Dimitri jerked his clothes on. “Friendlies?”
Elena dropped onto her back on the bed. “That’s probably Royce. I called him last night.”
“You did what?” Dimitri spun to face her, wearing only his hip-hugging blue jeans. She didn’t want him to be upset—she wanted him to come back to bed, even though it wasn’t possible now.
“When you left last night, we called him. We need backup if we’re going to get out of this. I’m not going to let us fight Vladimir alone.” She didn’t want anyone to die needlessly, and they needed backup. She’d planned on telling Dimitri today, but she didn’t know Royce would drop everything and fly here overnight.
“There is no us, Elena. You and I will wait for them to know where you are, and then we’ll leave—that’s it.” Dimitri’s eyes were stormy, and Elena knew they were headed for a fight, but she wasn’t about to back down.
“Yes, there is an us. Your friends will be outnumbered. I wasn’t going to run and leave them to die, and you don’t want to either. I’m not letting you make me the reason they die.”
“So you will risk others who have no reason to fight for this?”
She glared at him, stark naked. “No reason? They have every reason. I’m tired of bullies running the world, and so are they. You want me to be a symbol that people can rally around? Being a symbol is more than just showing up and looking pretty for the press. If I am a Romanov, that has to mean something, or else it means nothing. It stops now. It stops with me. Royce and his friends agree with me. This is something they want to do. The Kremlin doesn’t have the right to erase any history, especially mine. If they want to kill me, I will make it hard as hell for them.”
Dimitri stared at her for a long moment. “Get dressed. We will continue this discussion later.” He grabbed his boots and shirt and stalked out of the room.
“No, we won’t,” Elena muttered to herself.
She took a hasty shower and dried her hair before heading to the great room. The front door was open, and a group of men now lingered at the entrance. Cold winter air blew in with swirls of snow behind them as they all crowded close together, talking as they carried bags inside.
Elena spotted Royce among them. He and Dimitri were speaking, and the look on Royce’s usually charming face was hard as stone. A man with dark-red hair was speaking with Leo, who nodded at whatever he was saying. Another man, this one in his late forties with gray hair streaking his temples, was shaking Maxim’s hand while he spoke. She recognized him as one of Royce’s men from Mongolia. Hans Brummer, Royce’s friend and occasional bodyguard.
Another pair of men who were nearly identical in features were lugging massive black cases inside the house. The only difference she could see between the two was that one had slightly longer blond hair and wore cowboy boots. Elena assumed the cases were filled with weapons.
She’d told Royce to come prepared, and he’d assured her he would bring an arsenal.
“It’s like a convention of badasses, isn’t it?” someone said from behind her. She jumped and turned to see a man close to her age watching the scene unfold. He grinned, hazel eyes glinting with mischief. His shaggy sandy-colored hair made her think of the young men she’d glimpsed in the distance in LA as they carried surfboards toward the beach.
“Yeah, it’s kind of scary,” she agreed.
“I’m Cody Larson.” He held out a hand. “You must be Elena.”
She shook it, noting the jagged white scars on the back of his hand.
“Sorry.” He pulled his hand away and tugged the sleeve of his sweater down over the scars. “Some asshole with a metal mallet decided to play whack-a-mole with my hand.”
Elena’s stomach clenched with sympathetic pain. “What happened?”
“Long story. I’d need half a bottle of tequila before I tell that one.” Despite his playful smile, his eyes were filled with pain. “I hear you’ve had shit of your own to deal with.”
Elena nodded, feeling insanely self-conscious. It was one thing for Dimitri and Royce to know the details, but these new men were strangers.
“Who . . . who is everyone else?” she asked Cody in a whisper. “I only know Royce and Hans.” Even though he was just as devastatingly handsome as these other men, he was far less intimidating.
“The blond guy in the black boots, that’s the boss man, Emery Lockwood. He runs Lockwood Industries in New York. The man next to him in the cowboy boots is his twin brother, Fenn. He runs a ranch here in Colorado. They’ve been through some serious shit too.”
“Wait . . . you mean those are the Lockwood twins?” She’d grown up hearing about the infamous kidnapping that had happened twenty-five years ago, before she was born.
“That’s them.” Cody’s face was grim. “And the older man, you know him, Hans Brummer.”
“Yes, I met him in Mongolia.”
Cody suddenly grinned. “That’s right. I was the one who messed with the digital billboards and had them flash in Morse code while you guys escaped.”
A memory of that day, of being trapped in the car, of it crashing and her escaping from Vadym and his men, flashed across her mind. Cody’s message had helped warn Royce that the traffic lights were being tampered with, giving them the chance they needed to reach the embassy. She threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight, her eyes closed as she fought off sudden tears.
“Wow . . . Yeah . . . Hey.” Cody patted her back awkwardly until she released him.
“I’m sorry.” She wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t know you were the one who did that. You saved us all. Thank you.”
Red stained Cody’s cheeks, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He tried to play it off. “It’s cool. Just all part of the job. So . . . right . . . the guy with the red hair, that’s Wes Thorne. He’s a
