I can overpower most men with minimal effort, much less a woman as slight as her.
“Don’t be afraid,” I murmur, holding her gaze. Even on a crowded dance floor, I can smell her scent, something delicate and flowery, and my body reacts to her proximity, my cock hardening at the feel of her slender waist between my palms. I want to pull her closer, feel her body against mine, but I force myself to keep a small distance. I don’t want to scare her with the intensity of my need. As it is, the look in Sara’s eyes is that of a small animal caught in a trap, all blind fear and desperation. It makes me want to pick her up and cuddle her against my chest, but that would just terrify her more. There’s no action of mine that wouldn’t terrify her at this point; I could invite her to sing karaoke, and she’d have a panic attack.
“What do you want from me?” Her breathing is fast and shallow as she stares up at me. “I don’t know anything—”
“I know.” I keep my voice gentle. “Don’t worry, Sara. That part is over.”
Confusion edges out some of the terror in her eyes. “But then why…”
“Why am I here?”
She nods warily.
“I’m not really sure,” I say, and it’s the absolute truth.
Over the past five and a half years, vengeance ruled my life. Everything I did was in pursuit of that goal, but now that I’m almost through with my list, the future lies dull and empty in front of me, the path ahead shrouded in a bleak fog. Once I kill the last person responsible for my family’s deaths, I won’t have a purpose. My reason for existing will be well and truly gone.
Or so I thought until I met her and saw the pain in her doe-like eyes. Now she consumes my dreams and haunts my waking moments. When I think of Sara, I don’t see my son’s torn body and Tamila’s bloodied face.
I only see her.
“Are you going to kill me?”
She’s trying—and failing—to keep her voice steady. Still, I admire her attempt at composure. I approached her in public to make her feel safer, but she’s too smart to fall for that. If they’ve told her anything about my background, she must realize I can snap her neck faster than she can scream for help.
“No,” I answer, leaning closer as a louder song comes on. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
She’s shaking in my hold, and something about that both intrigues and disturbs me. I don’t want her to be afraid of me, but at the same time, I like having her at my mercy. Her fear calls to the predator within me, turning my desire for her into something darker.
She’s captured prey, soft and sweet and mine to devour.
Bending my head, I bury my nose in her fragrant hair and murmur into her ear, “Meet me at the Starbucks near your house at noon tomorrow, and we’ll talk there. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
I pull back, and she stares at me, her eyes huge in her heart-shaped face. I know what she’s thinking, so I lean in again, dipping my head so my mouth is next to her ear.
“If you contact the FBI, they’ll try to hide you from me. Just like they tried to hide your husband and the others on my list. They’ll uproot you, take you away from your parents and your career, and it will all be for nothing. I’ll find you, no matter where you go, Sara… no matter what they do to keep you from me.” My lips brush against the rim of her ear, and I feel her breath hitch. “Alternatively, they might want to use you as bait. If that’s the case—if they set a trap for me—I’ll know, and our next meeting won’t be over coffee.”
She shudders, and I drag in a deep breath, inhaling her delicate scent one last time before releasing her.
Stepping back, I melt into the crowd and message Anton to get the crew into position.
I have to make sure she gets home safe and sound, unmolested by anyone but me.
13
Sara
* * *
I don’t know how I make it home, but somehow I find myself in my shower, naked and shivering under the hot spray. I have only a vague recollection of making some awkward excuse to Andy and stumbling out of the club to catch a cab; the rest of the trip is a blur of shock-induced numbness and alcoholic haze.
Peter Sokolov spoke to me. He held me.
My husband’s killer, the man who tortured me and ripped apart my life, danced with me.
My knees fold under me, and I sink to the floor, panting. A wave of dizziness makes the shower stall rotate around me, and all the drinks I consumed threaten to come up.