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With Nikita in jail… Who wants Olive dead?
No one. The order has still been given, I’m still supposed to be looking for her, and this is known amongst most, but arethe lieutenants looking? Would they even recognize her? Would they evencare?
They want to betray the Pakhan. They don’t respect his orders, let alone his judgment.
They may let her live.
But … the alternative…
Vitaly.
No. Not an option.
“I know what I’m doing,” I say, more for myself than for Olive. “I promise, just … trust me. This is a good thing for us.”
Nikita isn’t fucking insane, as much as he can appear to be at times. He’ll stop the order as soon as I give him reason to. Staying out of prison is a good reason to.
“Okay…” She bites her lip and nods. “There are still the people I snitched on who?—”
“The Irish don’t want to kill you.” I squeeze her shoulder, expecting my words to put her at ease, but all she does is give me a tight smile.
Seconds go by while she stares at my jacket, her eyes reluctant to meet mine.
I don’t want to talk about this shit right now. Not today.
I just want to know her favorite movie. What books she reads on snowy days. Her favorite scent at Christmas time.
I want to be boring, just for tonight. Maybe tomorrow too.
“Are you feeling cooped up here?” I ask, running my hand down her side.
She shrugs. “I’m feeling alive here, so… Yes, but it’s okay.”
“I’d like to take you to the city tomorrow night, if you’d like to get out of the house. I could make dinner here, then we could drive the Strip or something? It isn’t much, but it’ll be safe with the weekend crowd.”
She finally meets my eyes. “Like … a date?”
Her voice shows nothing, and I find myself shifting with discomfort. I clear my throat and nod.
Her lips spread into a grin so wide, I return it with a rush of air expelling my lungs and grip her hand when she clutches mine.
“I want you to tell me more,” I say, trailing my thumb over the back of her hand.
She squints with confusion. “More?”
“About yourself.”
“Oh.” She chuckles. “What do you want to know?”
I relax into the deck, the soft blanket beneath me feeling twenty inches thick. “Everything, beautiful… I want to know everything.”
23
OLIVE
Warm air blows from the vents in Alik’s car while my back and the bottoms of my thighs toast from the heated seat. Alik’s hand is interlocked with mine, resting atop the cupholder to meet me halfway.
I keep peeking at him as he drives us in heavy traffic along the Las Vegas Strip. If he notices me staring, he doesn’t say so.
