and helped her step over the body. She swallowed down bile and put one foot in front of the other, grateful that she at least had flats for this kind of trek.

“This way,” Charles whispered, leading her through the stacks of cargo ready to be shipped.

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving you, my pet.”

She almost hurled on him.

She’d never hear the word pet without thinking of him again. Ever.

“Where are we going?” She needed to try to get as much information out of him as possible. If he admitted to wanting to kill her, she could at least get a scream out.

“Somewhere safe, and then we can start our new life together.” He smiled, his teeth a pale slash in the darkness.

Freya swallowed.

Charles was a crazy she didn’t recognize. He wanted to marry her. Mold her.

“Freya!” Yuri’s voice reverberated through the hanger.

She flinched.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Charles grasped both of her hands in his. “Listen to me. There’s a crate on the northeast corner. It’s empty. Hide inside of it. I’ll come find you.

A chance to get away, gift-wrapped?

Was this a trap?

Freya nodded.

“Go.” Charles gave her a little push.

“Thank you,” she said.

This man she didn’t know was risking his life to save her for reasons she didn’t fully comprehend.

“Go,” he snapped.

She turned and bolted for the partially-open side door.

This was her chance. She’d get out. Away. And then she’d find Jaxon. Though, with the way her luck was going, the nightmare would just follow her.

She saw the human-sized crate up against the building, one side pried up. She could fit in there, but she wouldn’t.

The building Yuri had held her in was a large hangar slightly apart from what looked like some sort of small terminal, or airport. She sprinted across the space between the two buildings and into the thicker shadows around what she guessed was the main building.

A parking lot sat mostly empty.

There wasn’t anywhere to hide on this side, and soon Yuri’s people would come looking for her.

She had to get away. To hide.

A single blast of gunfire broke through the general hum of noise.

She flinched and gasped, sparing a glance over her shoulder.

Charles?

She hadn’t seen a gun on him.

Freya turned around and froze.

A man stood between her and her break for freedom, gun in hand.

“Stop right there,” he said.

She shuffled sideways, toward the road.

“Don’t tempt me,” the man said. “Do you really want to take off with a bullet in your gut? Field surgery isn’t fun, you know?”

Freya gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach.

She should have hidden.

Jaxon pressed the accelerator almost to the floor.

“Is this it? Does this look familiar?” Ian was in the back seat, his phone shoved in Michelle’s face.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Michelle had the temperament of a teenager full of entitlement.

Jaxon couldn’t see the resemblance to Freya at all anymore. The two women might as well be strangers.

“The phone number is right, Jax.” Ian stared at his screen. “This is the place.”

“What about Shelby? Did she call the feds?” Jaxon asked.

“Last I heard, she was on with Rusty. Who knows?”

Rusty, Shelby’s former FBI handler, was on rocky ground with the bureau he’d spent his life working for, because of Yuri Gabor. They all had a personal stake in making sure the bastard paid.

Jaxon turned the car.

Lights slashed across them in the rearview.

The others had caught up.

“When we get there, stay with Michelle,” Ian said.

“I’m going to find Freya.” Jaxon didn’t give two fucks what Ian wanted.

“I’m not playing around, Jax. These guys have guns. Gabor is a bad dude.”

“Never needed a gun before.”

“Listen to me, Jax.” Ian leaned forward between the seats.

Jaxon ignored him.

Ahead, the sign for the small, regional airport came into view.

The lights were off in the parking lot, though there were cars there. Despite the darkened facilities, quite a few people were bustling around the far hanger.

That was where Freya would be. Without a doubt.

Jaxon turned the car into the airport. The wheels lost traction and they skidded sideways a good ten feet before the rubber gripped the road and they shot forward.

“Jax! Jax, slow down,” Ian yelled.

They had surprise on their side, and that was it. He had to make the most of it. If Freya got on that plane, if they took off, the chances of ever seeing her again were so few as to be nonexistent.

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Michelle screamed and yanked at the door, but it was locked.

The cars behind him slowed down.

Jaxon steered the BMW between the two buildings.

A man strolled across the walk paused, staring at the headlights.

“Move,” Jaxon barked at the man.

At the last second, the man sprinted out of the path of Jaxon’s car.

Ahead of them the only plane with its lights and engines on was slowly turning toward the runway.

“Is that Yuri’s plane?” Jaxon yelled over his shoulder.

“Yes! Oh my God, you aren’t—”

The BMW had more speed than the plane. He shot down the tarmac and swerved in front of the lumbering bird.

Jaxon would not allow the plane to take off. At least not while he was still breathing.

He jammed on the breaks, watching the plane behind him.

It bore down on them, turning slightly, but it didn’t have the maneuverability of the car.

“It’s slowin’.” Ian twisted around to watch behind them. “What are we goin’ to do when they stop?”

“No fucking idea.” Jaxon hoped the feds weren’t far behind, but if they weren’t, well...he’d think of something.

“It’s stoppin’.” Ian drew his weapon. He glanced at Michelle. “You might want to get down.”

“You’re going to get me killed,” the woman sobbed.

A door on the small jet opened, the cabin lights illuminating a figure leaning out.

“He’s got a gun,” Ian said.

Jaxon hit the unlock button as Ian kicked the back door open and got out, gun first. Bullets hit the ground first, then Ian fired back.

The man fell from the jet to the tarmac.

Jaxon shoved the car into park and got out on the other side.

