Page 42 of Sinister Promise

Like no one gave a damn what happened to her.

It made my blood boil.

Because if she were mine, the only thing the world would see when she walked in a room was that she was untouchable.

The fact that other men could see this much of her, that she willingly put herself on display like this, had my grip tightening around her waist until she let out a little squeak.

Anger burned in my veins, pushed harder by a tinge of jealousy, or maybe possessiveness.

I wasn't mad because she had run, or because I had gone to her apartment and found it empty.

I wasn't even mad that I was forced to track her down like prey through the city.

That part I kind of enjoyed.

I was impressed by the chase she had given my men throughout the night.

She lost an entire team.

The first man she lost when she ran off the bus to the Metro, but the rest were able to follow her for a bit.

Then she darted away, out of their sight, jumping off one train to get on another.

More than once she ran through a train to hop one on the opposite track.

It took all night, but she lost every single one of my men.

Alina was far cleverer than I had originally given her credit for.

She had even lied on her work application, giving a false home address and listing a second job at a rat-infested strip club in a shitty neighborhood. I figured if the home address was fake, the second job had to be too.

It would have been a dead end if only she remembered that part of her onboarding included a background check.

I wasn't pissed about the amount of energy that I had to expel to catch her only to find out that my intel about her second job had been right all along.

No, I was pissed because I should have known better.

I shouldn't have underestimated her.

The girl who fascinated me more than she should have, the girl who stole my gun, stole my time, and stole my fucking patience was standing in front of me wearing nothing but cheap satin, fishnet, and a goddamn corset.

She belonged to me.

She was mine, and where did I find her?

In a trashy, run-down strip joint dressed like a hooker and selling herself to fucking nobodies.

"Answer me. What the fuck are you wearing, Alina?" I growled again, the warning clear in my tone.

"My uniform." Her breath hitched as I ran my hand from her throat down her body.

Clenching my jaw, I let her go so she could scramble off of my lap.

I stood and took off my suit jacket.

Then lifted it up, offering to slide the jacket over her bare shoulders. "Put this on."

She shook her head, her lips parting as she took a step back and glanced behind her at the heavy, dark-red curtain that separated us from the rest of the club.

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