Page 2 of Fierce Pursuit

Konstantine Nikolai Ivanov, Kostya to his friends, of which there were few, still looked devastatingly handsome in that cold, lethal way that made people both fear and respect him.

Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, dark hair just long enough for a woman to sink her fingers into. He had been intimidating even before he married my sister, before he became a name whispered in the dark corners of Russia.

And now he was here.

For me.

Anna’s voice broke through my spiral. “So, who is that? Does he have a brother?”

“He does,” I murmured, my throat dry as dust. “Two. But they’re not your type.”

“Damn.” She sighed, oblivious to the way my body was locked up in sheer terror. “So he’s yours, then?”

“No,” I whispered. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

Anna blinked. “Wait, what? You never told me you had a sister who was married to a freaking Russian god.”

I swallowed hard. My hands trembled at my sides, but I kept my face carefully blank. “She’s dead.”

“Oh,” Anna said, her enthusiasm temporarily dimming. “Car accident?”

I forced myself to nod. “Something like that.”

The words tasted like acid.

I couldn’t say it, not out loud.

That he had killed her.

That my sister’s blood was on his hands.

That if I didn’t leave right now, mine would be too.

Anna kept talking, something about how a man like that had to be ready to move on. But I couldn’t hear her anymore.

All I heard was the blood rushing in my ears.

I had to get the hell out of here.

He hadn’t seen me yet.

That was the only advantage I had.

If I ran now, I might have a chance.

But I needed a distraction.

Forcing my lips into what I hoped was a convincing smile, I turned to Anna. “Actually, do me a favor? Go talk to him for me. Tell him I haven’t come in for my shift yet. Get his drink order, maybe flirt a little.”

Anna’s eyes lit up. “Girl, you do not have to ask me twice.” She fluffed her hair, adjusted her bra, and strutted out into the dining room.

The moment she had his attention, I turned and bolted.

I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Babushka, the owner, who had been so kind to me.

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was getting out before Konstantine saw me.

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