Page 39 of My Bratva Stalker

By the time she stands, turning toward the terminal, she finally sees me.

Our eyes lock.

And everything stops.

Her breath catches.

Her pulse jumps in her throat.

Her body stills, but her eyes scream one thing— Run.

She moves. But I’m faster.

She gets two steps. Maybe three.

Then I grab her. One rough yank, and she’s against me.

Her curvy body slams into my chest, my arms locking tight around her waist.

She thrashes, struggling, but she’s not going anywhere.

I dip my head, pressing my mouth to her ear, my voice low and lethal.

“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?”

She curses, shoving against me. “Let me go.”

I chuckle darkly, hauling her up against me. “Never.”

She keeps fighting me. Kicks, elbows me, slaps me. But I barely feel it.

She’s panting, her scent wrapping around me—sweet, addictive, fucking mine.

I bury my face in her hair, inhaling, dragging her tighter against me.

“You think you can run from me?” I growl.

She gasps when I squeeze her, pressing her against my cock.

“You think I’d ever let you go?”

People are watching. But I don’t care. I meet every look with a deadly stare, and no one dares come forward.

I tuck her against my chest, shielding her from their eyes, from everything. Because Marie is mine. And I’m taking her home. Let anyone fucking dare stand in my way.

I slide one arm under her legs, the other at her back. She squeals as I lift her effortlessly, her body draping over my shoulder. She pounds at my back, cursing loudly, but I just keep walking to the car.

My woman doesn’t get to leave. Doesn’t get to run. She doesn’t get to escape me.

She fucking belongs to me. And by the time I’m done serving her punishment, she’ll never forget it.

Marie

The car barely starts moving before I lunge.

I don’t think.

I don’t plan.

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