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)
The sting in the back of my skull throbbed as a reminder of both of their hands in my humiliation.
I moved to the vanity, now missing her perfume and the other odds and ends that made it hers, and inspected the cut on my forehead in the mirror.
It needed stitches.
But I didn’t have time for that.
“I’ll grab a first aid kit,” Mac offered, and I swore he was trying not to laugh.
I ignored him, shuffling through Marina’s drawers until my fingers wrapped around the neck of a cheap fifth of vodka.
It would have to do.
I grabbed a T-shirt she had left lying around, soaked it in the alcohol, and pressed it against my skin.
First to my forehead. Then the base of my skull. The sting was immediate, cutting through the lingering fog of the fall, the bludgeonings, the jet lag.
And the ache she had left in my fucking cock.
She had made a mistake.
She didn’t even realize it.
By hitting me on the back of the head, she had given me something invaluable—a few minutes of sleep. Probably just enough for a single REM cycle, but that was all I needed.
And now?
Now, I was awake.
I was clear.
And I was coming for her.
This wasn’t just about saving her from Solovyov anymore.
This was about keeping her.
After I punished her for her insolence.
My fucking God, I was going to enjoy that punishment.
The belt might be too easy for her. Thoughts of forcing my cock inside her tight ass while I made her scream her apology crossed my mind.
“So did you need help with—”
“No.” I cut Mac off, my voice sharp as I adjusted my trousers which had become uncomfortable with my growing cock. “I don’t need help. But I do need a gun.”
I held out my hand.
Var and Anton exchanged a look. Then, with a nod, Anton pulled a Glock from the holster hidden beneath his jacket and handed it to me.
I checked the magazine. It was fully loaded.
“Seriously, friend, it’s not a big deal if you want us to go pick her—”
My head turned sharply. “No one else is going to touch her.”
Their amusement evaporated.
“She is mine.”
I let that sink in before continuing, my voice low, dangerous. “Get the word out. No one lays a single fucking finger on her. No one apprehends her. If they see her, they contact me. Immediately.”
I looked between them, my grip tightening on the gun.
“Anyone who disobeys that order answers to me.”
Silence.
Then, “What are you going to do with her?” Var asked carefully.
A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips.
I tucked the Glock into my waistband. “I’m going to remind her who the fuck she belongs to now.”
CHAPTER 10
MARINA
Itightened my arms around my body, ducking my head, pressing my elbows in close, as if I could disappear into myself. Nothing stopped the shaking. It wasn’t from the cold, though the night air carried a bitter bite. It was because I could feel it.
Feel him.
Kostya could be anywhere.
He was awake when I fled. His roar had echoed through the walls as I ran for the door. I didn't know how well I had secured him. I'd used the same slipknots he'd used on my roommates, but just because American college kids couldn't escape didn't mean a seasoned bratva enforcer wouldn't.
I squeezed my eyes shut, stomach twisting.
I still couldn't believe I had actually hit him. That I had knocked him unconscious. That I had drawn the blood of an Ivanov.
Not just any Ivanov.
Konstantine Nikolai Ivanov. A high-ranking, powerful member of one of the most feared families in Russia. Kostya had a reputation that extended far beyond the Ivanov name.
Intelligent. Vindictive. Cunning in a way that made even the most dangerous men wary of crossing him. And if he was after you? It was time to get your affairs in order.
If he ever found me again...
That was it.
I was a dead woman.
The only thing I could do now was run. Leave the city. Disappear. Hope to God he never found me again.
To do that, I needed money.
I had money. Not a lot, but enough to start over again. Before she died, Veronika had handed me nearly a million rubles in cash to hold on to for her, only about ten thousand in US dollars, but combined with the few hundred I had saved from tips, it was everything I had. Ten grand wouldn't be enough to vanish completely, but at least it was something.
Laughter. Low. Dark.
My pulse spiked and I jumped, jolted from my thoughts, my heart slamming against my ribs.
I snapped my head up, eyes scanning the lobby.
Four men. American. One had the build of an enforcer, but they were all wearing matching sport jackets.
Bears fans. Not mafia.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe.
Stay focused.
I scanned the crowd again, my eyes darting from face to face, searching for Russian features, for a gaze that held recognition.