Saving the Russian Enforcer: Sokolov Brothers Book Three Page 4
It was a candid photo of Viktor Sokolov, the current head of the Sokolov family, along with several people she didn’t recognize, and Maya’s own sister, Elena.
It made no sense. Elena was loyal to their father, but she looked happy in the photograph, her eyes set dreamily on a man Maya couldn’t identify.
What in the world was happening?
Disturbed by what she’d discovered, Maya dug deeper. She scrolled through a few more pages of results, until…
Nikolai.
Maya stared at the image on her screen. There was no denying it was him. In the image, he had the same buzzed blond hair which was so light in color that it almost looked transparent. He had the same piercing eyes and the same unforgiving expression on his face—the one she’d seen earlier that evening. Fearing the worst, she tapped on the image to bring up more info. The picture linked to the public records of one Konstantin Sokolov, who’d been arrested for a vague traffic violation. The rest of his records had been scrubbed clean, so far as she could tell.
Sick to her stomach, she returned to the search bar and refined her terms. Konstantin Sokolov brought up multiple images of the man staying in her living room, as well as a few new pieces of information about him. According to the summaries she read, Konstantin Sokolov went by the name Kostya, and he was the Mad Dog of the Sokolov family—the one who broke bones, sliced open skin, and ended lives.
Maya exhaled slowly through her nose. She dropped her tablet onto her chest, unable to bring herself to keep reading.
The Sokolovs were enemies. Kostya should have killed her on sight. Instead, he’d sworn to protect her.
What was going on?
If Kostya really didn’t remember who he was, then she was in for a whole world of hurt if he suddenly regained his memory overnight… but Maya didn’t get the feeling that he’d forgotten, now that she truly thought about it. The cruelty in his tone when he didn’t get his way, the knowing glint in his eyes, and his incredible resolve in the face of danger led her to believe that Kostya knew exactly who he was. There was only so much muscle memory could account for, after all.
Perhaps the answer to his protectiveness was that she’d saved him, and even if she was a Popov, that meant that he was indebted to her. Although he was cold, ruthless, and shut-off, the way he acted toward Maya wasn’t in line with the actions of a man who wanted her dead.
Or maybe he knew that she’d defected from the Popovs and gone to live in London on her own all those years ago, hoping to disappear from beneath her father’s watchful eye. An enemy of her father’s was a friend to her, too, and although she didn’t wish her father dead, she felt like she was safer with a Sokolov in the house than she would have felt with a man who’d sworn his loyalty to the Popovs.
For now, she would leave it be. Even though Kostya was a Sokolov, she would see where this went. He was different than her father. He had compassion. She’s seen it when he’d let Michael go free, and she’d seen it again when he’d insisted on staying so he could protect her. A niggling part of her whispered that she was only thinking of him in this way because she found him attractive, but Maya refused to subscribe to that notion.
She’d saved his life and changed his heart with her kindness. He wasn’t the cruel man her father was. He couldn’t be.
Maya turned off her tablet, rolled herself up in her blankets, and tried to push thoughts of Kostya out of her mind. Tomorrow morning would bring her answers. Either she’d wake up and be one step closer to solving the mystery of Kostya Sokolov, or she wouldn’t wake up at all. She already had a feeling which it was going to be, however. Her gut instinct never lied.
8
KOSTYA
Morning came. Kostya woke from a light sleep when an ambulance passed by, its siren blaring. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched to work the kinks out of his back. He’d fallen asleep in an upright position, and his back ached for it. To make matters worse, his head felt like it was about to split open. He’d have to wait until he was back in Boston to have it looked at—he couldn’t risk having his identity discovered. If Viktor had to pull strings to get him out of an international arrest, he’d be in deep shit.
From where he was, he could hear that the shower was running. Maya had to be up and ready to start her day. He slouched back onto the couch and stifled a yawn. This morning, Kostya’s only objective was to get Maya to work. After he did, he could spend the rest of the day attempting to figure out what had made him come to London in the first place. There had to be a reason. All he had to do was remember it.
A short while later, the shower stopped. There was movement in the bathroom, then bare footsteps down the hall. The bedroom door closed, there was more movement, and then Maya emerged, dressed and ready for her day. Her hair was dry, pushed up at all angles in a way that looked charmingly windswept. She’d traded yesterday’s casual clothing for a simple shirt, black slacks, and a jacket.
“Good morning.” Maya leaned against the door frame. “Did you make yourself breakfast?”
“No.”
“How do you feel about eggs and toast?”
Kostya looked her over, keeping the suspicion from his face. Although she spoke cheerfully, fear lurked behind her words. Had something happened overnight? He trusted himself enough that he felt sure he would have woken at the slightest disturbance, even after the hit to the head he’d taken, but something had to have escaped his attention if she was so frightened now. Rather than ask about it, however, he nodded. “Eggs and toast would be fine.”
