Fierce Pursuit – Ivanov Crime Family Read Online Zoe Blake

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia, Taboo, Virgin Tags Authors: Zoe Blake Advertisement

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Nothing.

But the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. A prickling awareness, as if his eyes were still on me. As if he were still watching me.

He wasn't here. He couldn't be. There was no way for him to find me.

I had turned off the GPS on my phone. Put it in airplane mode to disable the Wi-Fi. I was off the grid.

And yet, I swore I could feel him watching. Waiting. Hunting me.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them back. I would not be the girl who broke down in the middle of Union Station. That would draw attention. And the last thing I needed was for anyone to notice me.

So Kostya wanted the money Veronika had stolen from Solovyov? That was why he'd chased me halfway across the damn world?

It was such a small amount compared to the millions in illegal money they raked in. Then again, mafia families protected their image above all else. If word got out that someone—a woman, no less—had stolen from Solovyov and he had not retrieved what was taken, it would make him look weak.

It was probably what Veronika found so amusing when she handed it to me with a secretive wink. I knew she'd been fighting with him. It would be just like her to try to mess with him by stealing his money.

That had to be why he sent Kostya after me. Solovyov probably thought sending his lover's husband was some kind of poetic justice.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into the edges of my coat. In a twisted, fucked-up way it kind of was.

Kostya was the best man for the job. A highly skilled retrieval specialist among other, far bloodier things. The way Veronika had explained it, he was the man you called when something was taken from you. It didn't matter what it was—jewelry, money, a person with a vendetta.

Kostya was the one who could find it or them.

And finish the job.

BANG.

A loud crack echoed through the marble hall.

My stomach plummeted. My heart shot into my throat.

I twisted in my seat, frantic, eyes scanning for a man with a gun. There was no man. Just a woman who had dropped a plastic suitcase onto the marble floor.

My body was locked so tight with fear that my hand flew to my throat, gripping hard, as if that would somehow stop my pulse from racing.

I forced myself to breathe.

I wasn't safe. Not really.

I may have been in public, but if Kostya found me? That would only slow him down.

If I handed the stolen money over to him, maybe he would let me go.

A foolish hope.

But right now, it was all I had as I sat with my knees up to my chest on a hard bench inside a bitterly cold train station at night. The very image of desperate and alone.

Flying to New York City would have been faster. But I couldn't risk the Americans' better security flagging my bogus passport. Worse, I knew the Russians had TSA agents on their payroll. The risk of Kostya knowing exactly where I was before the plane even took off was far too great.

So instead, I was hiding. Curled up waiting to take the late-night train from Chicago to New York. A twenty-hour journey.

The money was waiting for me in a locker near Penn Station.

I'd never wanted to touch it. In my mind, it was soaked in my sister's blood.

If I could just get on that train, I would have time to figure out a plan. Time to think. Time to recover. Even if it meant sleeping in a cramped, miserable coach seat, at least I could breathe.

I just had to make it onto that train.

A high-pitched shriek echoed through the massive marble hall, bouncing off the high ceilings.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I jumped, panic ripping through me.

Until I saw the baby. Just a baby, wailing in its mother's arms.

Not a scream. Not a gunshot. Not Kostya.

My nerves were shot to hell. My pulse refused to slow.

I slumped down, pulling my coat tighter around me, hoping the small crowd of people waiting for the nine-thirty train would be enough to hide me. I clenched my ticket so tightly in my sweaty hand that the paper wrinkled.

I checked it. Then checked it again. And yet again. As if the details would suddenly change. As if something would go wrong.

Every sound had me jumping. Every shift in movement sent my pulse into overdrive. My stomach was a hard knot, twisted so tight it ached.

I just needed to get on that damn train.

Again my mind turned to the mess Veronika had created for me. All of this. All this fear. All this waiting. All this running.

For ten thousand dollars.

It seemed too small an amount; the cost alone of sending Kostya had to be more than that. Why the hell would Solovyov waste his time? Men like him, men like Kostya, made more than that in an hour, let alone a day.

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