Page 206 of Sexting His Assistant

“Move again,” I say, “and I break it.”

He stops moving.

Sergei comes back from the bedroom. “Clear.”

“Secure him,” I say.

Sergei crosses the room, pulls zip ties from his jacket, and takes over with the calm efficiency of a man who knows better than to ask questions while I’m looking at Nina.

I go to her.

I kneel too quickly and my shoulder burns, but it barely reaches me. I touch her throat first because I can’t bear to touch her face before I know.

Her pulse is there.

I breathe for the first time since I saw her. “Nina.”

She doesn’t respond.

I brush the hair away from her face carefully. There’s swelling near the back of her head, and when I slide my hand beneath her hair, my fingers come away with blood. Not much, but enough to make my stomach turn cold.

“Nina,” I say again, lower this time, as if my voice can pull her back.

Nothing.

Sergei says, “Ambulance?”

“No,” I say. “Car. We’ll be faster.”

He nods before dragging the attacker fully onto his stomach, checks the zip ties, and speaks into his phone while moving toward the door. I hear him order two men upstairs and another to keep the lobby clear.

I don’t look away from Nina.

Her phone is on the floor near her hand. The screen is cracked but still glowing faintly. Our messages are there.

Elevator. Relax.

Unlikely.

The sight of it almost finishes me.

I slide one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. I’m careful with her head, careful with her neck, careful with everything except myself. The wound in my shoulder pulls when I lift her, and for a moment the pain is so bright I nearly lose my balance.

I hold her tighter.

Her head rests against my chest, her hair against my jaw.

She’s too fucking limp.

That’s the part I cannot stand. Nina should never be this quiet in my arms.

One of my men reaches the door as I step into the hallway.

“Take him,” I say. “Alive. No one touches him till I get there.”

The man nods and moves inside.

The elevator ride down feels endless.