Page 57 of Essence of Fear

But she laughed.

Pav shot her a look and smirked a bit. “I know you don’t want me here. You want space, I get it.”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s me or someone else. Maybe a stranger—whoever Konstantin felt like picking. It certainly wasn’t going to be one of your brothers, when they are better doing work in Chicago. So this trip to Russia for you, yeah, will have to include me.”

Viktoria nodded. “I hate them right now.”

“I bet.”

He offered nothing else, and she didn’t bother to ask. When those tickets showed up taped to her door with a note from Konstantin saying she was to be on the plane to Russia whether she liked it or not, well … she’d known better than to fight her brother on it. Konstantin would simply show up at her house, force her into a car, and take her to the airport himself. There was only so much he would take before he just did what he wanted to do, anyway.

Pav had a point, too.

She would not have reacted well, had some random Boykov soldier come onto the plane, and sat down beside her because her brother said she needed a babysitter for this little trip. If anything, she probably would have thrown a fit so bad that she would have gotten kicked off the plane because yeah … she was not in a good place.

Not physically.

Not emotionally.

Not mentally.

Pav was a slightly better choice.

All things considered …

“Is that why you came the other night?” Viktoria asked. “Because you knew that Boris had escaped, and my brother sent you to me?”

Pav didn’t lie.

She appreciated it.

“Partly,” he replied, “but I also came because I wanted to be with you. My involvement with you has very little to do with what other people tell me to do, but rather, what I want to do, Viktoria.”

That made it a little better.

Not much, though.

She swallowed hard and toyed with the phone in her hands. Putting the music on, she plugged in the earbuds, and put one of them into her ears. With music pumping into her brain as close as she could get it, it was easier to focus on not giving into her fear and anxiety.

It wasn’t missed by Pav, either.

Of course.

His hand slid across the seats and, wordlessly, he squeezed her thigh. Just as quickly as his hand was there, it was gone. She didn’t acknowledge the touch, although she appreciated it because it reminded her someone was there who might actually give a shit about her. He didn’t seem to mind.

“They didn’t give me a choice,” she muttered. “About this flight and hiding away with my father in Russia, I mean.”

Pav chuckled. “Me either, yeah?”

She gave him a good look, then. He wore his standard black ensemble—pants, shirt, and a leather jacket. He seemed calm on the outside. His hands stayed steady on his lap, and his body seemed relaxed, for the most part.

But it was in his gaze where she found it …

The nerves.

Irritation.