Effectively putting an end to her last chance at freedom.

  “Drive in front of the nose wheels and stop the plane from taking off,” Kieran instructed, one of his hands resting on the dashboard as he sat forward to glare out of the front window of the SUV.

  Jericho had spotted two more SUVs speeding to catch up and settling in behind them on the drive to the airport. His other brother, Liam, was behind the wheel of one of them, Killian the other. Inside with them were more of Leon’s men.

  Jericho kept his gaze locked on the jet as it turned onto the runway ready for taking off. “Hold tight,” he warned as he pressed his foot down fully on the accelerator.

  The SUV shot forward, Liam’s and Killian’s vehicles doing the same, so that very shortly, all three SUVs drove too close to the front of the plane for it to be able to take off.

  The expression on the pilot’s face would have been comical at any other time. But with Marisha onboard, and having no idea what condition she was in, Jericho just wanted the plane to stop so that he could get her out of there. Federov could do whatever the hell he wanted afterward. Jericho was only interested in rescuing Marisha.

  “Svolochs!”

  Hearing Artur swear, and then continuing to curse as he unfastened his seat belt and stood, was the first indication Marisha had that something was wrong.

  The second was when all the other bodyguards stood up too and they opened the overhead lockers to take out their handguns before moving to look out the windows into the darkness outside.

  Marisha did the same, but, seated at the back of the plane, she couldn’t see whatever was disturbing the bodyguards.

  Federov threw open the door to the private room a second or two later, and the two brothers marched out into the main cabin. Sergei issued quickfire instructions to his men before continuing on to the smaller cabin at the front of the plane where the pilot and copilot were seated.

  Whatever was happening, it was something bad enough to have seriously shaken Sergei.

  There were more curses, and several of the standing bodyguards lost their balance as the jet suddenly veered sharply to the right and onto the grass before it came to a juddering stop seconds later.

  Marisha cringed back as Sergei strode forcefully down the plane toward her. His pale eyes were glittering with a depth of fury she had never seen in them before. Until Jericho Price entered his suite at the Brunelli estate and started demanding answers, Sergei and his brother had seemed almost disinterested in her existence. Now it looked as if he wanted to strangle her with his own hands.

  Much as he had when Jericho Price had challenged him earlier.

  Could Jericho have something to do with Sergei’s anger and the plane having veered off the runway?

  “This is all your fault.” Sergei reached out to snap open her seat belt before fisting the front of her sweater and lifting her struggling body into the air. His fury seemed to have given him extra strength.

  With her hands still secured behind her back, Marisha could do nothing but dangle with her feet several inches off the floor.

  Well…except for one thing.

  Marisha glared her hatred of Sergei Federov as she spat into his face.

  “You little bitch.” He wiped the spittle from his cheek, his eyes a cold and remorseless gray. “As soon as we have rid ourselves of this minor complication, I will be giving you to my men to keep themselves amused on the long flight back to Russia.”

  The color drained from Marisha’s cheeks when she saw the lecherous grin Artur shot her way before Sergei threw her down into the seat.

  “When they are finished with you, they will have my permission to kill you.” Sergei gave her one last contemptuous sneer before turning on his heel and instructing Artur to unfasten and open the plane’s outer door.

  Marisha wondered what her chances were of being able to run down the aisle without being stopped by Vasily or any of the bodyguards. She could then throw herself down the small flight of stairs that had automatically descended to allow passengers to enter and leave the plane. The extra bruises she would have from falling down those stairs, unable to keep her balance with her arms tied behind her back, would be worth it if it meant she escaped the fate Sergei had just described to her.

  Before she could decide either way, a familiar auburn head appeared through the open doorway and then above the seats, followed by wide shoulders in a black suit, and finally, a hand holding a gun that was pointed directly at Sergei.

  Jericho Price!

  The question was, had he come to rescue her or simply to demand Sergei explain why he had left the Brunelli estate without saying goodbye to his host?

