“Maksim…” I hiss when she tightens it. “Belov.”
Her hands go still, eyes lifting slowly to meet mine. “Belov?” Her face doesn’t change, but I can see the pieces slotting together. “As in…Dmitry and Yuri Belov?”
“Dmitry was my father,” I whisper. “Did you know him?”
She doesn’t answer. Just studies me, silent, her eyes moving like she’s sorting through memories and deciding what to do with me.
“Leni, love. You all right?”
The voice comes from behind her. Male with a British accent. He sounds concerned, not threatening. Still, my body locks up. Trust isn’t something I give. Not anymore.
And there isn’t a man alive I’d ever hand it to again.
“It’s okay,” she says, with that same gentle smile. “Silas is my husband.”
A friend of hers, not an enemy. It should soothe me, but it doesn’t. My head drops, shoulders curling in, and I can’t meet her eyes, can’t make my mouth work. But Helena doesn’t press. Instead, she holds out her hand.
“Come with me, Maksim. Let me help you.”
The words hit somewhere I didn’t know still existed, and my whole body starts to shake.
Help me?
No one’s ever said that before. No one’s ever meant it.
A sound breaks out of me, half sob, half breath.
She squeezes my shoulder. “I promise you.No onewill ever hurt you again.”
One
VALENTINA
PRESENT DAY
Idrag in a breath and release it slowly, squeezing the trigger. The bullet slices through the target with dead-on precision.
Kill shot.
Round after round erupts from the chamber until the slide locks back with a metallic snap, cutting off my high faster than I expected.
But one beady fucking eye is still staring at me. I growl, eject the empty mag, and rip off my ear pro.
“Son of a bitch.”
Remi’s hand finds my arm just as I rack the Glock.
“I think he’s dead,” she says with a low chuckle. “And look, I’m all for fucking his shit up, but there are still customers here. Maybe a man’s face on your target isn’t the most professional choice.” She pauses, grimacing like the irony just hit her. “Fuck. When the hell did I become the voice of reason?”
I shoulder check her and laugh as I set the weapon down.
Remi’s right. As much as I want to blow off steam with some shitty ex-boyfriend target practice, people are starting to take notice.
Not that either of us gives a damn what they think, but if, by some twist of fate, that asshole turns up dead, obliterating his face at my range will probably land me at the top of the suspect list.
And I’ll be damned if I let him stress me out more than he already has.
Three years worth of bullshit. Not only did he cheat—I caught that asshole in a threesome with our track rivals. Like he was trying to hurt me in the worst way.
