Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I stare before I ask again, “Who are you?” I pretend it takes all my energy to say this, like I’m more drugged than I am. I have to play into this if I’m going to escape, and I am going to fucking escape.
No one cages Anissa Laurent and lives to tell about it.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, taking up space in a worn leather chair, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the armrest—like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s about to crack open a beer and watch a game.
My stomach tightens.
His voice is low, rough, and full of dark amusement. “Finally awake? Makes sense; I guess you were sleep-deprived.”
I glare at him. The weight of his gaze bears down on me. I wait, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t snarl. Doesn’t gloat or threaten.
Just watches. Unmoving. Patient. Like a wolf who’s already sunk its teeth in but enjoys the struggle too much to end it yet.
This hunt is over.
That’s what he thinks.
I force my breathing to steady. Panic is useless. I’ve been here before. I had to wait, bide my time until I could run.
I need information. A plan. My eyes flick to the corner of the room, searching.
He chuckles, low and lazy. I shiver. “Looking for an exit, little witch, so you can cast your spell?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Cute.”
His eyes narrow, even as he lets loose another chuckle that curls around my spine.
“Go to hell,” I snarl.
“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “I already told you.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “That’s where I came from. Do you want me to take you along with me?”
Right. I try to hide the shiver that rolls through me.
I don’t know who he is. I don’t know why I’m here. But I will not break.
I will not let him win. I will find a way out.
I can’t fucking wait. Finally, a chance to do what I do best, but to save my own damn hide.
Little does he know he’s in for the fight of his life.
He tilts his head, watching me as if he can hear my resolve, before he stands.
Of course he’s tall. Legs like tree trunks. Hands as big as fucking dinner plates. None of that lankiness I’ve seen from other men. A full-grown man where others are boys.
“Let’s get one thing straight, little witch.” His voice is low, soft—almost gentle. “There’s no hiding anymore. No more running. Nowhere else for you to go. No one to save you.”
Blah, blah, fucking blah. It’s what they all say. I roll my eyes and lift my chin in defiance, even as he looms over me. If I had a dollar for every mobster who thought monologuing in chest-beating grunts made him sexy or powerful, I’d be retiring in Hawaii by now.
I shrug. “Meh. You don’t know that.”
Unless my fairy godmother moonlights as a grifter.
I’m bluffing though. The people who would have saved me? They’d be here by now. I’m not so special that anyone would go out of their way to find me.
Stepping closer, he reaches through the bars. His finger brushes the cuff, slow and deliberate. The metal is cold, but his touch burns. My breath catches before I can stop it.
He notices. His gaze flicks to mine, unreadable. “I know everything about you, Anissa.” My name drips from his lips like a taunt. “Every alias. Every safe house. Every escape plan.”
Whatever. That’s what he thinks.
Gold glints on his ears. Little hoops. Why is that so damn sexy on a man like him? My eyes drift over the ink on his arms—Bratva, without question. The markings tell me rank and allegiance. High-level, but not a boss. He takes orders, but he’s not a pawn. More dangerous than either. He’s the kind of man they trust to make people disappear. To make sure they stay gone.
I can only assume my worst fear—the very reason I made a deal with the Irish in the first place—has finally come true. The Kopolov family has come to collect what’s owed.
But he isn’t one of the Kopolov brothers or the man I left at the altar. I don’t recognize him.
I’ve heard strange rumors about the man I was supposed to marry. Rafail Kopolov is the Kopolov family pakhan. I’m told he’s now married, which is a relief for me because I figured he’d be less inclined to come chase me. The McCarthys never shared details with me, and I didn’t want them because I figured the less I spoke of the Kopolovs, the better.
For a while, I thought Rafail wasn’t hunting me anymore. But a part of me always knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Eventually, they would come. Not to reclaim me but to punish me.
But… this man isn’t Rafail.
He's younger, for one. Bigger, heavier.
I stifle a sigh and get myself together.