Page 106 of Sadistic

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Another text from Doran.

I delete it without reading.

"We need to pick up your shoes," Dalla says, changing tactics. "Even if you don't go through with it, you need them."

"I have shoes."

"Not the ones that go with that dress. Come on." She pulls me to my feet. "Fresh air, retail therapy, and maybe some clarity."

"Fine. But if anyone from his side tries to approach me?—"

"We'll handle it."

I shower quickly, throwing on jeans and a simple t-shirt.

My engagement ring sits on the dresser where I left it six days ago.

I stare at it for a moment—that perfect sapphire surrounded by diamonds, probably worth more than most people's houses.

Such a beautiful chain.

"Ready?" Dalla calls.

I leave the ring where it is.

An hour later, we're at the mall, specifically Nordstrom's shoe department.

The normalcy of Saturday shopping should be calming—mothers with strollers, teenagers trying on ridiculous heels, the soft jazz playing overhead.

But I notice them immediately—two men in black suits trying to blend in with Saturday shoppers.

They're about as subtle as a heart attack.

"We have company," I mutter to Dalla.

She glances around, spots them.

One pretends to examine men's dress shoes, the other lurks by the handbags. "Mikhail's men?"

"Probably. So much for needing space."

"At least he's protecting you from a distance?" she offers weakly.

"That's not the point. I specifically said?—"

I stop mid-sentence, a prickle of awareness running down my spine. Someone's watching me. Not the obvious security detail, but someone else.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, that primitive warning system that's saved humans for millennia.

I scan the store, trying to pinpoint why I feel so uneasy.

There—by the jewelry counter.

A man in an expensive suit, younger than I expected, handsome in a dangerous way.

Dark hair slicked back, gold watch catching the light, everything about him screaming money and menace.

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