Dmitri froze, eyes narrowing. “Fuck. They’re fast.”
We both turned toward the dunes just as headlights broke through the dark, cutting across the sand. A black SUV came first, then another, then a third. They fanned out in a half-circle and stopped, engines rumbling low, doors opening in perfect synchronization.
Figures stepped out, a group of men in dark clothing, faces half-lit by the beams.
And one woman.
All of them armed.
I got to my feet slowly, heart hammering, water dripping from my clothes. Dmitri was already standing, posture easy, face unreadable, demonstrating the kind of calm that made other people nervous.
“Friends of yours?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer.
The woman at the front took a step closer, the barrel of her gun catching the light. “Mr. Markov,” she said, her accent clipped. “Ms. Lennox.”
She smiled.
“Welcome to the end of the line.”
CHAPTER 17
Roman
The steam in my marble shower was a white, private cloud, the sound of rushing water a roar in my ears. I braced one hand against the cool, slick wall, my other hand wrapped around my cock. My mind was a theater, and the only film showing was Kara.
It was always Kara now.
Some of it was flashes of memory returning. Other parts of it were pure fantasy.
I saw her in that red lacy dress, the way it clung to her hips, the fire in her eyes when she challenged me. I saw her on my bed, her dark hair fanned out against my white sheets, her skin flushed, her mouth open as she gasped my name. I could almost feel the weight of her in my arms, the soft, yielding press of her body against mine, the tight, wet heat as I sank into her.
My fist tightened, my strokes becoming faster, a bit more unhinged. I imagined her beneath me, her legs wrapped aroundmy waist, her nails digging into my back. I imagined her saying my name, not in anger or defiance, but in that breathless, broken way I’d remembered she had when she was lost to pleasure. The image was so vivid, so real, that I could almost taste the salt on her skin, smell the sweet, intoxicating scent of her arousal.
My phone, lying on the marble counter just outside the shower door, buzzed, a low, insistent hum that I barely registered over the sound of the water and the rush of blood in my ears. I ignored it. Whatever it was, it could wait. This was way more important.
My phone buzzed again, this time with the distinct, two-pulse cadence of a voice message. Still, I didn’t stop. I was close, so very close, the tension coiling low in my gut. My balls squeezed tight, and I could feel the familiar, electric tingle at the base of my spine.
The third time was a final, impatient warning. Still, I ignored it. I was lost in the fantasy, in the memory, in the overwhelming, all-consuming need for her. I pictured her face, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her expression a mask of pure ecstasy.
And then I was there.
The orgasm ripped through me,tearinga guttural groan from my throat. I came hard, my cock pulsing in my hand, hot, thick ropes of my release splattering against the slick white marble of the shower wall. My body shuddered, my legs trembling, a wave ofeuphoriawashing over me, leaving me breathless, boneless, and utterly spent.
I leaned my forehead against the cool wall, my breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The water washed over me, a clean, purifying torrent, but I still felt dirty, haunted, and unsatisfied.
I finally reached out and shut off the water. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the showerhead and the frantic thuds of my own heart. I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a thick, plush towel from the warmer. I ran it over my hair, then wrapped it around my waist, the soft terrycloth a familiar comfort against my skin.
My phone was still on the counter, the screen dark. I picked it up, my thumb swiping across the screen. Two missed calls. Two voice messages.
I tapped the first one, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Good evening, Mr. Markov,”a clipped male British voice began.“This is merely a courtesy call from the ARCHEON group to inform you that we’ve temporarily taken custody of your brother, Lev Markov. He’s safe, for the moment, but we would appreciate a conversation regarding the return of one of our agents, Kara Lennox. I’ll contact you tomorrow with a location. Do try to answer next time.”
The message ended with a faint click, polite as a knife sliding back into its sheath.
For a few seconds I just stood there, listening to the hum of the bathroom fan and the drip of water off the tiles. “Temporarily taken custody.” The phrase looped through my head like a bad joke. Lev—of all people—caught? It didn’t sound possible. The bastard was a honed weapon with instincts sharp enough to chew through steel. But if ARCHEON had him, that meant something had gone very, very wrong.
