Page 3 of Chain Me

I join a group discussing the latest tech innovations, forcing myself to focus on their conversation about quantum computing. The words wash over me while my skin prickles with awareness. He's still watching—I can feel it.

I accept a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter, careful not to glance in Erik's direction. But my traitorous mind keeps conjuring images of those dark eyes, the way his suit stretched across broad shoulders, how his large hands dwarfed the delicate champagne flute.

Stop it, I scold myself. This man is an Ivanov. His family has blood on their hands, just like mine does. I've worked too hard to distance myself from that world to let attraction cloud my judgment.

But when I shift position to better hear someone's comment about blockchain security, I catch a glimpse of him across the room. He stands apart from the crowd, a predator among sheep. His stance conveys a soldier’s awareness. A shiver runsdown my spine that has nothing to do with the ballroom's air conditioning.

I excuse myself from the group and head to the balcony for fresh air. The cool night breeze helps clear my head, but does nothing to slow my pulse. I've met plenty of dangerous men—grew up surrounded by them. Why does this one affect me so differently?

Perhaps because, unlike the others, who hide their violence behind smooth smiles and designer suits, Erik wears his darkness openly. There's something almost honest about it, about him.

I grip the balcony railing, forcing those thoughts away. It doesn't matter how attractive he is or how his accent sends heat coursing through my veins. Some lines shouldn't be crossed, and getting involved with an Ivanov tops that list.

2

ERIK

Irise before dawn, muscles tight from another restless night. The encounter with Katarina Lebedev plays through my mind like surveillance footage I can’t erase. Her green eyes had locked onto mine with an intensity that bypassed my usual defenses.

My fist connects with the punching bag, the impact echoing through the private gym in my penthouse. Left hook. Right cross. The rhythm should clear my head, but her sweet jasmine scent lingers.

“Getting an early start, Brother?” Nikolai’s voice cuts through my concentration.

I grunt, landing another combination. The chains rattle overhead.

“You’ve been here since four.” He steps into my line of sight. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Igor Lebedev’s daughter, would it?”

My jaw clenches. The punch that follows splits the bag’s seam.

“That’s what I thought.” Nikolai crosses his arms. “I saw how you watched her last night.”

“I was assessing our future captive.” The lie tastes bitter.

“Right. And I’m joining a monastery.” He tosses me a towel. “You’ve never lost focus during surveillance before. Not once.”

Sand trickles from the damaged bag. Like her, it’s gotten under my skin in ways I can’t control. I wrap my knuckles tighter, preparing to switch to the heavy bag.

“The meeting’s in an hour.” Nikolai heads for the door. “Try not to break anything else before then.”

I close my eyes, attempting to center myself through the breathing exercises that usually work for me. All I see behind my closed eyelids is Katarina in that black dress, the way she’d squared her shoulders when she realized who I was. The strength in her stance spoke of someone who’d fought her own battles.

A text on my phone jolts me into the present. I’ve gone twenty minutes over without noticing—another crack in my routine that shouldn’t exist. One meeting with Katarina Lebedev has compromised years of carefully maintained discipline.

I shower and dress quickly. The Glock slides into its shoulder holster, a familiar weight against my ribs, where the worst of my scars stretch across my skin. Two backup knives find their homes at the ankle and belt.

The boardroom falls silent as I enter. Nikolai sits at the head of the table, fingers steepled. Maps and surveillance photos spread before him like a general planning an invasion.

“Dmitri and I will handle the extraction.” Nikolai’s tone brooks no argument. “Erik will maintain custody afterward.”

My muscles lock. The thought of being in close quarters with Katarina sets off warning signals I haven’t felt since Grozny. “Viktor has more experience with?—”

“You’re the only one I trust with this.” Nikolai’s gray eyes pin me. “Her father’s men will be looking for signs of mistreatment. You know how to handle high-value assets.”

Assets. Like the politicians I’d guarded in Moscow. The difference is that they hadn’t made my hands itch to touch them.

I grip the edge of the conference table, my knuckles white against the polished wood. “She’s not an asset. She’s a person.”

“A person we need if we want to control Igor,” Nikolai counters. “Your job is to keep her secure, nothing more.”

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