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Ever since then I'd been excruciatingly careful to make sure our paths did not cross again.

And it had worked…until now.

I rubbed my knuckles against my sternum to fight the panic threatening to take hold.

Although it was a risk, I leaned my head forward and hazarded a peek down the marble corridor.

Several men surrounded a man tied to a chair.

The man was blubbering. "He'll kill me if I tell you."

I strained to hear Pavel's response over the rush of blood in my ears.

"Why do I keep hearing those words? Every time I bring in some asshole working for Solovyov, I always hear 'oh, but he'll kill me if I tell you.' Motherfucker, I'm going to kill you anyway. The only thing you get to decide is how much I'm going to make you suffer first."

Kill him anyway?

Oh God. This was so fucking bad.

The men weren't even trying to speak in lowered voices.

They assumed they weren't being watched—or worse, they didn't care.

Either way, I was in serious danger just by standing here.

I was a witness.

Anyone who watched crime shows knew the only good witness was a dead witness.

My vision blurred and I teetered against the door frame, lightheaded from my rapid breathing.

I needed to get the hell out of here.

I was far down the hallway in the shadows, but that didn't mean I was safe from detection.

Just then, Pavel's head swung sharply in my direction.

My blood froze in my veins.

His expression was unreadable, his face cut from ice as his stare penetrated the darkness between us, seeming to claim me even from this distance.

Oh shit. Could he see me?

Only after he turned his attention back to the man in the chair did I dare to breathe again.

Pavel shoved his boot between the man’s legs, then leaned over his bent knee as he flicked open a switchblade. "Tell us where Solovyov is, and I will give you a clean death. Don't, and I call the man who haunts your fucking nightmares, and I tell him about the new toy just waiting to play."

"I don't know," the man cried out in desperation.

In response, Pavel flipped the knife to grip the handlebefore driving the sharp point into the man's hand. A bloodcurdling scream tore from the man as he writhed in agony, twisting his wrists against his binds.

My eyes widened as Pavel took a step back and pulled a gun from inside his jacket.

Oh no. No. No. No.

He aimed it at the man's head.

Holy hell. He isn't going to?—