Page 24

Even now, I can still smell her, just a hint, nothing too floral, but a soft hint of citrus and spice. My sweet little ghost. My venomous, little, traitorous thief.

I need to find her again. Break her. Crack her open and teach her the consequences of her actions. Cage her in my sheets, wearing nothing but my marks. My teeth in her skin, my hand on her throat, my cum dripping from her hot, sweet cunt, my name on her tongue.

She’s not safe out there—not from the Irish, not from the Bratva, and especially not from me. Because I’m not just going to take her back—I’m going to make sure she never even dreams of running again.

I’m the only man who sees her for who she truly is. And I’m the only one who can destroy her for good… or worship her forever.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Aria

Hey. I’ve got something.

I’ve been working with Polina’s sister-in-law Aria Romanova, the best hacker in the damn world. Anissa is slippery as fuck, and I called in every favor I had.

My pulse kicks up. If it’s what I think it is…

I tap the speaker. "Finally."

I stand, muscles coiled, barely restraining the anticipation clawing at my spine. "Where?"

"Little village outside of Paris. Forged documents flagged at customs. She’s careful, but she fucked up." Aria pauses. “She’s too good for something like this. A part of me wonders if shewantsto be caught. Maybe she’s tired of running…”

A slow smile spreads across my face.Got you, little ghost.This time, when I get her, I’m not going to play so nice.

"Send me everything you’ve got."

I get a good cut of my family’s wealth being a member of the Bratva, but I’ve spent thousands tracking her down and paying Aria. I’ll take it out of Anissa’s ass and enjoy every fucking second.

The call disconnects. I glance at the single photo pinned to the center of the board. Anissa. Smirking. Defiant. The same look she had in her eyes when she locked me in that fucking cage. The cage that I’ve now moved into my bedroom and decorated with pink fairy lights and luxury bedding. Just waiting for her.

I shake my head, running a thumb over the image. "Hope you had your fun. Enjoy your last little croissant, you stunning little bitch.” I shrug on my coat and slip my gun into its holster. "My turn."

Now it’s time for me to don a disguise. I can’t hide my broad shoulders or my bulk, but I’ve learned how to blend in when I have to. A different coat. Slight limp. Lowered gaze. Details matter. I tweak them just enough to pass unnoticed.

Lucky for me, the Irish want nothing to do with her anymore. No allegiance. No ties. There’s a reason why none of them would touch her romantically. Rumor has it they like their women submissive.

Heh.

I land in Paris at two o’clock in the morning, and I’m going to take my fucking time—just like I did the first time.

This time, instead of sneaking from one place to the next, offering her services, she’s actually settled down a little bit. She bartends at a local pub.

Oh, this is too rich.

I’m not going to grab her right away. No. That would be way too fucking easy. Instead, I’ll study her. Watch her. I’m going to?—

There she is.There’s that little birthmark right above her lip that I want to bite. She almost crumbled the last time I had her, all her cleverness unraveling under the weight of my hands. Psychological warfare? She’s a natural victim for it.

And I’ll do it again.

What’s the fun in swallowing your prey whole? Nah. You bat them around a little first. Tear off little pieces. Scrape them with your teeth before you bite. Let them think they’ve escaped, just to remind them they haven’t.

She’s my favorite little game.

I’ll wait until she’s walking home one night, her grocery bag in hand. And this time, I have everything planned… down to the last detail.

I watch her as she goes to work. She looks almost happy. Normal. Like she’s moved on.