  Chapter Five

  It took Jericho several seconds to locate Marisha standing at the back of the plane before his attention snapped back to the three Russian bodyguards who had stepped in front of Federov. He recognized two of them as the ones he had already beaten once and Marisha had been so wary of earlier.

  Jericho stepped aside to allow Kieran, Liam, and Killian to join him in the cabin. The rest of Leon’s men were waiting outside in case any of the Russians should try to escape the plane.

  “Can you come to me, please, Marisha,” Jericho called out to her as she stood white-faced and apparently frozen in place at the back of the plane.

  “You will remain exactly where you are, shlyukha,” Sergei instructed scathingly without looking away from Jericho. “And you will explain what you think you are doing by first stopping my private plane from leaving and now boarding it without my permission.”

  “I don’t think I’m doing anything,” Jericho bit out harshly. “I came for Marisha, and I’m not leaving without her. And I don’t advise you call her a whore again in my presence.” He knew enough Russian slang words to understand exactly what Federov had called her.

  Federov gave a dismissive snort. “Marisha is my wife and property, and I shall do with her and call her whatever I choose.”

  “Now, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Killian was the one to answer the Russian mildly before Jericho’s hair-trigger temper had the chance to snap. “At the moment, you’re on US soil, and until a short time ago, you were a guest of my father-in-law. Really rude of you to leave without informing Leon or thanking him for his hospitality, by the way,” he added lightly.

  The Russian looked at him coldly. “I received an urgent message requiring I return to Russia immediately.”

  “And it would have taken you two minutes to tell Leon that.” Killian glanced down the plane. “Is this man your husband, Marisha?”

  She looked from Killian to Federov and then to Jericho before answering softly, “No.”

  “Another game she likes to play,” Sergei dismissed derisively. “A game we will continue as soon as you have left my plane and we are able to return to Russia.”

  With Killian now facing off against Federov, Jericho’s gaze had remained on the pallor of Marisha’s face. Which was why he was so easily able see the tears now swimming in the depths of her imploring blue eyes and the way her expression had turned to one of utter despair, no doubt at the thought of them leaving her on this plane and whatever retribution the Russians might have in mind for her after she had denied Sergei was her husband.

  “Keep your guns trained on Sergei and Vasily,” Jericho instructed Killian and his brothers. “If they or one of their goons even look at you the wrong way wrong, shoot him,” he added as he stepped farther into the cabin. He pointed his own gun at anyone who got in his way until they, wisely, stepped aside.

  Marisha was wearing the same clothes he’d seen her in earlier, but her hair was disheveled and there was a telling red mark around her lips to confirm Kieran’s claim she’d recently had tape placed across them before it was painfully removed.

  The tape and marks about her mouth could just be from some twisted sex game she and Federov liked to play.

  But Jericho’s instincts were all screaming that they weren’t.

  When he reached her side, Jericho could also tell by the way her arms were pulled back uncomfortably that Marisha’s hands were still secured behind her back. Which must have been bloody uncomfortable when she was seated for take-off. He very much doubted anyone would have taken off those ties during the flight either.

  “Turn around,” he encouraged gently. “What the fuck—!” Jericho’s temper was already hanging on by a thread, but the moment he saw how tightly the zip-tie was about Marisha’s wrists, it threatened to spiral completely out of control. The plastic had been pulled so tightly about those slender wrists that it was cutting into her skin and probably cutting off full blood circulation too.

  There was no way Marisha could possibly be enjoying that, in a sexual way or otherwise.

  Jericho turned to glare down the plane to where Killian’s raised gun was still keeping the Federov brothers and their men in place. As he had earlier, he gave his cousin a barely perceptible nod, one Killian acknowledged with a blink of his lids.

  The two of them working together again reminded Jericho of the years they had spent growing up in Ireland and then the ten years of working for Leon since coming to the US. Killian’s year of marriage to the beautiful Natalia hadn’t dulled his killer instincts in the slightest.

