I stood in the airport, waiting for my driver to arrive. Apparently, someone was to pick me up directly from the airport and take me to Piotr Petrov. I had to get to Piotr, no matter the consequences. That’s all I knew. My uncle Boris had told me that it was the only way I would be safe.

I’d barely slept on the flight, my nerves getting the better of me. Fighting a yawn, I clutched the yellow suitcase with the red luggage tag to me even tighter and found a bench to wait on. The suitcase was what the driver would be looking for, so I kept it front and center. This suitcase symbolized my freedom—from my uncle, from the rebels, and from the Orange Revolution as a whole. I needed to get out. I would do anything to get out.

Yet even halfway across the world now, I didn’t feel free.

Suddenly, a good-looking man with a neat beard and an expensive suit sat next to me. My eyes drifted shut and I breathed in deeply. He smelled amazing. Nothing like the heavy colognes that were so prevalent back home, or the cloying perfumes layered with cigarette smoke. He smelled clean and masculine. A wave of fatigue washed over me again.

“Dobryj dyen.”

I startled, my eyes flying open. “Vitayo.”

He shifted slightly in his seat when I replied in Ukrainian, not Russian. When I turned to face him, I could see his green eyes had a ring of brown around them. He was beautiful in a masculine sort of way. When he turned his gaze forward again and showed me the side of his face, I noticed a thin white scar that ran from his ear to somewhere under his beard. I resisted the urge to trace it with my finger, calling myself all sorts of crazy for wanting to.

“Give me the package,” he said with a soft Russian accent.

I looked down at the yellow suitcase. I shook my head softly. This wasn’t right. I was supposed to be picked up with the package. I had to be. I had nowhere else to go.

“No.”

His gaze returned to me, his jaw tight and standing out in stark contrast from the rest of his face. “I’m sorry?”

I clasped my fingers around the handle and pulled it up against me. “This is mine. Where it goes, I go.”

He stared at me for a moment, and then seemed to make a judgment call. He grabbed my hand, the same one that was holding the handle of the suitcase.

“Ow.”

He pulled me up out of the airport seat. “Let’s go, then.”

My heart beat a little faster at his words. Go where? With him? Somehow, I didn’t think that was supposed to be the plan. Was someone else coming? Was I leaving with the wrong man? Could this be a trap?

“Who are you?” I demanded. Now that we were both standing, I realized that he towered over me. He was a tall man. And big. And hot. And tall.

His jaw relaxed and then tightened again. “Why do you need to know?”

I hesitated, hotly aware of his hand still wrapped around mine. “My uncle Boris told me not to go anywhere with a stranger.”

He gave a short nod, his left eyebrow lifting. “I have an… uncle, too. Uncle Piotr.” He was letting me know that he was whom I was waiting for. Somehow, I didn’t feel much relief. “I’m Viktor.”

The way he said his name sent a ripple of awareness down my spine. There was a husky heat behind his voice, like a banked fire, and yet his mannerisms were cold as ice. He looked at me for a moment, irritation flaring in his eyes, and I realized he was expecting a response. Ah, introduction. Got it. “Anya.”

“Anya.”

If I thought his own introduction had affected me, it was nothing to the shiver that went through me at the sound of my name on his lips.

“Viktor,” I repeated.

“Now we are not strangers.” His gaze warmed a little, but his grasp on my hand tightened, pulling me along with him faster until I almost had to jog to keep up with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked, huffing to keep up with his pace.

“Out. We need to leave this place.”

“Must we run? I just flew in… we’re not in any danger.” I looked around, trying to discern whatever threat he felt in the airport.

“There are men all over here that I do not trust. Come. We need to get to my car. Now.”

After I was dragged all through the airport and the parking lot, we finally got to his car. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a van with tinted windows but a beautiful Mercedes SUV that looked rugged and sleek at the same time. Like the man, it was a contradiction.

“I will take that,” he said, squeezing my hand around the handle of the case until I winced.

I shook my head. “I will keep it with me in the front seat.”

He paused before nodding. Once in the car, he reached over and buckled me in before I could do it myself. His clean scent almost paralyzed me, but I sucked a breath in when his arm grazed my chest.

“I can buckle my own seatbelt, thank you very much.”

He let out a low laugh. “I’m sure you can, but you’re moving too slow for my taste.”

“Now can you tell me where we’re going?”

“No,” he replied simply.

I sat back, crossing my arms. I had younger cousins that were less annoying than this mysterious man. Something told me that sitting on him and threatening to pull his pants down would not be as effective.

Although, the idea of pulling his pants down and sitting on him definitely had an effect on me. I shivered, my palms clutching my upper arms.

We rode together in silence until I realized that keeping quiet would get me no answers. Politeness might. “Please tell me where we’re going. I have plans.”

“You do.” The way he said it wasn’t quite a question, but also not quite a statement.

I nodded, my platinum blonde hair swaying into my face. I shook it back irritatingly. “I need to meet with Piotr Petrov.”

He clenched the wheel, the skin over his knuckles stretching. Apparently, the name meant something to him. I tried to press my luck. “Do you work for him?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, and then only with a curt, “Yes.”

“Are you like his…” I mentally searched for the Russian term. “Byki, then?”

I got a glimpse of straight, white teeth as his grim smile peeked through his beard. “What do you know about bodyguards, little girl?”

I looked down at myself. I was wearing skinny jeans, a white long sleeve shirt, and a white vest with a fluffy hood. I wasn’t sure exactly what had screamed ‘little girl’ about my outfit, but I grew angry. “I’m not a little girl.”

He looked sideways at me, the heat of his gaze scorching my skin with prickles of awareness. “You’re acting like one.”

I put my feet on the dash and looked at him sideways. Daring him to say anything. You want a little kid? Fine.

Viktor didn’t disappoint. “Get your feet off my dash.”

I resisted the urge to say ‘make me’ and stick my tongue out at him. “Tell me what I want to know.”

He laughed. “You think that putting your feet on the dash is going to make me talk? Cute.”

Of course. I was probably sitting in this car with a very attractive contract killer. A footprint on his beloved car was not much of a threat. A smile teased at my lips. Fine. I’d try a different approach. “Please?”

“Not going to work, printsessa.”

Princess was better than little girl. I was making progress. We rode in silence for another twenty painfully long minutes, until he pulled into a gas station.

“Where are we?” I asked, craning my neck to look out the window and behind them.

“Close,” he responded enigmatically.

To what?