Chapter 42

**Hadassah POV**

Jostled slightly from side to side, I stir awake. A sudden jolt—my eyes fly open.

A deluge of nausea overtakes me in an instant. My head is both too heavy and too light and all my senses are hopelessly scrambled, rendering my entire body inoperable. I blink fast, clearing my vision, warding off the blurry haze. I try to sit up, but pain is quick to reprimand me.

"Easy." The voice sounds so distant. "Easy there."

I gradually gain situational awareness. I'm in the backseat of a Range Rover and Torin is in the driver's seat, throwing his head back frequently to check on me. Consciousness tries to elude me but I cling to it for as long as I can.

"You were on a heavy dose of morphine, take it easy."

He jerks to the side, making a sharp turn. I slide across the seat, pressed against the door.

He meets my haggard gaze in the rear-view mirror. Frenzy glinting in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but we have to get out of here—out of the country."

Inescapable exhaustion cleaves to every bit of me, draining each ounce of life I had.

Black envelops my world in one swallow.

When I wake up again, the car comes to a jarring halt. Torin explodes out, rounding the car to open the backseat door, letting me out. I stifle a groan, clutching my stomach as I shuffle out, my feet meeting with the asphalt. Torin closes the door behind me. Still disorientated, my eyes skim over the executive airport, the hangar bay doors still wide open. I turn around to see a midnight-black private plane near the runway with a flight attendant standing in the doorway.

"Let's go."

I try to take one step forward. I sink to the ground. Torin catches me in time.

My arm wraps around his neck and he lifts me up into his arms, hurrying to the plane.

My head rests against his shoulder. Sleep slinks out like a bandit.

"Stop trying to stay awake," he says with a listless smile, glancing down at me. "I got you. You're safe now."

***

I'm really tired of getting knocked out.

I heave myself upright. Grateful for feeling much better than before.

The pain subsided to faraway twinges, constant but bearable.

I take in the sublime master suite of muted yellow and beige tones, still unable to familiarise myself with this standard of living in astounding extravagance. I clamber out of the luxurious linen, still wearing a hospital-like gown. The floors are softened by furry velvet carpets. I reach for the wall for stability, using it to guide myself out of the room. I drag myself down the carpeted hallway that eventually opens up to an opulent space.

The sequence of windows exhibits one thing; clouds.

Torin walks out of another door adjacent from me, interspaced by the integrated plasma TV stand.

"You're awake." His dark hair is flecked with droplets of water like he had just come out of a shower.

"And we're in a plane..."

And it's huge. The super-prime interior of the plane is outfitted in black carbon fibre, which is complemented by light wood veneer and deep leather seating. The dispersed deluxe furniture creates bespoke divisions with light colour schemes. It's no different from a five-star lounge it's just up in the air.

Pain needles into me again. My hand finds my stomach.

"Here."

He comes to me, steering me to an individual unit. I seat myself down on the cushioned armchair.

"Hadassah." My name is burdened by the weight of his worry. "What happened between you and Orian?"

I never saw it coming. The flashback memory wrings out a cry from me, choking my core until it all comes out. I muffle my mouth with my hand, tears gush out of my eyes in an uncontrollable deluge. My recollections are scarred by those eyes of depthless pits that were filled with something unspeakable. The memories mar my fragile calm and now I can feel him all over me again. His hands. His lips. *All of him.*

"Hadassah?"

He lowers himself to place a delicate hand on my knee. I nearly scream, shrinking into myself, cradling my legs to my chest, burrowed into the seat like a frightened little girl. Fear tormenting me. A gut-twisting dread that claims my power and leaves me devastatingly helpless. It was Sidorov all over again just a thousand times worse and I thought nothing could be worse than that. He proved me wrong.

He stands up. "I can g—."

The door to the cockpit opens. A twine-thin attendant in a beige and white uniform struts out. "Mr Moon, do you—"

"Get the fuck out."

Her smile slips off her face and she retreats. We're alone again.

He moves to leave, but I catch his wrist. Surprising both of us.

I can't say anything, but I don't have to. I return my hand to my knee.

Instead of taking the closest seat. Torin settles down on the plush floor right at the foot of the chair.

"I'm not going anywhere."

