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)
My stomach clenched at the pet name.
My little rabbit.
I hated it.
Hated how easily it rolled off his tongue, how effortlessly he made it sound like I belonged to him.
“I’m not leaving.”
I jutted my chin up, defiant, and then I stomped my foot like the child he was accusing me of being.
Kostya inhaled deeply, his chest expanding beneath that infuriatingly perfect suit.
Oh, shit.
The nerve I had managed to summon vanished instantly as I remembered exactly how big he was.
How intimidating he could be. His sheer size. The way he took up space. The way he could take if he wanted to. How easily he could grab me, lift me, pin me against any surface he wanted.
I swallowed hard.
It was the thing I had fantasized about most before…No.
I couldn’t go there.
“I will not tell you again,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “We’re leaving.”
Panic took over.
“No.”
And then, in a moment of sheer, idiotic survival instinct, I bolted.
I ran upstairs and slammed my bedroom door behind me, locking it. My back hit the wood as I squeezed my eyes shut and panted, deeply regretting my lack of cardio, mentally kicking myself.
Every horror movie I ever watched where a girl ran upstairs instead of out the door I had screamed at the screen, “Why would you do that?”
Now, I understood.
Adrenaline replaced intelligence in a crisis.
And I had just trapped myself.
Kostya’s heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hall. Unrushed.
I had no doubt he was enjoying this.
I ran to the window, shoved it open, and looked down.
The Chicago air was sharp, cutting straight through my sweater, but I barely felt it.
I was only on the second floor but right below my window a wrought iron fence jutted up, its pointed tips gleaming in the dim streetlight.
No safe way down. No way out.
When I picked this room, I thought the fence would add security. Be a deterrent.
Now, it was a prison.
I turned, scanning the room, and my stomach sank.
Kostya had been in here.
My things had been moved.
The book I had left on my nightstand was now neatly stacked on the bookshelf.
And the shawl—the one I wrapped myself in every night—was draped over my desk chair, as if he had touched it.
Touched my things.
My skin prickled.
I had never felt more exposed in my own room.
“Open the door, Marina.”
His voice was right outside.
I squeezed my hands into fists. “Go to hell!”
A pause. Then, “Open the door, or I swear to God, when I get my hands on you—”
I spun toward the door, my chest heaving. “You’ll what? Kill me like you did my sister?”
My hand flew to cover my mouth. I couldn’t believe I just said that out loud.
Great idea, Marina.
Piss off the already pissed off scary giant by accusing him of murder.
The only way out was through that door.
And Kostya was right on the other side.
I was trapped.
And I had let it happen.
That didn’t mean I had to make this easy.
Yes, he was bigger than me. Yes, he was the man I pictured every single time I read a spicy romance novel. Yes, he had haunted every single one of my fantasies, whether I wanted him to or not.
But that didn’t mean I had to give in.
I knew what would happen if I left with him.
And I would not die the same way my sister had.
Not without a fight.
“Open the door,” he said, irritation lacing every syllable.
“Fuck you,” I screamed back.
His silence was dangerous.
Then, “Little girl, if you talk to me like that one more time—”
“Fuck you…you…murderous asshole.”
What the hell was wrong with me?
Shut up, my mind screamed. Stop baiting the bear!
One hit.
That was all it took.
One powerful strike, and the door exploded off its cheap hinges and hit the floor with a deafening crash.
I barely had time to suck in a breath before his voice curled around me like smoke.
“You want to try that again, moy zaichonok?”
My pulse thundered.
But I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see the fear—the heat—coursing through me. “I’m still not going with you. I know you killed my sister.”
His expression didn’t change. “Your sister was killed by a man named Aleksandrovich Solovyov. Not me.” His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. “I’m here to retrieve what she stole from Solovyov…and you.”
I hated how steady he was.
How effortlessly he took control of the conversation, of everything.
“Liar,” I spat, even though I knew his words weren’t entirely false.
I’d suspected Solovyov may have been the one to kill Veronika. I knew she had been playing a dangerous game, toying with men as if they were no more than chess pieces, cheating death with every reckless move. She had thrived on the danger. The higher the stakes, the bigger the thrill. I’d discounted it as wishful thinking, my traitorous mind trying to absolve Kostya of guilt.
But I wanted him to be the one who murdered my sister.
I needed him to be the one.