MAVIS

had to hurt."

"Twenty dollars," Isla said. "Ace is going to win."

"Fifty dollars," Robin countered. "The vampire queen is going to slit the blonde bitch's throat."

"Stop betting on my wife!" Mavis snapped.

"One hundred dollars," Isla declared. "Ace is going to have her on the ground in less than one minute flat. Death by strangulation."

Mavis choked. "Baby, you're not supposed to bet on other people's deaths!"

A crack of bone against pavement. Ace straddled Galina, her side profile sharp and determined, framed by her pale gold hair. Her slender hands tightened over Galina's neck, as heat―pure and carnal―darkened her face. She looked like unholy wrath, and she was beautiful.

"Three hundred dollars," Mavis said. "My wife will finish this in forty-five seconds."

Robin frowned. "What happened to―"

"Knock her out!" Mavis shouted. "I believe in you, blondie!"

From somewhere in the country club, someone pointed to the fight in the parking lot. Before Mavis realized, there were people beginning to gather―men milling around in those fancy suits, watching the two blondes roll over on the concrete.

"Chick fight," said one man. Mr. Pierson. "It's a chick fight."

Mavis swiveled around. But before she could focus on him, another man added, "You go, blondie!"

Something like cold determination crystallized in Mavis's veins.

She had no idea how to use a gun.

But as she connected it with the side of the man's face, she said, "Nobody calls my wife blondie but me."

Behind her, Isla cheered.

Mavis turned back around. It was clear Galina was an equal match for Ace. With a hard strike to Ace's face, Galina grinned sharply. Wickedly. Speaking in Russian, spitting something like a taunt.

"Tvoya zhena - shlyukha."

Whatever it was, it seemed to enrage Ace.

It was over in less than thirty seconds after that.

Ace's slender hands cupped Galina's face, almost as though she was about to kiss her. Galina's pale eyes widened, and in that heartbeat, Mavis could tell that she knew. She knew what would come next―she knew it was the end.

Ace snapped her neck, jerking her pretty head to the side, and Galina went limp.

Mavis should have regretted it. She should have run away in horror. When Ace let Galina's body slide to the ground of the parking lot, there was only white, breathless rage on her face. Mavis should have tried to get as far away as possible from her.

Instead, she was running across the pavement. Throwing herself into Ace's arms. Ace picked her up―and then she was spinning Mavis, and Mavis was kissing her, and there was nothing before or after this moment.

Mavis felt alive.

When Ace set her down again, Mavis whispered against her lips, "You just won me three hundred bucks. Thanks."

Ace said, "I have already created an offshore bank account in your name with fifty million dollars."

Mavis really didn't know if she had heard that right.

"Um." She paused. "You're joking, right?"

The twenty thousand dollars alone had been a stretch.

But fifty million?

Ace's winter eyes were searing. Her face read, Does it look as though I am joking?

Mavis swallowed. Hissing, "You can't just throw around millions of dollars for people you barely know!"

Ace raised an eyebrow. "What about my wife?"

"That―well―that's different. We've been married less than eight hours!" Before Mavis could protest more, Isla was hurtling across the parking lot. Leaping onto Ace's chest.

Mavis glared at Ace.

Robin said, "You two had better get out of here before I call the police. I'll cover this up. Just go."

Isla was clinging to Ace tightly, her face buried in her shoulder. From above Isla's head, Ace nodded grimly. "There will be others who follow Galina. It is time to leave."

Tears were suddenly hot, pricking Mavis's eyes. Her sweet, beautiful daughter, who she would probably never see again.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't―

She had to. Ace had to have proof that Mavis and Isla were dead, but she had said it herself. Her brother didn't trust her―he had been the one to send her to prison, still wiping a tear from his eye. He was a viper. But Mavis could convince him. She could play the part of a grieving mother. She would wail. Scream.

She would do whatever it took.

And Isla could have a free future. Isla could be a genius, and do whatever the hell Albert Einstein had done, or whatever made her happy, and she wouldn't have to worry about the Russian Mafia having a target on her back.

Mavis couldn't back down now. So even as her smile wavered, she said, "Let's go."

"May I have my gun back for one moment?"

Mavis frowned at Ace. "Your gun? Of course, but―"

She had been about to ask Why? when Ace used the gun to fire a single shot into Galina's skull.

When Mavis looked at her questioningly, Ace only said, "It is best to be certain."

"Trigger-happy blonde bimbo," Mavis said under her breath.

After a final kiss to Isla and an embrace from Robin, Mavis climbed into a stolen car with her wife and said goodbye to the life she knew.

"To the airport, then?"

Ace glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Yes. It will be almost a twenty-four hour flight to Russia."

"Okay," Mavis said, steadying her shaking hands. "Okay, I can do this. It'll be fine."

"You are handing yourself over to the Russian mob," Ace said coldly. "That is not what fine means in the English language."

Mavis decided to ignore that. "Earlier, what did Galina call you? That thing in Russian that made you mad?"

"Nothing," Ace said sharply.

"Tlvoya zhena - shlyukha," Mavis tried.

"Do not say those words."

"Tlvoya zhena - shlyukha," Mavis repeated.

Ace's blue eyes became chips of ice. "When we are in Russia, understand this. Never say those words."

"But what does it mean?"

Ace looked away. "It is not important."

"Don't make me smack you with my flip-flop."

"You are not wearing flip-flops."

"That's not important. The flip-flop is metaphorical."

"You have a gun. Why would you smack me with a metaphorical flip flop?"

