“He blames her for all of the trouble she caused and the way she almost got me killed, and she blames him for dragging me into the middle of his connections and getting me kidnapped.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah.” I opened my purse and started to dig around for my key fob. “Ivan has promised he’ll do his best not to respond when she tries to pick fights, and she’s promised she won’t poke the bear, so to speak.”
“How long do you think those promises will last?”
“Ivan has never broken a promise to me, but Ruby has broken so many I’ve lost count.” Annoyed that my post-workout bliss had been crushed by thoughts of my sister and husband at each other’s throats, I searched through my purse for my key fob. “But I’m committed to giving her a second chance. I’m going to wipe the slate clean and try to remember that she’s starting over after a traumatic experience.”
“She may surprise you,” Zoya suggested. “She may have changed for good this time. Some people do after hitting rock bottom.”
“I hope so.” I finally found my keys at the bottom of my too big and overstuffed leather tote. I glanced up to ask Zoya if she wanted to meet for lunch later in the week and immediately noticed the two men in black ski masks striding toward us. “Zoya! Move!”
I snatched her by the arm before she even registered my instruction and jerked her away from the men now running toward us. Still holding onto her arm, I turned to run toward the studio—and slammed right into the chest of a larger man in a similar mask. I froze as the flashbacks of my kidnapping stampeded through my brain. It was just long enough for the other two men to catch up with us.
A man grabbed me from behind, but the grappling lessons Ivan had given me since my kidnapping kicked in on autopilot. I tucked my chin, preventing him from pressing his forearm into my throat, and stepped to the side. He tried to drag me in tighter, but I grabbed onto his wrist with my right hand and scratched down his arm. I balled up my left fist and swung backward as hard as I could, slamming into his groin twice.
“Bitch!” he snarled, leaning forward in pain. I remembered exactly what Ivan had taught me and threw my elbow up into my assailant’s face. He cried out in pain and stumbled away from me.
“Zoya!” I yelled her name as I watched her trying to fight off both of her attackers. Feeling emboldened after putting down one man, I launched myself at the attacker on her right, hopping onto his back and punching him in the neck and side of his face. He shouted and tried to fling me off his back, jerking wildly left and right while reaching back to slap at my hands and face. He made one good connection, smacking his knuckles into my cheek just below my eye, and knocked me loose.
With a loud oof, I hit the pavement hard. I reached up to touch my throbbing face and felt blood. He had already gone back to trying to drag Zoya away with his friend. Furious that he had managed to hurt me, I scrambled to my feet, snatching up my dropped purse, and swung it with every ounce of power I could muster. It whacked him on the head, and he dropped like a sack of rocks. For once, my overfilled tote had come in handy.
I ran at the man trying to wrestle Zoya to the ground and kicked him between his legs, hooking the toe of my sneakers into his most vulnerable spot. He made a sound like nothing I had ever heard, a mix of a cry and a scream, and crumpled. Zoya scrambled away from him and toward me.
But my triumphant rush of adrenaline was short-lived.
There was no mistaking the cold bite of steel on the back of my neck. The man I had fought off first had regained his footing and now pressed a gun into my skin with so much pressure I winced. I didn’t dare try to escape, not with a loaded pistol that close to my brain.
When he pushed me against the door of my car, I didn’t fight him. He pressed his body against mine, thrusting his groin against my bottom in a way that made my stomach lurch. Zoya was shoved next to me, and we exchanged panic