A shadow suddenly crosses the space in front of me, freezing my soul.
I feel a presence.
Goosebumps break out across my body and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It’s that primal instinct, the one that warns you when you’re being watched. The apartment suddenly feels different—denser, heavier, like the air itself has shifted. The silence is too complete, too deliberate.
Somebody’s in here.
My senses are all screaming at me.
Shit!
So much for that chill pill. Shivers run up and down my spine as I’m turning as quickly as I can, ripping off the Band-Aid.
And there he is.
Even though I half expected it to be him, my heart still lurches out of its cage. He stands behind me, his broad figure a haunting silhouette in the half-light. Sure, I knew about the stalking act and all, but I didn’t expect him to be right here in my living room, looming over my shoulder like a dark shadow. His face is the only thing I can see, and his eyes flicker back to me like he’s unimpressed.
How the hell did he get in here? And how the hell did I not notice?
The only reasonable explanation is that he is Batman.
A gorgeous, Russian Batman.
My heart is in my throat.
It’s just me and him. My neighbors are away. He could simply do what he does best—get rid of me, clean up the evidence, and get away with it.
“This is getting old, Lauren,” Nikolai growls. “I warned you to stop looking.”
Chapter Eight
Nikolai
I don’t know what infuriates me more about this woman—her inability to stop snooping around where she shouldn’t and getting everyone in danger, or her level of attractiveness.
There’s something about being alone with her in her apartment that makes my balls ache.
Everything about her is making your balls ache, dolboyob.
She’s wearing a cardigan and a V-neck top underneath that gapes a little as she leans forward to inspect the computer. Obviously she isn’t doing that now—she’s staring at me with shock written all across her features—but I took the pleasure of checking her out before I got caught, admiring the softness of her neck and the outline of her breasts. I’m jealous of the man I was two weeks ago, getting to see one of them.
That’s enough drooling, pridurok.
Head in the game.
Lauren snaps out of her shock. She jumps off the couch and walks around to face me, arms folded over her chest like I haven’t seen what’s underneath that cardigan already.
“What the fuck is your problem? And how the hell did you get into my apartment?”
I can’t help but be impressed. There aren’t many people who have the balls to talk to me like that. Most people cower when they see me, stumble over their words, or try to disappear into the background. But not Lauren. She stands in front of me with her chin up, fire in her eyes, demanding answers like she has every right to demand them. It’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Probably both.
“My problem is that you won’t stop doing what I told you to stop doing. And I can get in anywhere I want.”
Her eyes continue searching mine, like the answer I provided isn’t enough for her. I find myself wondering if she even knows about the things her father is involved in. Maybe she is innocent after all. Maybe we’re even on the same side, except she doesn’t know it yet. I’d like that. But I can’t simply ignore the fact that she’s bringing danger to my backyard with her impulsive behavior and irresponsible digging. She would’ve stopped by now if she understood the full extent of the powers she’s playing with.
But I fear her head’s too far into the game to care. She’s too stubborn. Too reckless. I’m sure she gets what she wants in life because of these qualities, but enough is enough. She needs to pack it the fuck in.
“What if I don’t stop?” she says, hitching her arms even further up her chest. She turns her head, cheek glowing in the warm lighting. She has beautiful skin.
