No, not trapped. I have the gear to survive long enough to conduct a necessary search.
I need to get down the mountain before the storm buries Max completely, before whatever slim chance remains of recovering the locket vanishes under ten feet of snow. I’m crazy, I know that, but I’m already moving.
Against my better judgment, I enter my room and open the closet. Dropping the towel, I yank a gray tank top over my head. I find a tie on my nightstand and pull my damp hair up in a high bun.
Then I step into a pair of panties.
I’m reaching for my thermal underwear when I sense the air shift.
Goosebumps rise along the back of my neck.
With dread pooling in my stomach, I spin to face my bedroom door and close the distance to the living room.
A trail of snowy boot prints leads to the hall in front of the garage door.
I find the arctic eyes of Max Belov staring straight at me.
Coated in snow and ice, he sits in my armchair—the one I claimed years ago—with the green throw over the back and the view of the windows and the door.
Like he owns my space or has any right to exist in my sanctuary.
Ice dusts his lashes, and his cheeks are red with cold and windburn. But he lounges like he owns the place, every inch of him a king on his throne.
I trip backward, catching myself on the doorframe. My heart slams against my ribs, panic flooding through every nerve.
I wanted to find him, but he found me first. I thought he’d be dead—or halfway there—before I saw him again. Somehow, despite the storm, he located my safe house, broke in through the garage, and then made it through the door and into the house, somehow bypassing my security system.
Even a fortress like this won’t stop Mad Max. He’s terrifying, unnatural, and unstoppable.
Underneath my fear, rage comes rushing back.
He lifts his hand in a measured movement, like a magician. I keep my eyes on both hands, because this man has truly proven he’s capable of anything.
Then a glint snags my attention.
My mother’s locket dangles from his ring and pinky fingers. The gold chain glistens in the lamplight as the key-shaped pendant spins slowly, showing the ornate front, then the smooth back, then the front again.
His crooks his index finger and beckons me. “Come and get it, Nika.”
Chapter 14
Max
As I rise from the armchair, ice cracks off my shoulders and falls to the floor in shards. Getting here was a bitch.
Cold that’s burrowed through skin and muscle into bone stiffens my legs, but I force them to hold my weight. The locket swings from my fingers, gleaming in the light before I tuck it back into the front pocket of my jeans. I had the necklace safe inside my glove box when Nika attacked me in the parking garage, a smart decision in hindsight considering she patted me down while I was bound to a chair and unconscious.
I return my focus to the she-devil. A gray tank top stretches tight across her breasts. Her white cotton panties show off the pale expanse of those lithe legs and the curves and dips I felt grinding against me in that penthouse suite.
Good.
Her vulnerability clarifies the power dynamic. She’s exposed while I’m armored in layers of slick, waterproof fabric.
She backs up until her spine crashes into the wall. Truly scared, or just pretending? Either way, the result’s the same.
I’m catching her this time.
I lurch forward, and my right ankle nearly crumples. The pain—the result of a free-fall down the mountain that a tree waskind enough to break for me—aches. The bone’s not broken, but it’s more than just a strain. Stopping to treat it meant potentially freezing to death, so I trudged on.
