Page 37 of Twisted Little Game

“Did you grow up in the States?”

He turns the key in the ignition and the car’s engine roars to life. There’s some sort of metal playing over the speakers, but the music is turned down low.

“Yes. Mostly grew up in America.”

“I like your accent, when it comes out.”

“You like my tattoos, my car, my accent. My size.”

“Never said I liked your size.”

“Mm. But you do.”

He grips the wheel as he reverses the car, looking at the rearview mirror.

Christ, he’s so fucking hot.

The muscles of his forearm are prominent beneath the dark lines of his tattoos. Most of them are abstract, just looping lines or patterns on his skin, but I can make out a few small birds, a coin, and a date written in numerals.

He pulls out onto the road, gripping the steering wheel harder, but he says nothing as he eases the car onto the cobbled street that leads out of campus.

Soon we’re surrounded by dense trees, the light filtering down from overhead in mottled shadows.

“I was in Russia until I was five,” he says. “Then my family moved over here. All of my family speaks Russian with me, and I still default to it. That’s why I sometimes have a little accent. I don’t really hear it, but others do.”

Damn.

Progress.

For Roman Petrov, telling me that much information at once feels like he’s suddenly showering me with details.

I look closely at his hands under the passing shadows, and I notice scars along many of his fingers. A couple of them have tattoos inked over them that only accentuate the raised skin of the scarring. He makes a left turn and his thick torso turns a little with the movement.

Why does he have so many scars?

As the car drives deeper into the forested roads, a new, cold fear slides down my spine, hitting me all at once.

It occurs to me that I haven’t actually spoken with my brother since I got to campus.

I was too angry at first, and then… I got busy.

I just took Roman’s word that he was hired to protect me. For all I know, he could have been lying.

He could be kidnapping me as we speak.

His eyes are narrowed as he looks out onto the road ahead. A calculated stare. We drive further onto a road in the middle of a forest that I’ve never been on before.

I don’t know where I am…

And I don’t know him.

I shift on the leather seat, suddenly aware of how fast the car is going down a winding road with no stoplights. I couldn’t open the door and just hop out. I trusted what Roman said blindly.

Maybe I am as naive as people think I am.

I slide out my phone to text my brother.

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