“Then I’ll get started on them right away.” Maya headed for the kitchen, leaving him to contemplate what had just happened. There was something strange going on, and he wasn’t sure what it was. With any luck, the pieces would fall into place quickly. He couldn’t be gone from the Sokolov mansion for too long—Viktor needed him for enforcement, and Kostya wouldn’t let him down.
“You know,” Maya called from the kitchen as a pan clattered on the stove. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a house guest. You wouldn’t think it rude if I put on music, would you?”
“No.” In fact, it intrigued him. Music wasn’t a part of his daily routine, and while his head pounded from the aftermath of the attack, he couldn’t get over the image now spun in his mind of Maya lip-syncing to old songs, swinging her hips and bobbing her head to the music as she wielded a spatula.
“It’s just something I like to do in the morning. When I was younger and still living with my family, I never could. My sister hated it, and she’d make such a big fuss that it really wasn’t worth the fight. You’d think that she was the younger sister, acting like that.” Maya laughed, and Kostya imagined that same bubbly sound accompanied by pop music as she danced without inhibition in the kitchen, in love with life and overjoyed by the splendor of the morning. “Now that I’m on my own, I do what I want. I’m glad to have left. Sometimes, family isn’t everything it makes itself out to be.”
Kostya’s lips parted in a moment of clarity. Younger sister. The memories came rushing back.
He’d come to London to find the youngest Popov sister. Anatoly Popov, the man who’d killed his father, was in hiding, and with Elena Popov under Viktor’s watchful eye, Kostya couldn’t hope to use her as bait to lure Anatoly out of hiding. When Viktor had given Elena his forgiveness, Kostya had been so enraged that he’d left the compound to head to the airport, where he’d caught the next plane to London.
London, where Maya Popov lived.
He’d been on his way to her flat, intending to kidnap her, when he’d been ambushed and beaten.
Kostya looked toward the kitchen doorway. Maya was playing music loudly, and he thought he heard her singing along. She’d introduced herself as Maya Orlov, and without his memories, he’d seen nothing wrong with the name. Now he knew better. The pictures he’d seen of her were different than what she looked like now, but there was no denying that the shape of her face was the same. The same slender nose, the same full lips, the same wide
eyes… in the photos, she’d had waist-length chestnut hair, and her short hairstyle now had been enough to throw him off and avoid jogging his memory.
He scrubbed his face with a hand, then stood. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and it urged him to move, to fight, to do something other than sit there. He was in the home of the enemy, had even slept in hostile territory, and he may very well have risked his life by pledging his allegiance to her. If Viktor found out…
Viktor couldn’t know. None of the Sokolovs could know. Kostya had already gone rogue by flying to London without higher orders—he wouldn’t land himself in any more trouble than he was already in.
“How do you like your eggs?” Maya called from the kitchen. “Do you want to say ‘screw it,’ and I’ll just scramble all of them? Might be easier that way.”
Kostya’s heart raced. Not only was he in enemy territory, but the enemy was making him breakfast. He’d heard the fear in her voice that morning, despite the fact that he was sure nothing had happened overnight. Had she discovered his identity? If she knew he was a Sokolov, her fear would be justifiable.
“Scrambled is fine,” Kostya replied loudly. He locked down on the thoughts racing through his mind and focused on what options he had. There weren’t many. He could either see his plan through, kidnapping Maya and using her as bait to lure Anatoly out of hiding, or he could return home with his tail tucked between his legs and craft an elaborate story for Viktor, who was sure to ask where he’d gone, and why he’d had to access to Sokolov accounts from outside the country.
Kostya let out a slow breath through his nose. He’d only been with Maya for a brief time, but he felt he’d gotten a glimpse into her character. She was cheerful, helpful, and full of life. As far as he could tell, she’d separated herself from the chaos that was the Popov family and attempted to start fresh in another corner of the world.
She’d also saved his life.
Perhaps he couldn’t stop whoever had terrorized her on the phone, but he could do her another kindness—he could leave her alone and forget she existed. Whether she was guilty or innocent, he found he didn’t care. Maya had shown him compassion when he’d needed it the most. That wasn’t what an enemy did. If she’d wanted him dead, she could have done it while he’d been weak and helpless.
After breakfast was over and he’d seen her to work, he would abandon his mission and return to Boston. It had been wrong to act on his own, anyway. Viktor would make sure justice would come to Anatoly Popov, and Kostya would be by his side when he wrought it. Maya would be spared. Kostya would make sure of it.
9
MAYA
Maya glanced through her office window into the lobby of New Beginnings. Every time the door opened, she expected to see Kostya standing there, having returned in order to collect her and take her as his hostage. After her father’s call the night before, all of it seemed too coincidental to be anything but a set-up. Worry had muddied her mind all day, and she couldn’t stay focused on her paperwork. There were deadlines she had to meet, but none of them were as important as understanding what kind of nightmare she was being dragged into.
She’d left the United States to get away from messes like these. How was it that she’d been dragged back into the middle of the chaos?
By the time Maya was hungry enough to eat lunch, she’d given up on getting much work done. After everything that had happened, her mind was too scattered to do much good in the office. What she needed was some comfort, and she planned to find it in the little imports shop down the street. The stolichnye they carried there never failed to lift her mood.
