Page 1 of Dirty Grovel

1

SUTTON

For a split second, I’m safe.

For a split second, I’m content.

For a single, split, solitary second, I’m at peace with the world.

Then reality shoves itself back into place like a harpoon to the eyeballs.

With it comes all the realizations that I never, ever should have forgotten. I am not safe.

I am not even a little bit safe! I’m on a yacht in the middle of the ocean, on the run from a crazy ex-boyfriend, a pissed off ex-fiancé, and possibly that fiancé’s psychopathic uncle, too.

I’m also huddled up in a miserable, uncomfortable ball on the cold tile floor of a bathroom, sick to my stomach from a baby I can’t afford to keep and can’t bear to lose.

Wait.

Hold on.

No, I’m not.

I mean, yes, I’m sick to my stomach—but I’m not in the bathroom. Not anymore.

I sit up abruptly as sleep falls away. The stateroom swims before my eyes—beautiful, luxurious, flawless, all polished teak and gleaming brass fixtures with portholes large enough to admire the pearlescent blues and greens of the ocean as it streams past.

I thrash around, but the sheets are cuffing my legs in place and the more I thrash, the tighter they get.

“I’d be careful if I were you—you’re bruised up enough as it is.”

I whip around and find myself staring into a pair of cold, gold eyes.

Oleg’s jaw is squared, his eyebrows knitted together.

He lookspissed.

He gets half a step closer to me before I scream.

“No!” I choke out, recoiling away from him. “Don’t come any closer.”

He bares his teeth. “For God’s sake, Sutton?—”

I finally rip out of the sheets and lunge towards the bathroom door behind me. The moment I’m on the other side, I slam it shut and lock myself in, heart hammering frantically against my rib cage.

On the plus side, I’m not trapped in the middle of the ocean with Boris.

But I can’t say that being trapped in the middle of the ocean with Oleg is much better.

“Open the door, Sutton.”

His voice is restrained, calm, bordering on sensible. It’s almost enough to make me listen.

Almost.

But then I remember who I’m dealing with.

This is Oleg Pavlov. He’ll be restrained, calm, sensible, and I’ll listen—and then, when I think I’m safe, he’ll strike.

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