Page 120 of Fierce Pursuit

KOSTYA

They could handle the war plans. I had something more important to take care of.

Marina.

She was still sleeping upstairs, soft and warm in my bed, and I couldn’t let her wake up alone. She was going to wake up in a strange house, in a strange bed, wearing nothing but her sweater and those delicate lace panties that had already tested every shred of my restraint.

And she would have no idea where she was. No idea who had carried her here.

She had been through too much. Survived too much.

I refused to let fear be the first thing she felt when her eyes opened.

No, she was going to wake up to me.

To my touch, my voice—she was going to know she was safe before any doubt could creep in.

I told the others I was getting some rest, that I needed to be ready for when it was time to go on the offensive.They nodded, barely sparing me a glance. Let them believe whatever they wanted.

My fight wasn’t down here.

It was upstairs, in the shape of a woman who had already branded herself into my bones.

And I wasn’t letting her go.

Pavel gave me a hard look for a moment, like he could see through my excuse, but nodded.

Artem and Gregor didn’t even look up from their current standoff.

At least this time, they were working toward the same outcome.

I snuck back upstairs to Marina.

She was exactly as I left her, fast asleep under a thick down comforter.

The only light in the room was from a single beam of moonlight that shone across her sleeping form. Illuminating her already beautiful face, seeming to glow like an angel. Her silky hair spread out in a halo on the goose down pillow.

She looked so calm, peaceful even.

I’d sent a prayer of thanks to a God I rarely acknowledged, when the doctor had looked her over and confirmed she had not suffered any harm from the accident. It was a damn miracle. My girl had been smart and made sure she was seat belted.

Marina deserved to sleep like this every single night. The deep, uninterrupted sleep of a woman who was well-loved and safe.

The temptation to crawl in next to her was too much, and I was done fighting it.

With a quick tug, I pulled off my cashmere sweater and undid my leather belt, kicking my jeans off with my shoes and leaving all the clothes crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Downstairs, my brothers and cousins were working out the specifics of the hit, putting the pieces together and learning about Oleg’s true target. They had a few days’ head start, but it was still only a matter of time before Solovyov learned of his hitman’s blunder and demise.

Solovyov would want someone to answer for Oleg’s death, and more than that he would simply hire a new man to take his place.

The death of a hitman did not cancel the hit.

If anything, Solovyov would take a more aggressive stance and start arranging countermoves. He would increase the payment for the hit and then expand it from a single target to others, eliminating them to prevent collateral damage to his organization. Solovyov was smart enough to realize he needed a show of strength and to tie off any possible loose ends. That included Marina.

That meant not only was she still a target, but it was also only a matter of time before the price on her head increased exponentially.

There was no fucking way I was ever going to let anyone near her again.

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