Page 32 of Never Distract a Biker

I reach the door and fumble with the keys. They slip from my fingers and clatter against the concrete floor. "Get it together, Scarlett," I mutter, bending to pick them up. My hands shake, betraying my lack of composure.

Finally, the key slides into the lock, and I push the door open. I pause at the threshold, my heart hitching. I’ve spent so much time in the hospital these past weeks that my apartment is beginning to feel like a foreign space to me.

"Home," I sigh, stepping inside. But the silence that greets me isn't right—it's too still, too quiet. My pulse quickens, instincts screaming that I'm not alone. Is it grief playing tricks on me, or could my mother’s ghost have followed me home?

I swallow hard and wiggle my shoulder to shake off the feeling. Stepping into the living area, I noticed that my little sanctuary of solitude had been obliterated. The place I call home looked like a hurricane's aftermath. Papers flutter like wounded birds across the floor, cushions have been turned upside down and thrown out of place, and drawers yanked from their places, with their contents splattered across the floor.

What happened here? Who did this? What do they want?

“Hello, Electra." The voice comes from nowhere, a phantom call that makes me jerk around. But it's not a ghost—it's worse.

A figure emerges from behind me, a silhouette against the dim light. Panic flares hot and fierce. I lunge for the phone, only to find it's not where I left it.

"Who are you?" My voice trembles. "What do you want?"

No answer. Just him moving towards me. I back away and sprint to my room. If only I could get to the remaining money and escape through the window.

As soon as I flee into the bedroom, I shut the door and barricade it with my dresser. A quick search under the bed and I find the money gone.

The intruder has gotten to it.

I frantically search again, perhaps the bag has rolled further inside, but still nothing.

Another mountain man materializes in my bedroom, pushing off the dresser to allow his second in. I try to run, but it is no use. There is no getting away from these two hefty men. They cover my nose with a cloth as I struggle.

Fight!I command myself as I feel my vision blurring at the edges. I swing out, wild and desperate, connecting with nothingbut air. Strong arms envelop me, a cage of flesh and bone. I kick, claw, bite—anything to escape.

But darkness creeps in, muffling the struggle and silencing my cries. I'm falling, the world tilting on its axis. The ground meets me, or maybe I meet it. It's hard to tell when you're sinking into oblivion.

14

Viktor

The door swings open, and I almost stop in my tracks. It’s her—Electra, a silhouette of trepidation huddled in the metal chair. My chest tightens at the sight, a mixture of shock and anger bubbling within me. Could she have known who I was that night and purposely followed me? Why else would she give her virginity away in a fucking carpark?

"You!" she gasps, scrambling to her feet. Her voice is a tremor that betrays her fear as her eyes meet mine.

"Sit," I command. My voice is more rigid than ice, but inside, a fire rages—a war between vengeance for my father and the unsettling feelings she stirs deep within me.

Lev nudges her gently, guiding her to sit back down. Zasha watches from the shadows, an unspoken vow to act if needed.

“But you know where I worked?”

“Worked?”

“I no longer work there.”

“And why is that? Did you cash out or something?”

“You know damn well why I worked there and why I no longer have to.” I glare at him, forgetting briefly that I am at his mercy.

“Whose informant are you?”

“No one.”

“I can see we got acquainted on the wrong foot. You do not want to mess with the Russian mob.”

The fear that enters her eyes is very satisfactory.

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