We're picked up by a dark-haired, tattoo-loving bad boy within the hour. Okay, maybe the bad boy part isn’t entirely accurate. He seems far sweeter than any bratva men I'd met.
We drive for a little over an hour before reaching the town of Breckenridge and heading up the mountain to an even more remote part of town.
"Thanks for helping us," I say. I'm situated in the backseat while Anton sits up front with Declan.
"Wasn't much of a choice," Declan says, then laughs. "Family is family, even when you're least expecting it."
My throat goes dry. "You're bratva?"
"Hell no," he huffs, appalled by my question. "My girlfriend, Katie, well, her sister is dating one of the members of the bratva. You may know her; her name is Lucy."
"Lucy is dating Nikita," Anton says as he puts the pieces together. "Small world."
I exhale a heavy breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. Why did Nikita help us? Was it out of loyalty to Anton? Isn't he supposed to be loyal to Mikhail?
I suppose it doesn't matter. Nikita kept us alive.
"Small enough world that he thought sending you here would keep you safe. We'll do what we can while you're here. Get you both new papers and identities."
"That's appreciated," I say.
Declan drives us up the mountain and turns into the parking lot of an automobile repair shop. "We're here." He shuts off the engine and steps out before Anton and I climb out of the vehicle.
I glance around. We're in the middle of nowhere, which is good for hiding but not so great for much else. There's no nightlife around here. Probably not much to do, either.
Anton grabs our bags from Walmart from the trunk and carries them in one hand. He follows behind Declan as they lead the way around the shop. There's a set of creaky wooden stairs that we ascend, and Declan unlocks the front door, handing over the keys to Anton.
"You can stay here until we figure out what to do with the two of you," Declan says.
"Thank you." I step inside the apartment above the repair shop. "You live here?" I ask, not wanting to put him out. I close the door after I enter last and secure the lock.
"I used to live here. It's vacant at the moment," Declan says. "It's a one-bedroom, not huge, but it should do for the time being."
"We'll make it work," Anton says. "Thanks."
Declan grabs the remote and flips on the television, showing Anton how to work the TV and giving us a tour of the apartment. We could probably figure it out on our own, but he's certainly trying to be kind and welcoming.
We're far from home. New Yorkers are always in a rush. I can't remember anyone ever being this hospitable before unless it was absolutely required, and even then, it was lacking. Declan hands us each a cell phone. "Use these to contact me. I've already programmed my number along with my office should you need anything and can't reach me. Where are your old cell phones?"
"Mine's back at work," I say, leaving off the part where it's at the FBI building.
"I left mine back in New York," Anton says.
"Good. You aren't to contact anyone from back home or in your past. You mess up, and you'll bring the bratva to your front door. Is that understood?" Declan seems to be pointing his question at me like I don't know what danger awaits.
"Understood," I say.
I swallow nervously when I glance up at the evening television news report focusing on a segment showing Anton's picture and then mine, detailing the events that occurred back in New York. My stomach churns and I reluctantly glance at Declan.
"You didn't mention you were a federal agent." He runs a hand through his hair. "That complicates things because we work closely with local law enforcement," Declan says.
"Do you want me to turn myself in?" Anton asks.
There's only one sofa, no other furniture other than the small dining table to sit at and watch television. The apartment is made for one person, two fit tightly, but it's good enough for us to stay off everyone's radar.
"Do you think of me as a bad boy?"
Is he trying to flirt with me because he's so far past bad that I'm not even sure what he qualifies as anymore? But then again, he did sacrifice his happiness to protect me. He left his family, the bratva, behind for me.
Bad boy doesn't quite seem fitting. Morally grey, perhaps?
"You are one of a kind," I say, and I don't mean it negatively.