Maya let Kristen, the girl working the front desk of New Beginnings, know that she was going, then headed out the door and down the street, destined for the import shop. It was nearing two in the afternoon, and traffic was almost non-existent. Very few other people walked the streets. Alone, Maya was finally able to take a moment to herself and shed the worry she’d been carrying all day. She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, then slid her hands into her pockets and let go of her apprehension as best she could. Worry would do her no good. Kostya either didn’t know who she was, or he wasn’t in London to harm her. Her father, on the other hand…
Maya came to the end of the block and turned the corner. A bus had just arrived, and a few passengers disembarked from it as she passed. She continued toward her own destination, unconcerned with her surroundings now that she was focused on her family.
If her father was in London, it was bad news, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t deal with. All she had to do was keep a low profile and make sure she kept herself separated from him. If he approached her, she needed to be ready to let him down gently and tell him that she had no interest in coming back. It was as easy as that.
Maya came to the end of the street. The shop was only a few buildings away. Just a little farther and—
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The same feeling she’d had when she’d met Kostya was back in full force, but this time it was daylight, and she was able to see what was going on behind her when she glanced backward.
Half a block away, on the same side of the street as her, two men had come to a stop. She was certain that she’d seen them get off the bus at the corner when she’d passed by, and while they had every right to walk down whatever street they pleased, there was a sinister undertone to the fact that they’d stopped when she, herself, had just come to a stop. Were they following her?
Suddenly, heading for the import shop didn’t seem like such a good idea after all. If she trapped herself inside a building and those men were following her, she’d be at their mercy. With only one way out, they could wait for her at the door, then do whatever it was they wanted to do with her. Especially with how uncrowded these streets were.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Pulse racing, Maya crossed the street once she was sure the way was clear and hurried beyond the import shop. There wasn’t traffic to keep the men on the other side of the street, and when she looked over her shoulder at the next corner, she saw that they were on her tail again. She hurried across the street ahead of her, hoping they’d be delayed by oncoming traffic despite the quiet streets. There was still half a block between them. If incoming cars blocked their way forward, and if she walked quickly enough, she could duck down some streets and lose them.
At least, she hoped she could. If they were the same men who’d been following her last night when she’d run into Kostya, that meant that they knew where she worked, and that they’d been watching her. Even if she escaped now, there was no guarantee that she would escape forever… but for now would have to do. She couldn’t stop fighting for her freedom. She’d been separated from her family for too long to go back to them now.
Maya darted down the next street and broke out into a run. She flew around the next corner she reached, sprinting as fast as she could, and then cut across the street to put more distance between herself and her pursuers. A motorist leaned on their horn as they drove past, and although the noise startled her, she didn’t let it stop her. Instead, she checked over her shoulder to see if she was still being followed as she ducked down the nearest alley.
What she wasn’t expecting was a set of arms snagging her from ahead.
Maya shouted and struggled, pushing against the man who held her. Her purse made her movements cumbersome and limited some of her action, but still, she fought. Elbows flying, fists beating against her captor’s chest, she did everything she could to get free, her eyes darting back to the street to see if anyone might be there to help her.
“Stop,” a cold, familiar voice demanded.
Kostya.
Maya blinked and looked up at him, confused and startled. Were the men who’d been following her working for the Sokolovs? They’d chased her right into Kostya’s arms.
“You need to be quiet,” Kostya told her. He continued to hold her close, his eyes holding hers captive, never letting her go. “Do you understand?”
“You won’t tell me to do anything!” Maya shouted. She tugged away from him and tried to slam her elbow into Kostya’s chest, but he caught her by the arm before she could do it. His hand squeezed at her wrist until it smarted. “You don’t frighten me,” she insisted. “Not for a second. My real name is Maya Popov, and my father will skin you alive if you hurt me. So call your men off and let me go, or I will see to it that you’re dead before the end of the day.”
10
KOSTYA
“You think those are my men?” Kostya demanded. He held her by the arm and refused to let her go. If she ran, there would only be more trouble for him, and right now, he needed to make the most of a bad situation. “I have no men. I am the man that is sent when something needs to be done, Maya. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Maya’s gaze sharpened. She tried to jerk away from him again, but Kostya was stronger than she could ever be, and he held her in place. He hadn’t wanted to cross paths with her again, but when his quest for a fake passport had taken him back by the homeless shelter, he’d known that he couldn’t help himself. He had to check in to make sure that everything was okay. He’d watched as two men—Popov’s watchdogs, by the looks of them—had scoped out the same building he was watching, waiting for her. After that, Kostya had known that he couldn’t simply leave. Maya was the enemy, but according to his research, she’d been living independently from the family for several years. She was as good as a defector. And if Popov had men staking out her place of employment…
Kostya couldn’t let her suffer. She’d made his heart too soft, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her coming to harm. When he was sure she was safe, he’d retreat back to the United States and do his best to forget that he’d ever come to London and met a woman like her. She was too sweet for him—too innocent.