Alexei And Grace

22 | Navigating Blind

I'D NEVER BEEN IN ALEXEI'S car before. It was unlike anything I'd experienced; sleek leather interior softer than anything I'd ever felt, a touch screen panel, and a thousand buttons the function of which I couldn't even guess at. Alex remained silent as the engine purred to life and we sped off. I made sure my seatbelt was fastened, unnerved by the sheer power of the car and its mighty roar.

         "You told Jonah your real name," I observed quietly.

         "Yes."

         "Why?"

          Alex's eyes shifted to me for a second, "perhaps I wanted to scare him."

          "Should he recognise it?"

          "He doesn't need to. Any hint at Russian links is enough to rattle men like Jonah."

          I could detect the underlying bitterness to that comment. I changed the conversation, "should you be driving that fast?"

          "Of all the things you could chide me for," he smirked, "you go for my driving?"

          We swerved around a corner and I felt the seatbelt dig into my shoulder. A nervous hiss escaped my clenched teeth. "You're crazy."

          "Live a little, Grace."

          "I'd have a job if we end up mangled around a lamp post or something," I grumbled.

          "Stop panicking," Alex instructed, "relax."

          I sank back into the soft leather seat and tried to do just that. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't that simple. We were on the way to a family dinner with probably the most terrifying father-figure I'd ever encountered. Viktor screamed pure, unbridled power and control. He screamed danger.

          "What are you thinking about?"

          I glanced to Alexei whose eyes were dark and intense. "Nothing," I evaded, "just thinking."

          "Tell me."

          I sighed, "I was thinking about your dad. He seems..."

          "I know."

          "I didn't even say anything."

          "I know how he seems, Grace. I know what he's like. Just stay quiet, only speak when spoken to, and hopefully this shit show will be over quickly," Alex advised.

          The car was slowing a little now. We were in South Bank, close to the Tate and St Paul's, which surprised me. I expected the Ivanovs to have a large regal home on the outskirts of London with a acres of land surrounding it. Not an apartment in NEO Bankside.

         "Your family lives here?" I asked, "in South Bank?"

         We pulled into a private underground garage which a security guard easily waved us through. "No," Alex said, "they don't."

         "Then why—?"

         "I live here." I looked at him in utter confusion and he cocked a brow. "You didn't think I'd let you go to dinner looking like that, did you?"

         "What's wrong with how I look?" I scowled.

          "Nothing," he shrugged. "If you're going to a cheap club."