Page 32 of Fierce Pursuit

I hadn’t meant to kill him.

I just wanted to hurt him enough to get away.

A little maiming,not murder.

If I had just injured him, the Ivanovs might have let it slide as self-defense, a warning, nothing worth starting a war over.

But if he were dead?

There was nowhere on this planet I would ever be safe again.

My hands trembled violently as I reached out, pressing my fingers against his neck, praying for a pulse.

Nothing.

His skin was still warm, but I couldn’t feel anything.

My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, a frantic,caged animal. My vision blurred, dark spots flickering at the edges. Cold sweat beaded my forehead.

Focus, Marina.

I could not afford to panic right now.

A full-blown meltdown would only waste time, and I didn’t have time.

Fix this. Now.

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to take a slow breath in through my nose.

Hold for four seconds.

Exhale.

Again.

Again.

By the fourth breath, the room had stopped spinning. The dots in my vision faded. My hands still trembled, but at least I wasn’t on the verge of hyperventilating.

Good enough. It had to be good enough.

But I still had a massive unconscious—or dead—Russian enforcer in my bed.

And no plan.

How the fuck was I supposed to explain this to the cops?

“I’m sorry, Officer, I don’t know why he tied up my roommates just to collapse on my bed…with a raging hard-on.”

Yeah. That would go great.

Or worse, calling his brother in Moscow who, if Veronika was to be believed, was the mafia boss for the Ivanov family in Russia.

“Hey, Artem? We met once at my sister’s wedding—y’know, when she married your hot older brother? Anyhoo, long story short, we were getting freaky, I panicked, and I, uh…hit him with a lamp. Please don’t kill me.”

Yeah. That would really go over well.

This was it.

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