Then, without a word, he turned and stalked off towards his car, muscled shoulders swaying from side to side, his suit jacket tight across his broad back. My heart was hammering.It’s the adrenaline.
He started his car, and I threw mine into gear. He glanced in his rear-view mirror and for a second, our eyes locked again. Then he sped away...and I followed.
4
GENNADIY
One week later
I was strippedto the waist, my body glistening with sweat. The punchbag twisted and swung, its chain creaking, as I hit it full strength, again and again. But I wasn’t looking at it. I was looking past it, through the window, and down to the street outside. I was looking at her.
It had been a week since the FBI started their surveillance. I’d seen three other agents following me: two men, one fat and one thin, and a woman with long blonde hair. But most of the time it was her.I’d done some digging and managed to get her first name:Alison.So simple and plain next to theSvetlanasandEkaterinasI was used to. And yet my mind kept going back to it, like a smoothly perfect stone I couldn’t stop stroking.
I hated her. I hated her for being a cop. I hated her for being so slickly efficient that I couldn’t shake her, and so doggedly determined that she wouldn’t give up. I hated her for not being scared of me and for having the arrogance to think she could take me on.
Most of all, I hated her for being on my mind every minute of every day. I scowled.Of courseI thought about her constantly; she wasalwaysthere,following me in her car or on that big, cherry-red motorcycle of hers. I was having to move all my meetings indoors, away from her prying eyes. And I couldn’t just go and inspect a growhouse, or a pill factory, or check on a cache of guns, because I’d lead her straight to them. I had to rely on my men to do the legwork and report back, and for a control freak like me, that was agony. So far, I’d managed to keep the investigation a secret from the rest of my family: this was my problem, and I’d solve it. But I had no idea how.
I cursed.Blyat’!I had better things to do than evade an FBI agent! There were deals to be done, new territory to take, enemies to eliminate...the anger inside me powered me, but it needed to be fed, too, and every day it demanded more and more blood.
I thumped the bag, and it rocked and spun. Alison Brooks was a royal pain in the ass, and theworst partwas...I couldn’t stop looking at her.
I scowled down at her car in the darkened street outside. I had the lights off and the blinds open in my home gym so I could watch her without her seeing me. The streetlight outside was busted, so I had to strain my eyes to see. I could just make out the pale curve of her neck and the dark mass of her hair, pinned up into its tight little bun. Her face was hidden in shadow, so I couldn’t see her mouth. I slammed my fist into the bag again. That teasing, insolent mouth, gloriously wide, her lips blush pink and just slightly pouting. I whacked the bag with a left hook.Maybe I should get that streetlight fixed.It was bad for security to have so many shadows.
Her white blouse was just a slash of white against the dark lines of her jacket, but I’d spent enough hours glaring at her over the past week that my mind could fill in the details. Those upthrust little breasts, just two gentle hillocks in the white cotton. I couldn’t stop imagining how she’d look naked, how her breasts would feel under my tongue as I lathed around and around her nipples until she was straining and begging.
Then there was that lean, athletic body. The door of her car blocked my view below her waist, but I knew how those long, elegant legs looked in her pant suit...and best of all, how that tight ass lookedas she walked. I remembered how it had felt as she struggled against me at the casino. Wasthatwhy I was getting obsessed with her, because she was a woman who could actually hold her own against me in a fight?
I felt my forehead crease. Whenever I was around her, I could feel the anger building in my chest, that dark storm begging me to let loose and destroy her. But there were gold flecks caught in the hurricane, and the faster the anger whirled, the more I wanted to destroy her in another way. Grab her and slam her up against something and mash my lips down on hers. Rip her blouse and bra away and feel those pert little breasts stroke my bare chest, her nipples hard. I’d pull her legs around me, fingers sinking into her ass, and plunge deep into her, that pouting mouth wide and gasping, moaning my name?—
I punched the bag so hard the eyebolt it hung from creaked, and a crack appeared in the plaster.Chyort! I stood there scowling down at her car, panting like a bull.What’s wrong with me?
Just kill her.That was the sensible move. Wrap my hands around her throat again, and this time not stop until her eyes lose their light. Or even easier, call Valentin and have him slip a knife between her ribs. It wasn’t as if she was hard to find; she was eight feet away from me every second of every day. I grabbed my phone and weighed it in my hand, still staring down at her…
And I thought what I’d thought every night that week.
Tomorrow. I’ll kill her tomorrow.
5
ALISON
One week later
I pulledup outside the casino, opened the door...and let out a kind ofoofas all the cool, air-conditioned air escaped and city air as thick and hot as soup rushed in. The city was sweltering in a brutal Chicago summer, every bit of concrete scorching, every metal door handle hot enough to burn. Even now, in the late afternoon, it was barely any cooler. I hurried over to Caroline’s car and leaned in as she lowered her window. “Anything?”
She shook her head mournfully and showed me her notes. She’d been following Gennadiy all day, but he’d stuck to his usual haunts. I cursed under my breath. I’d been running this operation for two weeks now, and we had nothing actionable. “Thanks,” I told Caroline. “Good work. Go on, get out of here.”
She smiled gratefully and drove off to pick her kids up from daycare. I ran back to my car, shut myself inside, and cranked the air conditioning up to max... but like all of the vehicles from the FBI pool, it was built for utility, not luxury, and the blowers barely worked. I flapped my blouse against my skin and scowled at the casino’s smoked glass doors. I’d taken the first shift, from six a.m.until noon, and after working in the office for a few hours, I was back on until midnight tonight. Or, more likely, I’d wind up staying on until the morning, afraid that we’d miss something if I dared to catch a few hours' sleep.
The problem was, surveillance takes a lot of manpower, and our little team didn’t have it. Normally, we’d have two or three people on each shift, but that was impossible with only four of us. Worse, Hadderwell and Fitch refused to work overtime, and Caroline’s kids meant she couldn’t work late either. So most of the time it was just me, sitting outside Gennadiy’s mansion in an FBI car or following him through traffic on my bike. I watched him even when I was meant to be off duty. I wasdeterminedto bring him down...and it wasn’t like I had anything better to do with my evenings.
The casino’s doors swung open, and Gennadiy emerged, scowly and gorgeous, moving fast towards his car. He might be an evil, uncaring son of a bitch, but I had to admit he worked his ass off. He was always up and out of his mansion by seven, and he barely stopped all day, racing around town to visit the family’s various illegal enterprises. He never made it home until the early hours. The man was amachine.
Gennadiy spotted me. His dark brows lowered, and he gave me one of his million-watt glares, his gray eyes like lasers. I glared right back, loathing him...and trying not to think about how his new suit really showed off the V-shape of his upper body, or how soft his coal-black hair looked today. Then he climbed into his car, and I started my engine, ready to follow.
Watching him had become my entire life: Caroline joked that I spent more time with him than with a husband. When you’re around someone that much, you start to notice things. Like the fact that he favored his left leg when he walked. And that when he climbed into his BMW, he stroked the roof affectionately with that big, tattooed hand. And that sometimes, when he glared, and that tidal wave of hate slammed into me...it felt like there was something else, a current going in the opposite direction, trying to tug me closer even as the main wave pushed me away…
I scowled.Don’t be stupid.Why would he wantme?
