Page 145 of Fierce Pursuit

And when he finally righted me, when he lifted me into his arms and carried me back up the aisle like a conquering king, the room erupted into applause.

The guests stood, clapping as if this was any other wedding, as if I had walked willingly down this aisle, as if I had chosen this life.

Kostya grinned ear to ear, his expression one of sheer triumph.

I hated him for it.

I hated that he looked happy.

That he looked…right.

I had seen him at the altar once before. I had watched him stand in this same sacred space with my sister at his side, and I had thought I understood him.

Back then, his smile had been tight, forced. I had assumed it was the crowds, the ceremony itself, the weight of it all pressing down on him.

I had been wrong.

It wasn’t the crowd.

It was Veronika.

Because he hadn’t chosen her.

But he had chosen me.

And if he had given me a choice, if he had asked instead of taken, maybe I could have shared in that excitement, in that revelry.

Instead, I lay in his arms, silent, seething, my fingers curled into the lace and silk of my dress as he carried me down the steps of the church toward the waiting limo.

He pressed his face into my neck, his breath warm as he murmured against my skin.

"We are going to live a long and happy life together,moy zaichonok."

I said nothing.

He could believe whatever he wanted.

It wasn’t going to stop me from planning my escape.

CHAPTER 41

KOSTYA

Iflexed my fingers around the pistol at my side, my patience wearing thin, the metal cold and familiar against my palm.

Two days since my wedding.

Forty-eight fucking hours, and already I was back in the middle of a war, the taste of gunpowder already replacing the champagne on my tongue.

Marina would be furious if she knew where I was.

But I didn't have the luxury of turning off my instincts. Not when the primitive part of my brain screamed danger with every heartbeat.

Solovyov had replaced Oleg too quickly, and that meant this wasn't over.

"You sure this is the spot?" Mac muttered from the driver's seat, his knuckles white against the black leather steering wheel.

I didn't bother answering. He knew better. We had picked up chatter. Solovyov's new enforcer was makingmoves, and this was our first real shot at seeing him in the flesh.

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