  Although his cousin was also correct in knowing that Natalia was going to give him hell for running into the danger of this situation. Even more so because the couple were expecting their first baby in a few months.

  Killian’s green eyes had taken on the chill of a glacier when he turned back to Sergei and Vasily. “I think it would benefit everyone concerned if you and your men were to return to the Brunelli estate with us now and say your goodbyes to Leon before leaving the country.”

  “That is unacceptable to me,” Federov refused.

  Jericho had taken advantage of the Russian’s distraction to remove a knife from the sheath strapped to his ankle and carefully cut the tie about Marisha’s wrists. He knew he was right about the discomfort that plastic tie had given her by the pained hiss she gave as her arms were suddenly released and the blood was allowed to flow fully into her hands again.

  “Thank you,” she murmured to Jericho as she rubbed her red and welted skin.

  “And any other course of action is unacceptable to Leon,” Killian answered Federov. “Now, I want you all to be good boys and drop your guns on the floor,” he instructed the bodyguards. “Then quietly and carefully move to the doorway and down the steps onto the tarmac.” He and Jericho’s brothers stepped to the sides of the doorway, their guns still leveled on the Russians.

  Which gave Jericho the opportunity to speak softly to Marisha. “When it’s your turn to get to the bottom of the steps, I want you to run. Use the shield of darkness to help you. None of my men will try to stop you,” he assured her when she looked up at him with alarm.

  She shuddered. “Artur—”

  “Will very shortly have things on his mind other than chasing you,” Jericho promised.

  “I don’t understand.”

  It was probably just as well that Marisha didn’t have any idea of the retribution Jericho intended raining down on the man whose actions toward her so obviously filled Marisha with pain and fear. “Run and hide amongst the hangars where the small private planes are kept. Federov is going to insist his men be allowed to look for you, and I’ll insist my men are the ones to do it. Don’t worry, they won’t find you,” he added grimly. “I’ll come and get you once the Federovs and their men are on their way back to the Brunelli estate. Then we’ll decide what to do next.”

  Whatever happened, he wasn’t about to let Federov take Marisha back to Russia with him when she so obviously didn’t want to go.

  Which was going to complicate the hell out of Leon’s peace talks.

  Unless Jericho removed the reason those peace talks might fail.

  Marisha had been living in this nightmare of fear since she flew home to Moscow and was kidnapped and Toly was shot and killed. She no longer knew who or what she could trust.

  Except some instinct told her she could trust Jericho Price.

  And what would happen to her if he failed to take her away from Sergei?

  Then no doubt the older man, as he had said was going to happen, would give her to his men for their amusement on the flight back to Russia before allowing them to kill her.

  She still had no idea why he’d brought her here with him to the US in the first place. Boris must be worried out of his mind at her disappearance.

  She had no doubt he was ripping Moscow apart right now looking for her. Especially if Toly’s body had been found. Even so, she didn’t think it would ever occur to Boris that someone might have taken her out of Russia.

  Whatever was or wasn’t going on in Moscow with Boris, she was here in the US. She appreciated Jericho’s offer to help her, but she couldn’t just rely on him and had to make some sort of an effort to save herself.

  By running, as Jericho told her to do, the moment her feet hit the tarmac?

  What if someone decided to shoot her in the back as she ran?

  Then they shot her, Marisha accepted heavily.

  Remaining on the plane and returning to Russia with Sergei meant certain death anyway, but only after she’d been treated as a plaything by his bodyguards. Running meant she might just have a chance at escaping that fate.

  She flinched back as she felt the touch of a gentle hand against the side of her face. “Sorry,” she apologized when she realized she’d been lost in thought and Jericho was only trying to get her attention.

  Jericho’s fingertips lightly caressed her cheek. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” he assured. “I promise.”

  She drew in a ragged breath. “My father always says never to make promises you don’t know you can keep.”

