Page 51 of Fierce Pursuit

The swoosh of the door opening at the front of my carriage was barely audible.

Icy air pushed through the cabin.

The cold blast froze in my lungs as my body stilled.

I didn’t… couldn’t… look up to see who had just entered the train car.

Because I knew…I knew…

The air sparked to life with a caustic energy.

He was here.

I was in the back of the carriage, so I hoped against hope that he hadn’t seen me yet. I ducked further down in my seat and watched Kostya make his way down the aisle.

Men shifted in their seats at his intimidating presence, while more than one woman gave him an appreciative once-over. If he noticed their looks, he didn’t show it. His piercing gaze searched each face as he methodically prowled down the center aisle.

My heart pumped blood to my ears in a sickening rush, my head becoming dizzy.

Maybe I could hide. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me. Maybe a wizard would come down to rescue me. The wizard seemed as likely an option as the other two.

Fuck.

I was trapped.

My chest ached, my breath coming out in quick gasps. I stared at him, my muscles tensed. My mouth went dry, and adrenaline flooded my system.

With each step closer he took, my mind raced, trying to assess potential outcomes…but they all led to the same conclusion.

I was well and truly fucked.

Would he put a bullet in my brain in front of these witnesses?

Drag me to the terrifying junction between the train cars and just toss me off, assuming I’d die in the fall?

Or worse.

Fuck. I was really screwed when taking a bullet to thehead or being thrown off a moving train weren’t the worst-case scenarios.

The worst-case scenario was that he returned me to Solovyov in Russia. Russians had a natural talent for torture. The man could keep me alive and begging for death for months before finally putting me out of my misery. That was if he didn’t decide to get his money back the “old-fashioned” way, by forcing me to work in one of his notorious brothels. A living death.

My thoughts swarmed as my heart pounded, and Kostya got another step closer.

What if I screamed?

Would someone here save me?

I had no idea.

No, that wasn’t an option. If someone helped me all they would do was earn a bullet for their trouble, and then I would have their blood on my hands. My conscience was already heavy enough because I lusted after my murderous brother-in-law. I didn’t need another person’s death piling on.

Kostya was another row closer.

Only six rows between us.

My shirt felt damp against my back, sticking to me.

A larger man stood, blocking Kostya’s way as he tried to get something from a bag he had stored on the overhead rack.

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