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I wait until there's a shout behind me, and I make my escape. They're going to look everywhere for me. I'm thankful I'm small and lithe. None of them think to look here. When a truck pulls up beside me, these guys aren't even pretending to be good guys anymore. They're scouring the gas station, looking for me with their weapons drawn.

D’awww.I’m so dangerous.

Dummies.

I shake my head, crawl unseen into the back of the cargo truck, and to my delight, find that it's loaded with junkie snacks for delivery. I open up a bag of cheese puffs, sit in the way back, and happily munch. Two minutes later, the cargo truck is on its way, and so am I, with orange-tipped fingers, stolen cash, and a gun at my side.

* * *

Chapter7

Six months later

MATVEI

I sip my beer,not paying attention to my cousins.

“You alright, brother?” Semyon is not one to observe emotions, but he doesn’t miss details either. I’ve been keeping to myself, not talking to anyone.

It’s been six fucking months since she slipped through my fingers, leaving me caged like an animal. Six months, while I swore that I would find her, make her pay, and make her pay dearly.

Six months, while I’ve lost sleep trying to find her, while I’ve fallen into a dismal routine of work, hunt, lift, sleep. Prowl.

She’s still out there. Running. Hiding. Thinking she’s safe.

My woman.

She’s mine, and she’s nowhere to be fucking found.

Rafail shit bricks when he found out she’d escaped. Fun times. He may be happily married and forgiven thefuck youshe gave him, but he doesn’t forgive disloyalty to the Bratva. None of us do.

Her contract with the Irish has long since expired.

At first, I thought she could be anywhere in the world. A woman like her, with her skill set—she’s a chameleon. Easily managing to evade capture, she’ll become anything she wants to be.

In the past six months, I have watched the members of my Bratva group form their alliance. None of them knew I was after her, but they know why I’m on a vendetta now. Maybe she thinks she’s safe out there, running, hiding.

Maybe she gets a thrill out of running. Maybe her kink is the chase.

Maybe mine is, too, as long as it ends up with a capture.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling as I study the map spread across the worn table in front of me. Red strings, pins, notes scribbled in Russian—my obsession laid bare. Every lead, every sighting, every whisper of her presence documented and analyzed.

I should have found her by now. I should have her on her knees, begging for mercy I have no fucking intention of giving.

But Anissa Laurent is a slippery little ghost.

And the truth is… I miss the whole game.

I looked forward to listening to the little sounds she made in her sleep. Stroking my cock to the image of her licking a spoon dripping with ice cream. It’s not the same when it’s sheer memory. And that one day, I finally had her in my clutches, her snark and banter…

I want her back.

Ineedher back.

And worst of all, if she isn’t with me—ifmywoman isn’t with me—that doesn’t keep her safe from any other fucking predators out there. Who knows what enemies she’s made?

When I lie in bed, I imagine her lying beside me. It’s too cold. I don’t sleep; I just lie there, remembering the way her breath hitched when I touched her throat, the way her pulse jumped between my fingers. The wicked gleam in her eyes when I said I was a kinky motherfucker.