  A nerve pulsed in Jericho’s clenched jaw. “Then it’s as well I never do that,” he stated flatly.

  Marisha believed him.

  Just as she knew that if she and this man had met under normal circumstances, Jericho wouldn’t even have noticed her. He was at least fifteen years older than her, and possessed an air of darkness and danger that surrounded him like a cloak. Despite the civilized trappings of a designer-label suit, silk shirts and ties, and the expensive watch strapped to his wrist.

  Of course he was dangerous. He was head of security for the man everyone knew was the worldwide head of the Italian Mafia. The fact she’d been a guest, even a reluctant one, on the estate of Leon Brunelli meant Jericho had no choice but to take an interest in her.

  She drew in a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Jericho nodded his satisfaction. “Remember, go toward the cover of the hangars and find somewhere to hide. I’ll come and get you as soon as I can.”

  Her smile was shaky. “I’ll remember. And whatever happens, thank you.”

  He grasped her arm lightly. “Whatever happens, I’m going to get you away from the Federovs. We can decide what happens next later.”

  She stared up into that harshly handsome and uncompromising face for several long seconds before nodding at the resolve she saw in Jericho’s expression.

  She was breathing shallowly and could feel her panic rising as she turned to walk ahead of him down the aisle toward the doorway. She paused at the top of the steps to look down at the dozen or so men the lights of the plane revealed standing below. Half of them were Federov’s men, the other half Jericho’s, but Jericho’s men were the ones with the guns.

  She turned as his hand rested lightly against her back, taking courage, as she was obviously meant to do, from the raw determination in his hazel eyes.

  Marisha’s legs shook and her fingers tightly gripped the narrow handhold as the Federov brothers and their men all turned to stare at her as she slowly took each step down onto the ground.

  The moment she had both booted feet on the grass, Marisha turned sharply to the left and, with her heart pounding loudly, she ran into the darkness beyond the plane and in the direction of where she could see the solid outline of the hangars against the dark night sky.

  She’d barely run ten yards or so when she heard a gunshot.

  Chapter Six

  “Blyad! Schas po ebalu poluchish, mu’dak, blyad.”

  “I’m pretty sure he just called you some less than flattering names in Russian, coz,” Killian said mildly.

  The man they knew as Artur currently lay writhing on the ground and screaming obscenities after Jericho had shot him in the thigh.

  Jericho’s shrug was unconcerned. “Then he shouldn’t have pulled the gun he had hidden in an ankle holster and aimed it at Marisha.” He’d fully intended having the satisfaction of shooting the Russian bully anyway, but having the other man pull out a concealed weapon had given him a valid excuse for doing so.

  Not that he’d needed one.

  Jericho considered terrorizing an unarmed and undefended woman to be reason enough. He knew Leon felt the same way. But in deference to the peace talks, Jericho knew the older man would appreciate having knowledge of this added provocation to back up one of his men having shot the Russian bodyguard.

  Jericho had seen Marisha falter at the sound of the gunshot, as if waiting to feel the pain of the bullet hitting her. When that didn’t happen, she’d run even faster to where the shadows of the hangars now shielded her presence.

  “Oh, stop your whining, or I’ll put a bullet in your other leg.” Killian had obviously lost patience with the man still groaning and rolling from side to side on the ground. His gaze returned to Sergei as Artur fell silent. “We’ll get Leon’s doctor to look at him once we’re back on the Brunelli estate. Or, maybe in his case, a vet might be a better choice,” he added harshly as he indicated for two of Jericho’s men to manhandle the still-complaining Artur into the back of one of their SUVs.

  Jericho and Killian had both grown up in homes where physical violence toward their respective mothers was the norm rather than the exception. It usually occurred when their fathers came home too drunk to tolerate even one word of criticism passing their wives’ lips for their having spent the housekeeping money on drink or gambling. Again. They were always sorry in the morning, but that didn’t take away the pain of the black eye or bruised lip, nor the memory of it.