Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I turned on my heel and stalked out the back, my mind already on what came next.
The hunt. The capture. The reckoning.
When I caught Marina, there would be no more running.
No more games.
No more distance between us.
She was mine now. Mine to protect. Mine to keep.
And God help anyone who tried to take her from me.
CHAPTER 3
MARINA
My lungs burned, but it didn’t matter.
I had to push through.
I had to push harder.
My life depended on it.
I focused on the space directly in front of me, too afraid to look back. Just one foot in front of the other, running as fast as I could, weaving through the crowded street.
Then—impact.
My shoulder slammed into some guy too busy staring at his phone to see where he was going. The collision sent me sprawling.
Pain shot through my palms as I hit the pavement, the rough concrete scraping my skin raw. A few people stopped to help, but they only got in my way, blocking my view.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the sharp ache in my knee.
And looked over my shoulder.
Stupid. Of course he was still following me.
This was Konstantine.
The man who had chased me across Europe, relentless as a shadow, and now across America.
He was far too close. Half a block away, at most. Shoving his way through the crowd, his piercing gaze locked onto me.
Kostya was a force.
A man built for war; tall, powerful, terrifyingly focused. He could see over the heads of the pedestrians, moving with the confidence of someone who knew he could take whatever he wanted.
I wasn’t tall. I wasn’t powerful.
But I was fast.
And that had its advantages.
I twisted through the sea of people, ducking into the middle of a group of giggling schoolgirls in matching uniforms.
Kostya wouldn’t shove aside a bunch of teenage girls. Too much attention. Too much risk.
Men like him hated police involvement. Bribes cut into their bottom line.
A few of the girls shrieked as I pushed through them, others cursed me out, but they all clumped together in confusion, blocking the sidewalk.
Perfect.
It bought me a few precious seconds.
And on the other side of them, I saw it…my salvation.
The ugly green metal staircase leading up to the L.
I could practically taste the stale air, thick with sweat and exhaust. Could already smell the cloyingly sweet cleanser that did nothing to mask the mystery stains on the seats or the toxic fumes of the drunk old man reeking of Malört.
Those weren’t just scents. They were something you experienced.
And right now, they smelled like freedom.
I pushed harder.
My thighs screamed, every footfall sending a jolt of pain up my legs.
And I relished it.
Because the pain meant I was alive.
If Kostya got his hands on me, I wouldn’t feel anything ever again.
The day before my sister died, she had begged me to run with her.
I should have listened.
She knew what was coming. She knew what Kostya was capable of.
"He’s going to kill me, Marina," she had whispered as she packed. "For what I did…he won’t stop. You have to come with me."
But I hadn’t believed her.
Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have found her.
Wouldn’t have shot her in cold blood. Like a dog in the street.
I knew their marriage had been nothing but a business deal—money, power, and control masquerading as vows. I knew they had hated each other from the start.
But I never thought he would kill her.
Foolishly, I believed he would grant her a divorce. Let her go, wash his hands of her, move on.
I’d underestimated the ego of a Russian mafia enforcer.
If he couldn’t have my sister, no one could.
And now he was coming for me.
Shaking off the morbid memory, I forced myself to focus on the train pulling into the station. The gleaming metal cars screeched against the tracks, a deafening wail that spiked through my head.
It was my salvation.
My only way out.
But it wasn’t close enough.
My heart pounded violently, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. The only thing that mattered was reaching that staircase. Reaching those doors before they closed.
I ran faster and pushed forward, shoving through the crowd as people spilled onto the platform, their conversations and complaints just white noise.
Someone cursed at me in Polish. Another man, his voice thick with an Eastern European accent, grumbled something about Americans and no manners. A catcall cut through the chaos, lewd and unwelcome.
I ignored them all.
I felt a pang of guilt as I crashed into a guy carrying a fresh box of Stan’s Donuts, sending them tumbling to the ground in a pink-sprinkled massacre. But I couldn’t even spare a second to look back, let alone apologize.
The train doors were closing.
No, no, no.
If I got trapped on this platform with him, I was dead.
Panic tightened its grip around my throat. "No!" I gasped, forcing my legs to move faster, harder, ignoring the fire tearing through my thighs.