***

Since the daring escape from Fort Knox, it didn't exactly give us time to pack. And the only clothes on board are all his. So after a shower I change into baggy grey sweatpants and an oversized black tee.

I go back to the living area. I occupy the same armchair. Torin sits on a contemporary couch opposite me, dressed in an all-white cotton loungewear. He's tilted forward with his elbows on his thighs, examining the journal.

"What a shame," he begins pensively. "A promising analyst that was capable of decoding the rest of this is still at the manor. But at least I have the information I need. That's good enough, for now."

"What's going to happen?" I ask, my voice raspy, barely recognizable, eroded by long-lingering pain.

Torin looks up, failing to suppress his simple. "She speaks."

I continue to stare back at him wordlessly.

"What's going to happen?" He closes the journal and chucks it beside him. "Chaos. Orian will try to freeze me out of... every account I know about. Which doesn't bother me because I have my own money and I have a guard of men that are loyal to me. My first priority is your safety. We need to get you a fake passport and an alias so we can leave the country."

My mind is seconds from imploding.

"Trust me, it's necessary. I have safe houses all around the world that he doesn't know about. If it makes you feel better, you can pick a place before we have to hightail to Greece."

I rewind back. "Safehouses that he doesn't know about? Why would you do that?"

He looks at me as if I had just crossed a line. Then his eyes soften with compassion, attempting a smile that appears broken. "Because I've been planning this for a long time, before even you. I've been working against my brother to put an animal like him in a cage where he belongs."

"Working with who?"

"Doesn't matter." Brusque. "The thing you need to understand about him is that he's not just a 'crime boss', as the ignorant would call it. Orian is a Kumichō. The Yakuza syndicate is headed by an Oyabun or Kumichō, who gives orders to his subordinates, the kobun. In this respect, the Yakuza has a complex organizational structure model. The second in the chain of command is the wakagashira, who governs several gangs in a region. The regional gangs themselves are governed by their local boss, the shateigashira."

He fixes me with an appraising look; he looks as if he wants to ask me something but he decides against it.

"The reason why I'm telling you this is that I have my own finances, but it is a river compared to his ocean. I have several gangs and guards that are loyal to me. But Orian has an entire army that gave him their allegiance, not to mention a sheet of dirty officials in government, Interpol and almost every law enforcement agency on the globe. Regrettably connections that I fostered for him. One thing you must know is that everyone has a selling price. Be it money or a favour."

I inhale a shuddering breath. "So, you're saying he's got limitless resources? And that it's practically impossible to hide away because he's got eyes and ears, everywhere."

He gives me a reproachful look. "Nothing is impossible. It's just going to be difficult. And I imagine because his second-in-command and brother betrayed him, then took his—" he cuts himself off, "—his asset."

I respond with a small scathing laugh. "Asset... is that what I am?"

He picks up the journal. "He still needs the rest of this." His expression wavers. "Though I'm sure he has other reasons for wanting you back. And knowing my brother, he won't stop until he does."

"If he gets me, he gets a corpse. I'd rather kill myself than let him have me."

He winces, sundering eye contact. "Don't talk like that."

"It's the truth. You can front all you want, but he has the advantage here and we can't run forever. He found Markov when an entire intelligence agency failed to. For years. Just because of his...ties to me, Orian found him in what? Months? Weeks? And he is a crime lord. What chance do I have?"

His eyes hook into me. "A lot, you have me. And I always have an ace up my sleeve."

"Gaza went to war with Orian over my dumb ass and look where it got him."

"Gaza wasn't his brother." He quirks his brows and frees a wry laugh. "Not that would change anything. He's still going to slit my throat after what I did. But if things work out as I planned, he won't even get the chance."

A frown tightens my face. "What plan?"

"Already in motion, but with this new bargaining chip." His fingers drum on the cover of the journal. "It's the leverage I need to make the final assault."

Renewed fear flutters in my stomach, forcing me to sit up straight. "Mama," I murmur. Louder, I say, "My mom and Calum. You know he would easily use them to lure me out."

He waved me off coolly. "Already taken care of. Before we left I sent my own team to retrieve them. They will relocate the two of them to a safe house and will send word as soon as they're in custody." He flashes a dazzling smile. "I told you. I got you."