Page 53 of Anton

When Anton finished changing, he came over to me, his expression intense. “Marko can sort out the details later,” he said, his voice still laced with tension.

Taking me in his arms, he pulled me close. “How are you doing, Marcie? Did he hurt you?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against my hair as if trying to reassure himself that I was alive. His body was still tense, and his breathing ragged, like he was fighting to suppress the lingering adrenaline.

“No, I’m fine,” I replied, wanting to settle him.

He pulled back and let his gaze travel over my face, anger flaring in his eyes again when he saw the bruise blooming on my cheek from where the driver had slapped me.

Brushing his hand gently over the area, he tilted my head up and took my lips in a tender kiss that made my toes curl and my eyelids flutter shut. The moment of tenderness was such a contrast to his earlier ruthless violence, it made my heart ache. As we stood in each other’s arms, the world melted away, leaving only the safety I felt in his embrace.

“Did you find anything useful?” he asked, reluctantly pulling us both back to the present.

“There’s some more clothing that might fit me, but I know how much this dress turns you on,” I quipped with a wicked grin, tossing a playful wink his way. “Permission to strip, Sir?”

Anton chuckled, his eyes darkening with lust. “Oh, it’s not the dress that turns me on, Little Miss Sassy,” he drawled, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me close. “It’s the fierce, infuriating woman wearing it.”

I barely had time to laugh before his lips claimed mine in a kiss that left me breathless, my knees threatening to buckle under the intensity.

With a smirk, he pulled back, steadying me before landing a sharp, playful smack on my bum. “Go get changed while I sort this out,” he ordered, his voice rich with authority.

“Yes, sir,” I shot back with a cheeky salute, spinning on my heel and heading to the boot to retrieve the extra clothing.

As I finished pulling on the clothes, I’d found—a pair of loose-fitting jogging bottoms, a hoodie, and a simple black T-shirt to cover my chest—Anton approached me. His expression was firm, focused, and free of any signs of the earlier violence.

“We can’t use the police car,” he said, his tone measured. “It’ll be traced back to us too easily. We need to make this look like they dropped us off somewhere and then had an accident. Marko can help cover our tracks with that too when he arrives.”

I tilted my head, catching the glint of intent in his eyes as he gestured toward the edge of the dirt track, where the embankment sloped steeply down into the dense forest.

“We’re going to push the car down there,” he continued, his voice steady but edged with purpose. “If it hits the trees, it’ll be convincing enough.”

“Got it,” I said, stepping up beside him.

Together, we moved to the rear of the car. The warm afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the ground as we worked. The dry dirt beneath my feet shifted slightly as I positioned myself behind the vehicle. Anton leaned through the open driver’s side window, gripping the steering wheel.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at me.

I nodded, pressing my hands firmly against the cool metal. “Ready.”

“Push!”

The vehicle groaned as it started to roll forward. I dug my trainers into the loose earth, straining against the weight, while Anton steered, his powerful arms flexing as he kept the vehicle on course.

The car gathered momentum, its path uneven as it bounced slightly over the rugged ground. My arms burned with the effort, but I gritted my teeth, focusing on the task. This wasn’t just about escaping—it was about ensuring we stayed a step ahead of the hell closing in around us.

As it neared the embankment’s edge, Anton ran back to my side. With a final shove, the car tipped forward and plunged down the slope, the sound of snapping branches and scraping metal echoing through the forest.

It collided with a tree halfway down, the impact sending a shudder through the air. Moments later, flames began to lick at the bonnet, rapidly spreading until the entire vehicle was ablaze. The heat was intense, even from our vantage point, and I instinctively stepped closer to Anton.

Shouldering the backpack, he grabbed my hand, his fingers strong and reassuring. “We need to get out of here,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

I squeezed his hand in return. “I’m with you in that.”

Without another word, we turned and ran, the roaring fire fading behind us as we disappeared into the trees.

We vanished into the forest again, the crackle of flames in the distance a brutal reminder of how close we’d come to dying. We’d fought to stay alive—had to kill to stay one step ahead—but the question lingered: How much longer could we keep running on nothing but luck? The days stretched on, no help in sight, andI couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that our time was running out.

CHAPTER 22

ANTON

---