Page 72 of Fierce Pursuit

CHAPTER 18

KOSTYA

She tried to fight, but one firm slap to her ass made her stop.

My shoes slid in the mud as we made our way through the hay-covered field.

“I–” Marina started, and I tightened my grip on her thighs.

“No. You don’t get to speak.” The control I had over myself was being held together by a single fucking thread.

If she tried to talk to me now, if she gave me some lame excuse, or worse, gave me fucking lip, I was going to lose my shit. Neither one of us could afford for me to lose my temper right now, so I needed to stay quiet.

Slowly, we made our way across the field to the farmhouse.

There was an old sedan in the driveway.

I set her down and gave her a look that said, “stay.”

I checked the driver’s door, and luckily, it was unlocked.

“You can get in the passenger seat willingly or I can shove you in the trunk. Your choice.”

She looked at me for a second, blinking back tears that welled in her eyes as her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

That should have made me feel bad, but it didn’t. I knew better. Those weren’t tears of sadness or even fear that filled her pretty eyes. They were tears of frustration.

She didn’t say a word, just got into the passenger seat. It only took me a second to hot-wire the car and then we were on the road.

Not a single inside light turned on, and as far as I could tell, everyone in the house was still asleep. Good. That meant her little stunt would not cost people their lives.

I didn’t need another mess to clean up in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere.

I cranked up the heat and followed the signs to New York City.

It was ten hours of complete deafening silence.

Marina tried talking a few times, but I shut it down every single time. I was white-knuckling the steering wheel while maneuvering around assholes and grandmas on the highway.

“Can we stop so I can use the bathroom?”

“Not on your life,” I ground out.

Was I being unreasonable? Yes. Did I give a fuck? Absolutely not.

After the shit she pulled, she was lucky she wasn’t in the fucking trunk.

The entire trip, I was focused on the pounding in myears and the desire to hit something over and over and over. I needed a punching bag, in the gym. That, or some random asshole would work.

All I needed was someone to fucking push me and I was going to lose my shit.

I wasn’t going to do that on her.

Logically, I knew she was scared, and I knew she was feeling trapped.

That was why my little rabbit ran.

The problem with logic was that it never quelled my rage.

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