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Holding the glass pressed against him, she nodded toward the door.
He sighed and started walking. She practically had to stand on her toes to keep up with him. Her heart fluttered when he opened the door. She could almost smell the victory, the way to her sweet freedom.
Baran came to a halt on the steps. He craned his neck, looking up the stairs.
“What exactly do you plan to do after you get upstairs? You’re in Kristoff Romanov’s house. There are a dozen soldiers in here. None of them give a shit if you nick me in the throat. They will take you out the second they spot you. So, what’s your game plan?”
Oh no. She was in Kristoff Romanov’s home? The one man Lorenzo had feared above all. He might have plotted and planned to take him out, but he also saw him as some kind of mythical boogie man.
“That’s none of your concern,” she quipped, and gave him a shove, feigning confidence she didn’t feel.
A snort was her answer, but it got him moving. Her legs trembled and spurts of cold and heat washed over her body, making her feel dizzy. Keeping her weapon against him while going upstairs felt like pushing a boulder up a mountain.
She was puffing and coated in sweat once they finally reached a hallway. The thick Persian carpet underneath her feet felt like heaven, though it didn’t help to de-ice her toes.
As it so happened, the first “soldier” they encountered was the last one she wanted to see—Viking. He ended a phone call when he spotted them. Two hundred-something pounds of muscle, clad in ripped jeans and heavy army boots, walked up to them as if he was going to pounce on her.
For a second, she debated between making a run for it, or running back to the cellar.
Be a lion, Lena.
Be a freaking lion.
Viking looked annoyed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Finally, someone was taking her seriously. “Are you blind? I’ve taken him hostage.”
His lips thinned. “I wasn’t asking you.”
What?
Her “hostage” laughed, tempting her to press her weapon deeper into his throat, just to make a point.
“I’m bringing you your baby momma,” Baran said.
“Like this?”
Baran shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Break her wrist?”
Viking looked partial to that idea. “Get over here,” he growled.
Again, it was Baran who he talked to. Before she realized what was happening, Baran made some weird twist and got away from her grip. Her cheeks heated as she realized he’d been toying with her.
Viking’s eyes raked over her body, and she shivered. This time it wasn’t from the cold or the dry heat that had draped over her like a blanket.
She dropped her paltry weapon and looked at him pleadingly. “Please. I need to see Vicky. I need to know she’s safe.”
His eyes flashed. “You think I’d hurt my own daughter?”
“I don’t know what you are capable of anymore.” She regretted the words the second they came out and recognized them for what they were: a means to hurt him, just like he was hurting her.
He grabbed her hair and pulled it back until her face turned up to him.
“Guess you’re going to find out soon.” Then he leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “You took my child from me. My daughter!”
The possessiveness in his voice couldn’t be missed. His words settled a fear inside her; whatever may happen to her, he would never turn his back on his own flesh and blood, just as she’d predicted. Vicky would be safe.
Then it hit her what he’d just said. Her heart sped up. “You’ve spoken to Vicky? She found you? Listen, you have to—”