Mavis groaned. "Because smacking people with flip-flops is the solution to all my problems."

"A gun is far more deadly."

"I don't need something deadly! I don't want to be a widow, for God's sake. I just enjoy smacking people with flip-flops. Most people deserve it."

"A flip-flop is not strong enough to cause damage."

Mavis raised an eyebrow. "Then you've clearly never been hit by one of my flip-flops."

And suddenly, Mavis remembered something.

Try and take some self-defense classes, won't you? It might help.

Robin's advice.

Ace paused, her mouth flickering in what might have been a smile. "I do not think I would mind getting smacked by a flip-flop, if you were the one holding it."

If Mavis thought about that for longer than two seconds, she might have believed it was a declaration of love coming from Ace.

"Ace," Mavis said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Will you teach me self-defense?"

"You want to fight." Grim approval tinted Ace's words, and Mavis felt the warm pleasure of that ice-blue stare.

"Will you teach me?"

A half-smile curved Ace's mouth, and Mavis wanted to reach across the driver's seat and kiss the sense out of her.

"Of course," Ace said roughly.

Mavis remembered what that mouth on hers had felt like, and heat slid through her bloodstream. Oh, God. I can not be turned on right now. They were driving to the Las Vegas airport. In a few hours, they would board a flight to Russia. And Mavis offer herself up to the Mafia. I can absolutely not be turned on right now.

"Ace?"

Ace glanced at her. Her jaw was like steel, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

I am not attracted to a blonde bimbo. I am not attracted to a blonde bimbo.

Oh, who am I kidding?

I am totally attracted to a blonde bimbo.

"You need to stop the car," Mavis said.

"What?"

"Stop the car. Pull over into that parking lot. Please."

Ace narrowed her eyes, but she pulled the car into the parking lot of a library. "What's wrong?" she demanded gruffly, scanning Mavis's face.

"Fuck me," Mavis said.

A dark smile curved Ace's lips. No more words were necessary.

said.

"No."

"I cannot let you sacrifice yourself."

"You're either going to take me to Russia, or I'm going to wave a giant flag that says, TARGET OF THE RUSSIAN MAFIA. Which way do you prefer?"

Ace struck the dashboard of the car with her gun. "I cannot let you just walk right to your death, Mavis Griffon!"

"Yes, you can and you will, Ace Alisa Anastasia Something. If it means me or my daughter, I will die happily."

"I have a plan."

"I don't want to hear your stupid plan!"

"I am going to save your life, whether you like it or not."

There was a tight, aching ball of fury in Mavis's chest. "No!" she snapped. "You can't just do that. I don't want your damn hope, blondie. Because I know what has to happen, and if I start hoping, if I start thinking of a life beyond this, it's going to be so much worse when it happens. So don't you dare. Don't you dare."

"You are stubborn."

Mavis set her jaw. Her hands were trembling as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "We've got a flight to board, blondie. Don't waste my time."

Anger―she had to use this anger as a defense mechanism. Because if she didn't, if she let herself listen . . . No. Mavis knew how this had to end.

Twenty minutes later, they were passing through airport security. A woman with a tight bun and a disapproving mouth called them forward through the metal detector.

The alarm began to blare.

It seemed Ace had forgotten the minor detail that she was a Russian assassin.

"Excuse me," Ace said, as she reached into her pocket for a gun.

"They're going to think you're a terrorist," Mavis hissed under her breath.

Ace pulled out a second gun and laid it down into the bin.

The woman's eyes widened.

From over her back, Ace unstrapped a machine gun.

"How the hell was that thing on you this whole time?" Mavis whispered. "How many deadly weapons could a person possibly need?"

The answer to that, it seemed, was forty-seven.

A small collection of knives. Guns strapped along Ace's thighs, stomach, and back. Four long daggers. Poisonous darts. Tranquilizers. A bow-and-arrow.

"How was all of that even on you?" Mavis whispered. "They're never going to let us through now."

Except Ace spoke a word in Russia. "Buria."

And with that, the guard's expression cleared. Her stare lightened, as though she had forgotten entirely about the fact that Ace had just revealed a number of very dangerous and very deadly weapons.

"What the hell was that?" Mavis said, once they had finished walking through the metal detectors for a second time.

Ace was tucking the last of her guns back into her jacket pocket.

"The code," Ace said. "How do you think people smugle illegal weapons across the country?"

"By bribing the airport?" Mavis groaned. "Oh, my God. We're going to become national fugitives. What does buria mean?"

Softly, Ace said, "Storm."

It was at that moment that Mavis looked up.

They were supposed to go to Gate K and wait for Flight M28.

Just one problem.

At the gateway to the row of seats where they were supposed to wait, there were five tall, surly Russian men. They each sat in prim, proper positions. One of them even had his leg crossed, hands clasped together, like a good gentleman.

"Ace?"

"Yes?" She was still examining their tickets, squinting down at the time stamp.

"You have a plan, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Does it, by any chance, include gentlemanly mobsters?"

Ace looked up. "Why?"

When she saw the five men, she swore.

"That is not a good sign," Mavis hissed. "Your plan is beginning to look really bad."

"My plan is for when we arrive in Russia."

"Well, I hope you're a fast thinker, because I have no idea how to fend off five Russian mobsters."

Ace's eyes lit up at that―deep, brilliant blue, shadowed by her long lashes. "Come," she said suddenly, pulling Mavis into the ladies bathroom before the mobsters could catch sight of them. "It is time for your first lesson on self-defense."