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Vadisk took another small step, letting go of the door and pushing his chest into the other man, who finally did shift back, almost tripping over his companion. Vadisk sighed heavily, grabbing the man to keep him on his feet and manhandling him backward out the door. Then he reached down and helped the first man to his feet.
Dahlia moved forward, grabbing the door—prepared to swing it closed the moment Vadisk was back inside. He’d released the men and positioned himself squarely in the doorway. One of the soldiers had a hand on his gun. She needed to diffuse the situation, fast.
“Are they policemen? Or security?” she asked in English, still watching to see if either soldier understood her questions.
After a second, Vadisk translated, saying in Russian, “My employer wants to know who you are. Are you the police, hotel security, or Russian military?”
“We’re Crimean Security Force,” one said.
Vadisk grunted, and she didn’t know what that sound meant. As far as she knew, there wasn’t any law enforcement structure or organization called the Crimean Security Force.
One of the men stepped to the side, looking around Vadisk at Dahlia. He leered at her. Dahlia didn’t bother to hide her sigh. At this point, men using sexual aggression as a way to threaten or intimidate her only left her mildly irritated, thanks to overexposure.
Her lack of reaction made the soldier’s face twist.
“We will talk,” the other soldier said in halting English. “Here. For you.” He reached into a pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper that he held out to Dahlia.
Vadisk tried to take it, but the man snatched his hand back. “No, I’ll only give it to her,” he told him in Russian.
Vadisk stepped back into the villa foyer, watching the soldiers but also careful to avoid Dahlia where she still stood with her hand on the door.
“They want to give you a message and will only hand it to you,” Vadisk said in English, still playing the part of translator. She was glad they’d kept it up, since apparently one of them spoke at least a few words of English.
Dahlia carefully leaned past Vadisk, reaching out one hand. The man holding the paper stepped closer to hand it to her—but the other soldier moved at the same time, an eager expression on his face, and he lunged forward.
Things happened fast. Dahlia was already pulling her hand back as Vadisk wrapped his arms around her, spinning her so he was between her and the open door.
Dahlia clung to Vadisk, though his hold was tight enough that even if she hadn’t wrapped her arms around him, she still would have been tight against his chest. He tried to kick the door closed, but one of the soldiers had a foot planted just inside the threshold, and the door bounced off the man’s boot.
Vadisk lifted her into his arms, spun around, and told her, “Get back.”
Her feet hit the floor and in the next second, she rushed around the door, where she’d be out of sight. Vadisk turned away from her, finally facing the threat now that she was safe. Dahlia’s heart was racing, the danger of the situation like heat prickling her skin and making it feel tight.
Vadisk didn’t have a weapon, they did, and there were two of them to one of him.
The sudden fear that she was about to lose him made Dahlia reach out, grabbing Vadisk’s thickly muscled arm to hold him back.
“Look at how he touched her,” one of the soldiers said.
“And she’s touching him,” the other added.
Vadisk stiffened, reaching over to grab her shoulder and shove her away. Dahlia stumbled back, her calm facade cracking.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and a second later, Montana was there.
His arms came around her from behind, pulling her back against his bare, wet chest. He must have just gotten out of the shower and heard the commotion.
Vadisk was back at the door and had used his bulk to force both men onto the landing. He put pressure on the door, and the soldier with his foot in the foyer hissed in pain, yanking his boot back.
Dahlia watched, tense and afraid that the situation was about to escalate past the point of no return. Instead, Vadisk and the men exchanged a few insults, and then he closed the door.
Dahlia let her head fall back against Montana’s shoulder, working to slow her breathing.
Montana squeezed her gently, then asked, “What the hell just happened?”
“I shouldn’t have touched her,”Vadisk said as Dahlia, now dressed, walked into the second-floor living room.
Dahlia had retreated to her and Montana’s room long enough to put on clothes, feeling too vulnerable in the loose dress with nothing on underneath.
