Page 18 of Dirty Grovel

Then, just as suddenly as he’d picked me up, he sets me down.

The world goes right side up again, but it doesn’t help with the nausea.

I spin around and run straight to the dark corner in the alleyway he’s brought me to.

Then I proceed to throw up chicken fingers and French fries alongside the chipped brick wall.

A few more seconds and I’d have been wearing my own vomit.

Once I’ve emptied my guts, I straighten up, only to be caught by a dizzy spell so bad that I start to wonder if someone might have spiked my drink.

It’s not such a crazy thought. I’m a foreigner wearing a bikini in the middle of a dodgy club.

“Walking target” in the dictionary just has a picture of me.

I step back and lose my footing. Thankfully, there’s a strong hand there to catch me.

I twist around and meet those gold eyes.

A shudder crawls up my spine. Again, I’m caught between relief and terror.

Maybe that’s why I don’t fight when he twists me around and leads me to a waiting car with tinted windows.

All I want to do now is make sure my baby is alright.

6

OLEG

I am so fucking sick and tired of chasing this woman all over creation.

I’m sure there are extenuating circumstances, but there’s so much steam coming out of my ears that I don’t particularly care about the details.

I’ll punch first and shout later.

Which is precisely what I do.

The “punch first” part of my plan goes perfectly. Once the horny fucker is choking on his own blood, I’m free to grab the source of the problem and get the hell out of this trash joint.

Unfortunately, the “shout later” part of my plan is thrown for a loop when Sutton starts hurling so badly that I’m afraid she’s in danger of losing her intestines.

All the rage that’s been churning around inside me since I saw her run from me back at the harbor evaporates when I see her climb into the back of my car.

She’s dead on her feet.

She stinks of smoke, sweat, and vomit.

She looks miserable.

And I can’t help but think that, in some ways, it’s all my fault.

“Where to, boss?” Ilya asks from the driver’s seat as Sutton’s eyes droop with fatigue.

“The closest hospital,” I bark. “She needs a doctor’s care immediately.”

Ilya swerves right and Sutton slides right into me, her body as listless as a rag doll’s. Her head bounces against my shoulder.

I hook an arm around her and prop her up against my chest.

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