51
IVAN
I glance at the bathroom door again and again. As if the answer to the question circling around my mind will appear there.
Just as I decide Cora has been gone too long—a whopping five minutes—and I should go after her, my phone rings.
I answer the call and squint through the front window to the dark world beyond where I know Yasha is standing guard. “What do you want?”
“I want to know if I should give you two some privacy. Things are heating up in there.”
I honestly forgot Yasha was watching over us. The moment Cora wrapped her lips around my finger, I forgot the rest of the world fucking existed. My universe narrowed to one very specific point.
“We’re playing our parts, Yasha.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “My part, apparently, is to be your voyeur. That’s what I feel like out here. Like some creepy perv being turned on by cake.”
I flash a middle finger at the glass even though all I can see is my own watery reflection. “Fuck off.”
Yasha laughs. “Is that an order? Because last I heard, your wifey is still under threat.”
I spin back towards the still closed bathroom door. Maybe she’s going to hide in there until our cake tasting is over.
“Have you seen any movement out there?”
“Nope. Nothing beyond the two of you getting cozy.”
I roll my eyes. “I can handle the interior. Why don’t you keep your eyes out there and far away from Cora?”
I hear the possessiveness in my own voice. The claim I’m laying on her, even though I don’t have a claim to lay. Not after what I said in my office—what Cora overheard.
I’m waiting for Yasha to call me out on it. He and Anya seem set on making this arrangement permanent for some reason.
But he doesn’t say anything.
I wait a few more seconds, sure I’ll hear his cackling laugh any second.
“Yasha?”
Nothing.
I check my phone and the connection is gone. Silent.
Everything is silent, actually. The kitchen was bustling with movement and clattering pans when we arrived, but I don’t hear a thing now. No footsteps. No muffled voices.
I turn back to the bathroom door and it’s still closed.
Something is wrong.
I walk to the bathroom and pound on the door. “Cora!”
Nothing. Not a sound beyond my own breathing.
“Shit.” I kick at the base of the door, the wood rattling in the frame. “Cora, open the door!”
Wrong. Wrong. Something is very fucking wrong.
That thought thrums through me like a second heartbeat as I step back and then throw all of my weight into the bathroom door.
The trim rips away from the wall and the door flies open, revealing Cora…
Sprawled out on the floor.
For one heartstopping second, I think she’s dead. I let her walk away from me, and now, she’s dead. I didn’t take care of her. It’s all my fault.
Then she lifts her face.
She’s alive, but so pale. So fucking pale. Her eyes are half-closed and her head keeps bobbing up and down like she’s fighting to stay awake.
“Cora.” I drop to my knees next to her and grab her hands in mine. “What happened?”
She blinks, trying to focus, but there is a glaze over her expression I’ve never seen before. She’s right in front of me, but she might as well be a million miles away.
“My…phone,” she mumbles.
I shake her gently. “Can you hear me?”
Her head flops in my direction like it’s too heavy to hold up. “Ivan.” Her fingers twitch around mine. She moans. “Ivan.”
She’s been drugged. Someone slipped her something.
I tense up. Not only did someone attack my fiancée, but they did it on my watch. After I promised Cora I would take care of her.
After I swore I’d keep her safe.
From the world.
From myself.
“We have to go,” I tell her. “Now. Can you stand?”
Her hand flops into her lap. Onto her phone. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell me something or if that’s all the movement she’s capable of, but there isn’t time to figure it out. I pocket her phone and scoop her into my arms.
Her head is heavy on my shoulder as I carry her out of the bathroom and through an emergency exit.
The door opens into a dark alley between buildings. There should be a guard positioned here, but the alley is empty. The fact Yasha hasn’t called to ask what the fuck I’m doing breaking down the bakery’s bathroom door is also a bad sign.
Right now, Cora needs me to get her out of here. She needs me to stay focused.
Which is getting harder with every raspy exhale I feel against my neck.
Her hand is swaying limply at her side, her body jostling with every step. I have no idea what she was given. I don’t know how much longer she has to—
“No.”
I say it out loud to myself. To Cora’s fluttering lashes and parted lips.
She won’t die. I won’t allow it.
Slowly, I slide her body down mine and set her on her feet. She manages to lock her knees enough that I can hold her up with one hand around her waist.
“Ivan,” she moans. “Am I—”
“Let me get you out of here. We’ll talk then.”
It doesn’t end here. It can’t. There will be a later.
I pull out my phone and dial Yasha’s number, but the call doesn’t go through. There’s no service. If there was any doubt at all about whether this is an attack or not, it’s gone now.
We’re being targeted.
Which means we have to get out of here before—
“Don’t fucking move,” a voice growls from behind me.
At the same time, I feel a gun press against the back of my head.