“Power” - Kanye West

I'm jostled awake by a bump and pounding headache. My pulse races, and a loud screeching noise pierces my ears. Where the fuck am I? There's another bump. I glance around. I'm in the cabin of a plane. Great! He drugged me and shoved me on a plane.

Ronan sits across from me, studying his phone. Anger ripples through my veins as I stare at him. The plane slows to a stop, and I yank at the seatbelt. Ronan glances up from his phone, snapping his fingers. Igor appears from nowhere and grabs onto my arm, dragging me from my seat.

"Welcome to Russia,” Ronan says with a condescending smile.

Dirty Russian bastard. My blood simmers through my veins. I've been in this situation before and anger will do nothing to help me. I need a clear head. A plan. He stands, adjusting his suit jacket as he walks toward me. His eyes narrow and he reaches for my neck, his warm fingertips skirting over my throat. "Bruises suit you," he says. I want to slap him.

The door to the plane opens, revealing a flurry of snow and ice. Ronan ducks through the door and trudges down the steps and across the icy tarmac. I grit my teeth, glaring at his back as he disappears inside a black SUV. Igor shoves me through the opening and down the stairs, my cheeks stinging from the cold as he directs me toward the car. He yanks open the door, shoves me inside next to Ronan, then closes the door, silencing the raging wind outside.

The car pulls away and his eyes lock on me, void of all emotion. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. For the first time in my life, I feel like prey. A lamb with its back to a lion, and the thought has me clenching my jaw.

"What do you want with me?" I ask, unable to contain the frustration any longer.

"I'm not sure yet." He grins like a bastard in his pristine suit, smoking his fancy cigar. He has to have a reason.

"You're not sure." I narrow my eyes. "So, what? You just took me on a whim?"

"How do I put it? You were a rather lovely surprise."

"Let me guess, you thought you'd stick it to Jésus, steal his whore?" I roll my eyes. "You do realize whores are a dime a dozen."

He tosses his head back on a deep laugh, smoke billowing from his lips. "Come now, you're Gabriel Estrada's sister. So tell me, Camilla, were you really Jésus Garcia's helpless whore?" An arrogant smile shapes his lips. "I don't think so."

He can't know... "I was Jésus' captive, taken to keep my brother from waging war. You can't blame a girl for making life a little easier on herself."

"That is what you would have people believe." His eyes spark with amusement. "But I know better."

Fuck, fuck, fuck! How can he possibly know that?

"I know everything about you." He leans across the seat. "You are powerless now. Helpless..."

Anger flashes through me hot and fast, and my nails bite into my palms leaving a sharp sting behind. What could he possibly want me for? I force myself to look away, picturing all the ways I want to kill this Russian fuck in an attempt to collect myself.

We wind through endless miles of snow-covered woods before the car slows, coming to a stop outside an ornate golden gate. The driver rolls the window down and spits something in Russian to the guard standing outside. Laughing, the guard steps back, presses a button, and the motor to the gate whirs to life. The car takes a slight turn and a large, white mansion comes into view. Beside it sits another building. Men with rifles strapped to their backs pass in and out of the doorway, and in front of the building are rows of SUVs with guns mounted to the hoods. Jesus, does he have his own personal army or something?

We come to a stop in front of the main house, and Ronan exhales as though he's put out. The driver practically runs around to the side of the car, tripping over himself to open Ronan's door. Ronan climbs out without a word or even a glance in my direction. I watch him walk up the marble stairs, his perfectly tailored suit clinging to his large frame. He snaps his fingers and my door opens. The sudden cold that rushes in from outside causes my breath to catch in my throat.

Igor reaches inside and grabs my elbow, pulling me from the car as he mumbles something in Russian. I'm led up the stairs to the wooden doorway, and the massive door creaks open. Ronan steps inside, releasing an exasperated breath, and I’m shoved in after him.

The gold and crystal chandeliers hanging from the cathedral ceilings cast a warm glow over the winding stairwell. Renaissance art hangs on every wall. Thick oriental rugs cover the marble. It looks like somebody vomited old money all over the place. Ronan disappears down a hallway as I'm led to a room on the upper level.

Igor throws the door open and shoves me inside. "Dinner is at nine," he says. "There's a dress on the bed. Mr. Cole requests that you wear it." And then, he leaves, closing the door behind him and locking it.

My heart bangs in my chest as I look around the room. Another offensive oriental rug sits beneath a four-poster bed, and there, on the thick bedspread is a black dress bag which I look at with disdain. Men are so predictable in that they think I'm predictable — a pretty girl. Nothing but the innocent sister of a cartel boss. I smile. This man will be no different, so I'll play his doll long enough to work out what he wants at least. After all, you can't beat a man without knowing his weaknesses. I may be well and truly outgunned, but I am not without my own weapons.

He's right. I set Jésus up. He thought he took me as a captive, but I was there willingly, getting close to the enemy. Lying in wait. The Russian may have taken me, but he will not find me an easy captive.