Page 43 of Fierce Pursuit

A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips.

I tucked the Glock into my waistband. “I’m going to remind her who the fuck she belongs to now.”

CHAPTER 10

MARINA

Itightened my arms around my body, ducking my head, pressing my elbows in close, as if I could disappear into myself. Nothing stopped the shaking. It wasn’t from the cold, though the night air carried a bitter bite. It was because I could feel it.

Feel him.

Kostya could be anywhere.

He was awake when I fled. His roar had echoed through the walls as I ran for the door. I didn't know how well I had secured him. I'd used the same slipknots he'd used on my roommates, but just because American college kids couldn't escape didn't mean a seasoned bratva enforcer wouldn't.

I squeezed my eyes shut, stomach twisting.

I still couldn't believe I had actually hit him. That I had knocked him unconscious. That I had drawn the blood of an Ivanov.

Not just any Ivanov.

Konstantine Nikolai Ivanov. A high-ranking, powerfulmember of one of the most feared families in Russia. Kostya had a reputation that extended far beyond the Ivanov name.

Intelligent. Vindictive. Cunning in a way that made even the most dangerous men wary of crossing him. And if he was after you? It was time to get your affairs in order.

If he ever found me again...

That was it.

I was a dead woman.

The only thing I could do now was run. Leave the city. Disappear. Hope to God he never found me again.

To do that, I needed money.

I had money. Not a lot, but enough to start over again. Before she died, Veronika had handed me nearly a million rubles in cash to hold on to for her, only about ten thousand in US dollars, but combined with the few hundred I had saved from tips, it was everything I had. Ten grand wouldn't be enough to vanish completely, but at least it was something.

Laughter. Low. Dark.

My pulse spiked and I jumped, jolted from my thoughts, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I snapped my head up, eyes scanning the lobby.

Four men. American. One had the build of an enforcer, but they were all wearing matching sport jackets.

Bears fans. Not mafia.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe.

Stay focused.

I scanned the crowd again, my eyes darting from faceto face, searching for Russian features, for a gaze that held recognition.

Nothing.

But the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. A prickling awareness, as if his eyes were still on me. As if he were still watching me.

He wasn't here. He couldn't be. There was no way for him to find me.

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