Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,17

distance between Pavel and his men.”

“Good. I’ll try to lose them now.” He sped us up, jumped in front of a diesel truck, slid our car across two lanes, and then sped us off the exit.

“Damn. I should’ve wore my seatbelt.” I checked the back glass. “They’re still on the highway.”

Being chased was nothing like in the movies. The sexy actors commanded high end cars heroically, taking on crazy stunts to get away from the bad guy. Reality was far removed from the cinematic version. One simply had to drive fast, keep their eyes on the road, and do their best not to piss themselves.

I checked the back again. “Hell yes. I don’t see them now.”

Marijuana smoke clouded the vehicle’s space.

I turned back around and put my seatbelt on. “Max, open your window please. Do you think it’s a good idea to hotbox the driver as he rushes us away?”

“My bad.” He rolled down the window.

I checked my phone.

Kaz had not called.

Worry hit me, but I pushed it aside.

We’re over. He won’t stop the war.

I did a search of Paris to see if Kaz had done more bombings. Footage showed the horrific destruction of the mall explosion. Firefighters had drenched the massive hole with water. Although many people stood around, the area was silent. It appeared the whole city was stunned and quiet. The country had gone into shock, like a limb briefly paralyzed after a massive bruising blow. The plaza was the epicenter for many and now it was gone. It was only a large black hole.

Kaz had brought down horror on Paris.

But so far, he hasn’t brought more bombs.

I checked the number of injured and dead. Surprisingly, Kaz had been right. No one died in the explosion, but there were thirty that had been injured so far and in the hospital. Living is better than dead.

My phone vibrated.

I checked the screen.

It read unknown.

Is that Kaz? Who else could it be?

I answered, “Hello?”

A man’s voice filled the line. A French accent dotted his words. “You fought for my safety. Thank you.”

I furrowed my brows. “Jean-Pierre?”

“Are you happy that I didn’t die in the bomb?”

I thought about what he said, when I first picked up. “Wait. You’re watching us?”

“I am.”

“He won’t be happy that you have cameras in our home.”

“Is it your home still?”

I tightened my grip on the phone. “I would focus on staying safe, instead of stalking me.”

“Friends stalk friends, Emily. Clearly you’re not used to a strong friendship. I have people following you now. They say that the airlines wouldn’t allow you to buy a ticket.”

I looked out the back window and still didn’t see Pavel or his men. “Coincidentally, they were closed.”

“Of course they were. You could have told me about the bombs. I thought we were friends.”

I stared out the window on my side, watching the other cars pass by. “I was pregnant, Jean-Pierre.”

Silence hit the line.

And then he broke the quiet. “Was?”

“I miscarried this morning.”

Jean-Pierre’s voice cracked. “Did I. . .did I do it? Emily, Jesus. . .did I—”

“No. I don’t blame you.”

“But the lion does?”

“Yes.”

All humor left Jean-Pierre’s tone. “That’s fine. I can understand why he would want to kill me.”

“Good. Because there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But I watched the footage in his war room. You made a good point with him in your argument. France should not have to suffer. Now I understand more about the argument. In some place I was confused.”

“Stop watching us. Get those goddamn cameras out of the house.”

“I have an offer for you.”

“What offer?”

“A plane will arrive in five hours. My people will meet you at the airport. Many men. You will be safe.”

I imagined the French coming to get me. And then I considered all the nukes and bombs exploding all around us. “I don’t need help, Jean-Pierre. In fact, that would make things worse.”

“Are you sure? I’ve heard all paths outside of Moscow are locked down. Highways, small roads. He has them blocked with military or police. Apparently, no one has ever told the lion about the power of a simple card and flowers.”

“Bye, Jean-Pierre.”

“Mouse.”

I stiffened. “What?”

“I am very sorry for your loss. If you need me, I am here. I don’t know what you’re going to do or where you are going, but I am here for you.”

“Thank you, Jean-Pierre, but you should focus on saving yourself.” I turned the phone off.

Max veered my way and blew out smoke. “Please, tell me that wasn’t the French guy.”

“It was.”

“Motherfucker, just trying to die