Page 53 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride
“It’ll be okay, Tiara, I assure you. I will go through all of it tomorrow,” I say firmly.
“But Mr. Sal was waiting—"
“Tomorrow, Tiara. Mr. Sal isn’t going anywhere. Neither is anyone else. They can all wait until tomorrow.”
She nods, sulking, her face scrunched with worry. “Yes, sir.”
She worries about everything, though. She panics if the office runs out of milk, or if she gets two phone calls at the same time.
I chuckle as I walk away. Really, they should probably find someone a little hardier to work in my office.
I parked out front today instead of underground. It’s a gorgeous day in Las Vegas, and it feels good not to be stuck in the office. I think I’ll take Ulyana out for the evening. An earlydinner somewhere with a view. She can wear one of her beautiful dresses—or she can wear her jeans, damn, I don’t care, she looks incredible in everything.
I just want to connect with her again. I’m tired of this distance between us and I’m determined to close it.
I duck into my car and pull the door closed, pressing the front panel on the dash. The car growls to life, and music begins to play loudly. I forgot to turn it down when I got out.
I laugh at myself for the fright I get.
After flicking past two songs, I find the one I’m in the mood for and click my seatbelt in place before pulling out into the road.
Las Vegas is busy, pulsing with life as I drive through the city towards our home. I love this city. It’s in my blood. It’s mine.
With a smile on my face I’m drumming on the steering wheel, my window rolled all the way down and the wind whipping through the car. It smells of hot desert sun and neon lights.
I can’t wait to see Ulyana. She must be bored at home too. She’ll probably be happy to get out with me tonight. I hope so.
My eyes keep drifting to the rearview mirror.
I could swear that car was behind me on Main Street, and now again as I turn off Plithe Avenue.
I’ve been tailed enough times to be cautious, so I turn left instead of right at the next stop, and sure enough, it follows. A dark sedan with heavily tinted windows.
My alertness becomes hyped up, my focus is entirely on evading whoever it is that’s following me. I turn the music downenough to hear the noises around me and slide my gun from the door holster onto my lap, flicking the safety off.
At the next turn I turn late, needing to use the emergency break to force the car to skid around enough to make it.
That fucking car follows.
I press my foot against the accelerator, determined to outrun them. My heart is racing now. My palms are damp with sweat and my eyes are narrowed as I search every angle for danger.
When the massive black SUV comes flying out from one of the side streets, I’m lucky I spot it. He’s aiming right for me, trying to run me off the road.
Instead of smacking straight into the driver’s side door, he knicks the back of the car and sends me spinning over the double lanes and smashing into a light post.
Luckily, the car is not wrecked, but I have stalled, and I’m frantically trying to restart the engine as men pile out of the SUV and run towards me.
“Fuck,” I scream, slamming my fist against the panel.
The car growls, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Throwing it into reverse, I press the accelerator and drive backwards away from the advancing men.
That’s when I see him.
Miron.
He’s standing on the doorframe of the black SUV, leaning on the top of the open door, using the height advantage to watch the scene unfold. He sneers and ducks back into the car when he sees me making an escape.
Fuck.
