The Arrangement: Chapter 13

Waking up with the taste of confusion in my mouth, the first thing I notice is my jaw aching like it’s been on the wrong end of a punch. Where the heck am I? My eyes flicker open, taking in the surroundings, and it’s definitely not my cozy Murphy bed in the back of the shop.

Panic flutters in my chest as I think about the shop. Did Nicky manage to call Ty? Hell, does he even know I got snatched? What about the police—did anyone think to dial 911? The questions barrel through my mind, each one ramping up my worry.

Trying to sit up causes my head to spin, a lovely dose of dizziness just to spice things up. But I’ve got to get my bearings. The room’s got that bland, sterile feel of an office, but it’s plonked right in the middle of some warehouse, all bare concrete and cold steel.

I push myself up, ignoring the merry-go-round in my head, and stagger over to the door. Locked, obviously, because why make my day easy? Dead bolted for that extra touch of ‘you’re not going anywhere.’

A quick search is next on the agenda. I’m tearing through desk drawers like a madwoman, half expecting to find a key waving at me with a sign that says ‘escape here.’ But luck’s not on my side—nothing. No key, no helpful tools, not even a paperclip for a makeshift lock-picking attempt.

Stuck in a kidnapper’s office décor nightmare, I’m trying to piece together my next move. My brain’s doing somersaults, trying to figure out if I can MacGyver my way out of here, but without anything useful in sight, options are looking slim.

My thoughts circle back to the shop, to Nicky, Ty, and even Howard the Great Dane with his monster poops. God, I’d give anything to be dealing with that mess instead of this.

Is this whole business about Ned’s loan? I thought Maksim had squared it away, said it was all forgiven. Was that just a line? A play to get me into bed after all? My mind races through the possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

Then, the sound of the door unlocking snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. Instinct kicks in, and I’m back in the chair. Whoever is coming in, I’m not taking any chances.

A man I’ve never seen is standing in the doorway, gazing at me. His expression is strange, and all I can think about are the serial killers I’ve seen documentaries about. I look around again for a weapon, but I see nothing.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask, my voice as steady as I can make it.

He ignores my questions and grabs my arm like we’re in some sort of action movie.

I pull away, my anger flaring. ‘Don’t touch me!’ I snap, my patience fraying at the edges.

‘Shut up,’ he hisses, his grip tightening as he pushes me toward the door and down the hallway. I’m screaming my head off, hoping a decent person might be somewhere in the building and hear me. It’s not doing me a damn bit of good, however – this place is so bleak and endless that I might as well be at the bottom of the ocean.

We reach another door and the man knocks.

“What is this?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

“Didn’t you hear me when I said shut up?”

Before our conversation can go on any further, the door opens. Inside the room, like some bad cliche, stand two thugs. I don’t know them from Adam, but it’s clear they’re not here to exchange pleasantries.

What in the world is going on? My brain’s trying to connect the dots, but it’s like trying to solve a puzzle in the dark. So many questions, zero answers, and here I am, being manhandled out of a room by some stranger.

I’m sizing up the duo who have apparently decided to crash my not-so-glamorous kidnapping. One has that youthful, I-think-I’m-tough vibe, probably clocks in somewhere in his thirties. He’s wearing gold rings on three of his fingers, and the top buttons of his shirt is undone to show off the ink on his chest. The flash of cockiness in his smile makes me instantly want to wipe it off his face. His eyes are hidden behind big, gaudy Dior sunglasses.

The other guy is older, a little plump, dressed in a dark suit, his silver hair slicked back, his face impassive. Not a doubt in my mind he’s the one in charge.

The other man walks back the way we came, leaving me with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, I can’t help but let out a snort. This whole situation would be hilarious if it weren’t so utterly messed up.

I look at the two men and decide to address the older man. My eyes fixed on him, I ask, “What’s going on here? Why am I here?” Neither man answers my questions, and I’m not sure what to do. So I wait in silence, hoping they’ll eventually tell me what’s going on.

The younger guy steps forward, all swagger, and introduces himself. ‘I’m Aleksey Morozov,’ he says, placing his fingertip on his chest, that smirk never leaving his lips. With a grand gesture like he’s presenting a prize on a game show, he points to the older man, ‘And this is Igor Morozov.’

Igor, for his part, might as well be a statue, offering me nothing but a silent, evaluating stare. But damn, if he doesn’t have that same Morozov vibe—like an older, grizzled version of Maksim. The pieces click into place, confirming my suspicion that I’ve somehow landed in the middle of a Russian mob drama.

Igor finally speaks, his voice deep and unforgiving. ‘You owe me one hundred thousand dollars.’

‘Maksim said he cleared the debt.’

Aleksey’s quick to jump in, his cocky smile turning into a smirk. ‘Maksim is not in a position to make that decision.‘

Aleksey’s looking at me like I’m the next item on his to-do list, and Igor—well, he’s just staring, probably trying to intimidate me into submission.

‘Look, I don’t know what kind of business you think this is, but it has nothing to do with me. Ned borrowed that money, not me. And for the record, Maksim assured me we were square.’ I cross my arms, doing my best to project confidence I don’t feel. I don’t have the money, I can’t pay them, so I’m not sure what to do here.

Aleksey glances at Igor, speaking in Russian I don’t understand. Igor remains impassive.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Just commenting on your little arrangement with Maksim,” Aleksey says. “You two came to a nice agreement, yes?”

“What the hell are you implying?”

“You’re a smart woman, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“You fu-”

Igor raises his hand, silencing us both with his obvious authority. “Enough.” The word drops like a lead ball onto the ground.

Standing there, trying to muster all the toughness I possess, a tiny crack forms in my armor. The thought of Maksim playing me, using lies to get me into bed, slices right through me. I’m boiling with anger—at him, at myself for getting swept up in his world, his charm. How could I have been so naive?

‘I’m telling you, I don’t have it,’ I repeat, my voice steady, though it’s a struggle to keep it from wavering.

Igor, with all the warmth of a Siberian winter, drops another bombshell on me. ‘If you sold your shop, you could settle your debt.’

The very idea has me reeling. ‘Not happening,’ I shoot back, trying to sound more defiant than desperate.

But Aleksey isn’t having any of it. He leans in, his threat thinly veiled. ‘You might not have a choice. It’d be a shame if something happened to your shop. Insurance could take care of your problem too.’

My heart’s hammering against my chest. Fear, raw and unyielding, takes hold. They’re cornering me, ready to rip away everything I’ve worked for. My shop, my sanctuary, could be reduced to ashes just to satisfy their greed.

The reality of my situation crashes over me—I’m out of my depth here, facing a tidal wave ready to sweep away my entire life.

Panic knots in my stomach. What am I supposed to do against the might of the Morozovs? They’re not just going to go away, and I can’t conjure up the money they demand. They’re ready to destroy everything to get what they want, and I’m powerless to stop them.

Just as despair threatens to drown me, the door slams open with the force of a storm. Maksim strides in, fury etched in every line of his body, a bag clenched in his fist. The air shifts, charged with his anger, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

My heart’s caught between hope and fear, not knowing what his next move will be.