Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I had spent hours riding the train, switching cars, changing lines, doubling back, walking in circles through Grant Park until my feet ached, convinced I had finally shaken him.
I hadn’t.
I had played right into his hands.
I wasn’t dressed for the late-night temperature drop.
My thin sweater and yoga pants were no match for the brutal wind slicing off the lake. My body ached for warmth, for comfort, for the simple luxuries of the spiced cider from that overpriced neighborhood café I liked to splurge on when I was home, and an hour wrapped in my favorite shawl with a book.
Was that really too much to ask?
Of course it was.
Because I had been so focused on losing him, I hadn’t stopped to consider the obvious.
If Kostya knew where I worked, he’d already known where I lived.
I had been running in circles for nothing.
For a split second, I considered turning around and bolting right back out the door.
But where would I go?
What could I possibly do to shake him now?
This was the end of the line.
I squared my shoulders and tightened my fists at my sides.
He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me tremble before him.
I wouldn’t give him that.
Kostya sat sprawled in the rocking chair I had found at a garage sale for five bucks. Making himself at home in the middle of our thrift-store mishmash of an apartment like it was his personal throne room.
The custom-tailored wool of his suit was crisp, pristine, far too fine for the shabby living room. He looked as flawless as ever, as if he hadn’t spent his night out in the cold hunting me down. He was perfectly warm, perfectly composed, perfectly him.
And I hated him for it.
I hated him.
And I hated myself more for noticing how good he looked.
My thoughts barely had time to register before my eyes caught something else—
My roommates.
The two of them lay on the floor, unconscious, tied up, their arms and legs wrenched behind their backs.
My stomach turned.
And Kostya?
Kostya just sat there, unbothered, as if holding men captive at his feet was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
My heart pounded as I forced out a question I already dreaded the answer to. “What did you do to them?”
I inwardly grimaced when my voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.
His gaze flicked to me, sharp, assessing. Unimpressed.
“Never mind what I did to them,” he said. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what I’m going to do to you.”
And then he stood, unfolding himself from the chair like a predator rising from its perch.
My body stiffened as he passed close by me to slam the door shut. I jerked at the ominous metal click from the deadbolt sliding into place.
My nails bit into my palms as I tried to calm my racing heart. I needed to think. There had to be a way out of this. He’d come close—never this close—but close to catching me before and I always got away. Think!
The aged floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved to stand behind me. His breath ruffled the curls around my ear.
“How dare you live with men?” His voice deepened, low and cutting. “Why would you put yourself in that kind of danger?”
Fear strangled my breath in the seconds it took for rage to replace it.
Turning on him, I snapped, “Excuse me?”
His expression hardened. “There’s no excuse for living with men. Especially weak, sniveling ones who couldn’t possibly protect you from—”
“You are the only one I need protection from!” The words ripped from me, hot and furious, echoing off the walls.
I was furious. Furious at his audacity, at his arrogance, at the absolute insanity of him.
“You’re the one who chased me down on the L!” I seethed. “You’re the one who followed me all the way from Moscow!”
The truth hung between us, raw and electric.
His lips curled slightly. Not quite a smirk. Not quite anything.
But the gleam in his eyes?
It was dangerous…and hungry.
Shocked, I stepped back, almost stumbling over one of my roommate’s bent legs.
It couldn’t be.
I was imagining it.
He’d been married to my sister. My dead sister.
There had always been a strange tension between us from the moment we met, but I’d always assumed it was in my imagination. Wishful thinking. A stupid crush on a handsome and powerful brother-in-law. Something to be felt in silence, too forbidden to even think of.
“And you see how well they protected you from me,” he sneered, as if I had just proven his point for him. “Speaking of home, we are leaving. Now.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing my spine straight, but the heat creeping up my neck betrayed me. My cheeks burned with anger and something else I refused to name. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked bored. “You can come willingly, or you can throw a fit like a child and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you anyway. Your choice, moy zaichonok.”