Page 38 of Wicked Proposal

“No news, I’m afraid,” Maks sighs. “But we found her getaway bag. Which means she didn’t take it.”

“Which means she didn’t run.”

“Exactly.”

Of course she fucking didn’t,my instincts snap.Nikita wouldn’t run. Not when she’s got as much skin in the game as I do.

“Find her,” I growl. “I want men looking for her ‘round the clock. No one sleeps until she’s back.”

Maksim inclines his head. “Yes, boss.”

I make a mental tally of the past twenty-four hours.

Nikita, gone.

Mia, shot at.

Fuck knows how many wedding guests, dead or traumatized.

All because of their tenuous connection to me.

All these years, I’ve been asking myself one question. It’s a piece of shrapnel lodged in my skull, a splinter I haven’t been able to pull out no matter what: why go after my women? Why not just killme?

Why, when their task has always been to obliterate the Lozhkin family?

There’s only one answer I’ve been able to come up with. Only one that makes sense.

Torture.

This isn’t just about destroying me. This is about revenge. They don’t simply want me dead—they want me to suffer.

To always be looking over my shoulder, waiting for the moment everything I care about will be taken from me again.

They want me to be alone, die alone, leave my empire up for grabs. It’s a long, cruel game, one where I’m king and pawn at the same time.

But joke’s on them: solitude suits me.

I cast a telepathic thought out toward those ghouls, wherever they are hiding.Stop aiming at innocents and come for ME, motherfuckers. I fucking dare you.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Maksim snaps his fingers in the air. “I’ve got that thing you asked for. The background check on that nurse.”

Immediately, my thoughts take a hard swerve. “Go.”

He plops down across from me. “Bullet points: her financial situation’s not good. Actually, it’s kind of a mess. Debts, loans, overdue bills—you name it, she has it.”

I flip through the file he hands me. Mia’s driver license picture is right at the top. She’s younger in it—nineteen, tops. Her face is rounder, her blue eyes brighter. Her hair, pulled back in a braid over her shoulder, is dyed a rich, dark brown.

I glance up at Maks. “How much debt?”

“Quarter mil, give or take.”

I frown. “That’s a lot of money for a nurse to owe.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“There’s student loans in there, I gather?”

“Around fifty grand of it.” Maks turns the page and points. “The rest is from… this.”