Her courage intrigues me, and I feel it stirring a strange desire to uncover where her strength comes from. But I can’t let her feel brave anymore. The time for action is now.
I feel my chest tighten, a curling annoyance taking root at my own distraction. Because that’s all she is—a distraction, a thorn under my shoe that needs to be pulled out and tossed into the sea.
I lift a finger, ready to signal Artem, but Miss Clark raises her head again. This time, it’s different. There’s a knowing, lingering pause as she stares right at the upper deck, where I’m standing. And it dawns on me...
She knows I’m here.She feels me watching.
Knowing that does something to me. It charges me, sends a bolt of adrenaline rushing through my veins.
Narrowing my gaze, I move forward, a few inches closer, until I’m directly positioned under the light. And I see the visible tremble of her lips as her eyes shift, landing directly on me.
The instant shock on her face hits me harder than I expected. A gust of wind blows between us, carrying waves of suspenseful silence. A spark starts within me, sharp and highly unwelcome—a spark of possessiveness that coils low in my gut, making it hard to ignore.
Killing her would be easy, but controlling her would be a smarter option.
Or maybe, I’m seeking out reasons to keep her around longer.
I drag a hand through my hair, knowing exactly what needs to be done.
“Artem.”
Artem’s head snaps up with immediate alertness. His icy blue eyes find mine in the dim light. I don’t make a move, but he waits silently. Then, two seconds later, I slightly tilt my head.
A light on the dock flickers and, through his mask, I catch the subtle clench of his jaw, right before his gaze spins to the ground below the railing.
In perfect synchrony, her neck twists toward Artem, and her eyes widen with the damning realization that her cover’s been blown.
Faster than either of us are able to anticipate, she runs.
As she bolts down the dock into the darkness, I finalize the decision that she’s coming with me, whether she wants to or not.
Artem doesn’t waste a second. He signals the others with one sharp gesture before disappearing down the staircaseleading off the deck. His deep voice travels roughly through the night, barking orders in Russian.
Three of my men pull up their masks, following Mikhail, who’s already on the dock, their boots hammering against the metal steps before hitting the dock below.
I have to give it to her, she’s fast.
She sprints down the wooden marina walkway, her hair flying behind her as her sneakers pound against the damp wood. I hold down on my earpiece, tracking each sound and movement as they charge after her.
I watch from above as she cuts sharply around a moored yacht, nearly slipping when the dock shifts beneath her, and through the earpiece, I hear her faint but ragged breathing.
A boat horn groans somewhere out on the water, and it serves as a distraction, to our advantage, as it slows her down. It’s no surprise that Mikhail gains on her first. He moves with an impossible speed and efficiency that reminds the others why he’s my top-ranked enforcer after Artem. Focused, he closes the distance without wasting energy.
The girl glances back once.
Just once.
And that’s her undoing.
Her foot catches on a loose rope stretched near the edge of the dock, and she stumbleshard.
A loud cry travels through the earpiece as she crashes onto the wood. The tablet skids violently from her grasp and disappears beneath a nearby bench. But before she recovers, Mikhail grabs her arm.
“Hey, you—”
The rest of his words are cut off as she fights back, a wild spectacle, and much harder than he expects.
“Let me go!” She kicks backward, nearly catching him in the ribs. “Get your hands off me!”
