ALARIC
I’ll killthat girl when I find her.
The maid was the one who realized Kasimira had escaped somehow.
Maria’s scream at seven in the morning could have woken the dead. I rushed to the guest wing expecting blood, violence, some catastrophe. Instead, I found an empty room and an open window.
The little brat had climbed out like some kind of cat burglar.
“Sir, I brought her breakfast and she was just gone,” Maria stammered, wringing her hands. “The window was open, and clothes were missing from the closet. I don’t understand how she…”
But I understood perfectly. The girl had survival instincts, I’d give her that. Perhaps learned them from her arms dealer father before he sold her off like livestock.
What she didn’t know was that I’d been expecting this.
The black backpack was missing from the closet, exactly as I’d planned. Hidden in the lining, so small she’d never notice it, was a GPS tracker that activated the moment the bag experienced sustained movement.
She was actually carrying her own leash.
Three days of watching that little red dot move across state lines, of letting her think she was free while I tracked her every move like a hunter stalking prey.
Now I’m seven hours into the drive to some nowhere town called Millfield, and the white-hot rage that consumed me when I found that empty room has cooled significantly.
My son got his explosive temper from me, but he never learned the most important lesson—when to unleash the beast and when to keep it caged.
Dante’s anger was a wildfire, destructive and unpredictable.
The highway stretches endlessly ahead, giving me too much time to think. About the girl who spent one night in my arms and now represents my biggest complication, and about the will that binds us together, whether we like it or not.
I could have taken the jet, been there in two hours instead of seven. But arriving angry would have been a mistake. When you’re dealing with someone who has nothing left to lose, you don’t give them a reason to do something stupid.
The GPS shows she’s been stationary for forty-three minutes. Some diner in the middle of nowhere. Good. She’s tired, possibly hungry, and in a place where everyone will notice if she tries to make a scene. Small towns like this—you can’t disappear into a crowd because there is no crowd.
I pull into the parking lot as the sun starts to set, and through the window, I can see her. Corner booth, back to the wall.
She’s dressed in what looks like a summer dress and a button-up cashmere sweater. From this distance, I can’t make out all the details, but she looks…different. Less like a prisoner, more like the woman I remember from that hotel room.
She’s eating like she hasn’t had a real meal in days.
Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that makes her look younger and innocent. But then scenes from our night together flash through my mind. She’s anything but innocent—at least in bed.
Focus, Alaric. Dammit. It’s bad enough that you fucked your son’s ex-fiancée. You planning to make that mistake twice?
I shake my head and force myself to concentrate on why I’m here. Business first. Everything else can go to hell.
When I walk into the diner, the bell above the door chimes softly. She looks up at the sound, reasonably expecting to see another local coming in for coffee.
Instead, she sees me.
Every drop of color drains from her face. Her fork clatters against her plate as her hand goes limp.
I approach her table casually, like I’m meeting a date for dinner. Or maybe a daughter.
“Hello, Kasimira.”
She starts to stand, probably planning to run for the back exit, but I don’t need to raise my voice or make sudden movements.
“You move an inch and I’ll put a bullet in your heart.”
