Page 8 of Fierce Pursuit

Because the pain meant I was alive.

If Kostya got his hands on me, I wouldn’t feel anything ever again.

The day before my sister died, she had begged me to run with her.

I should have listened.

She knew what was coming. She knew what Kostya was capable of.

"He’s going to kill me, Marina," she had whispered as she packed. "For what I did…he won’t stop. You have to come with me."

But I hadn’t believed her.

Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have found her.

Wouldn’t have shot her in cold blood. Like a dog in the street.

I knew their marriage had been nothing but a business deal—money, power, and control masquerading as vows. I knew they had hated each other from the start.

But I never thought he would kill her.

Foolishly, I believed he would grant her a divorce. Let her go, wash his hands of her, move on.

I’d underestimated the ego of a Russian mafia enforcer.

If he couldn’t have my sister, no one could.

And now he was coming for me.

Shaking off the morbid memory, I forced myself to focus on the train pulling into the station. The gleaming metal cars screeched against the tracks, a deafening wail that spiked through my head.

It was my salvation.

My only way out.

But it wasn’t close enough.

My heart pounded violently, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. The only thing that mattered was reaching that staircase.Reaching those doors before they closed.

I ran faster and pushed forward, shoving through the crowd as people spilled onto the platform, their conversations and complaints just white noise.

Someone cursed at me in Polish. Another man, his voice thick with an Eastern European accent, grumbled something about Americans and no manners. A catcall cut through the chaos, lewd and unwelcome.

I ignored them all.

I felt a pang of guilt as I crashed into a guy carrying a fresh box of Stan’s Donuts, sending them tumbling to the ground in a pink-sprinkled massacre. But I couldn’t even spare a second to look back, let alone apologize.

The train doors were closing.

No, no, no.

If I got trapped on this platform with him, I was dead.

Panic tightened its grip around my throat. "No!" Igasped, forcing my legs to move faster, harder, ignoring the fire tearing through my thighs.

Ithrewmyself forward, squeezing between the narrowing gap just as the doors sealed shut behind me. The momentum sent me stumbling. I bent forward, bracing my hands on my knees, struggling to suck in air.

My body felt like it had been ripped apart, but I’d done it. I’dmade it.

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