Page 9 of Fierce Pursuit

Muted conversations swirled around me; a few passengers who clearly weren’t thrilled by my dramatic entrance sent irritated side-eyes my way.

"Could’ve justwaitedfor the next train," someone muttered.

"Shit, baby, I can think of amuchbetter way to get you on your knees,” another man said, grinning.

I ignored them.

And then—I heard it.

The sharp, jarringthumpof fists slamming against the window.

The blood drained from my face.

Slowly, I straightened and turned my head. My stomachplummeted.

Kostya.

His face, flushed with exertion, was twisted in frustration, those piercing blue eyes boring into mine through the scratched, grubby glass. He looked furious, dangerous, and still unfairly handsome.

He shouldn’t look that good.

Not while he was trying to kill me.

It wasn’t fair.

“Marina, you’re in danger!" His voice was muffled by the roar of the engine, but I heard it.

And for the first time, I believed him.

I was in danger.

Because of him.

He was the one chasing me. The one tearing apart my life, hunting me down like an animal.

Why?

Why was he doing this? Why had he taken all the anger, all the rage he felt for my sister, and turned it onto me?

I knew what he must think. That I had helped Veronika betray him. That I had played a part in her affair. That maybe I could have stopped it.

I couldn’t.

No one could have stopped my sister.

But that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that I had been running since Moscow.

Since the night my sister whispered in my ear,if anything happens to me, you run.

You get out. You disappear.

She knew.

She knew she wouldn’t survive.

But neither of us realized I wouldn’t either.

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