A scream catches in my throat, and my stomach drops.
Immediately, so many things I could say to him fill my head, pushing me to unleash on him. But it seems almost surreal.
How…how did he get into my place?Whyis he here?
As much as my blood boils at the sight of him on my couch like he has every right to be here, I can only manage to grit out a single word.
“You.”
“I’m certain you haven’t forgotten my name already, Kat,” he murmurs smoothly, sending a subtle shiver down my spine.
My fists ball up instinctively, and I can’t decide if I should charge at him or run out the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for you, obviously,” he hums, tilting his head ever so slightly with a subtle pull of his lips.
Not a good enough answer.
“Get out.”
Of course, he doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t even flinch at my rough tone. Instead, his eyes remain sharp and dark in a way that makes my skin prickle.
I stay just as still, and all the while, we hold that intense eye contact, wondering who will make the first move.
The longer I look at him, the faster everything hits me at once.
Him being at the car meet out of the blue, then appearing at the shop requesting I do a job for him, and him coming and going whenever he pleased to check up on the Panigale…it was all too convenient.
And now, he’s in my condo without a single invitation from me. Somehow, he broke in, and now I’m cornered in my own home.
My pulse falters before panic rushes in full-tilt, and I glance at the bedroom down the hall, wishing I were close enough to make a break for it and grab my pistol.
He wouldn’t be all that intimidating with several bullet holes in his chest.
But the only thing in between me and the gun tucked away in my nightstand is him…he’d catch me before I ever got there.
“You’re looking for this, aren’t you?” Sergey asks, pulling something out from behind his back.
My eyes widen fractionally, and a new ache punches through my chest.
My gun. In his grasp.
So much for that.
The thought of him being armed and in my home, sitting there like a psychopath, sends a brutal chill through my veins.
“Thought so.”
Swallowing hard, I know there’s no way I can charge forward. I can’t engage with him. I just need to go and get in front of as many eyes as I possibly can.
I step back toward the door while my hand shakes faintly, but he’s up before I can even grab the handle. In three long strides, he’s in front of me, face to face, as he grabs my wrist and pins it to the door while my pistol is softly nudged against my side. I stiffen, not pulling my eyes from his.
“Don’t,” Sergey says softly—far too soft for someone in his position with his advantage.
My throat feels drier than it ever has, but I force myself to speak anyway. I refuse to let him think this is all I’m capable of.
“Or what?”
Despite the dangerous undercurrent of this exchange, he just barely smirks at me. “Do you really want to find out?”