“You can’t just leave me here!” Michelle yelled after him.

He could, and he would. She was no longer his priority.

Freya was on that plane, which meant he would be, too.

Jaxon ducked right, to the opposite side of the jet’s open door. Ian fired back. Someone yelled.

Jaxon crossed under the plane as it began to roll into reverse.

Shit.

“Jax, move!” Ian yelled.

Jaxon quick stepped it until he was just under the door.

Ian fired, sparks flying up off the ground.

A loud pop, almost like an explosion, rang Jaxon’s eardrums, followed by a heavy thud and the grinding of metal. Jaxon blinked at the front wheel, now destroyed and flat.

The jet wouldn’t be going anywhere, not fast enough for takeoff with a wheel like that.

Feet thudded on the ground.

The others jogged up, armed and ready.

“Hanger is secure. Backup is on their way,” Shelby said.

“We just need to hold them here.” Kade took a knee, pointing the business end of a rifle at the open door.

Jaxon stared at the opening.

Yuri wouldn’t wait around to be captured. He was doing something in there. If they waited, if they simply reacted to what he was doing, Freya would pay the price.

This plane couldn’t go anywhere.

Yuri was coming out of that plane before the cavalry arrived, the question was—when?

“I’m not waiting,” Jaxon said.

He ducked under the wing of the plane and crossed to where the body and wing met. He grasped the edge and hoisted himself up.

Movement inside the plane caught his eye.

A man leaned out, throwing something silver to the ground.

“Look—”

A flash of light below was mostly blocked by the wing. It was the bang that had his ears ringing.

The same man dropped to the ground, wearing some sort of mask. Another one stepped up to the entrance.

His friends, the people helping him, were going to be picked off one by one.

Fuck.

Jaxon hoisted himself up onto the wing. The second guy caught sight of him, but it was too late. Jaxon took two strides, grabbed the guy and flung them both down to the tarmac, hitting the first bodyguard on their way down.

Jaxon landed on top of the second, driving his elbow into the guy’s chest. He pushed up and slammed his fist into the guy’s face.

The first man lay on the tarmac, not moving a muscle.

Ian lay on his side, gun up, his other hand pressed to his leg.

Goddamn it.

Jaxon couldn’t hear, but he didn’t need to. Ian was shot. And it was Jaxon’s fault.

Another figure dropped from above.

Jaxon turned, batting the gun aside and punched the new threat, once in the chest and a second time in the face. The man swung, catching Jaxon in the side and driving the oxygen out of his lungs.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye was the only warning Jaxon had. Something cracked into the back of his head, and he saw stars.

Jaxon whirled, catching the second shooter by the arm.

Kade and Shelby stood over Ian, weapons up, their attention focused above Jaxon.

“Jax!” The thin, high-pitched voice broke through the ringing.

He whirled, staring at Freya, a gun pointed to her head, Yuri behind her.

“Back up,” Yuri yelled. At least Jaxon assumed that’s what he was saying.

Headlights bounced toward them, the vehicles too small to be cars. Golf carts?

Jaxon took a step toward Ian and the others.

Where were the feds?

An ATV screeched to a stop.

Michelle sat in the front seat, her face impossibly pale.

Of course she’d bolted at the first opportunity, the bitch.

The still-standing gunmen helped Freya down from the plane. Yuri jumped down of his own free will. Was that blood on his trousers? Whose blood was it?

Yuri crossed to the ATV and got in. The gun man helped his friend, holding his arm with one hand, and kept a tight grip on Freya with the other.

Now or never...

Jaxon sprinted forward, barreling into the two would-be gunmen. Freya flung herself sideways. Jaxon went to the ground with the two men under him. A bullet hit the tarmac inches away.

Sirens rent the air, followed with cries of, “Go! Go! Go!”

Jaxon scrambled. Kade and Shelby were there, weapons up.

“Jax!”

Jaxon hadn’t gotten his feet fully under him before Freya launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He stood there, almost afraid to touch her for fear that it wouldn’t be real.

Freya was free...

But Yuri was still out there, and he had Michelle.

“God damn it,” Yuri roared. He kicked an empty gas can, sending it skittering across the garage. “Fucking hell.”

“Sir? We need to go. Car’s ready.”

Yuri stared across the greenway at the red and white lights.

They’d been so close.

Now, it would be the hard way.

He’d been perfectly willing to put everything in Seattle behind him, but now...now he wanted revenge. And Yuri always got revenge. It wasn’t often worth it, financially speaking, but this? This was personal.

“Let’s go.” Yuri turned and his gaze fell on Michelle.

He still had her, which was something.

Freya could hold a conversation at least, but Michelle would do.

“I said—let’s go.” He gestured at the SUV.

Michelle got up and scampered to the open door.

Their window of escape was closing, and fast.

Yuri got in behind Michelle, while Sergi circled around to the driver’s seat.

“Where are the others?” Yuri frowned at the empty seats. The other two were outside, standing guard, but the rest? Where had they gone?

“I don’t know. I gassed up the truck and they were gone.” Sergi didn’t meet Yuri’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

Meaning the rest of Yuri’s team, like rats, had jumped ship.

“It’s easier to move with less weight,” Yuri said to no one in particular.

He’d get out of the country, and they’d see about collecting Michelle’s trust fund money. Who knew? Maybe he’d like being married after all. Charles had seemed enthusiastic about it right up until the end.