I’m the one steering her exactly where I want her. This isn’t like before, when I went after her and drugged her. No.
This time, I’m going to punish her.
This time, she’s not going to get away.
The next night, I watch her from the far end of the bar, nursing whiskey, my eyes locked on her every movement. She’s still sharp, cautious, but there’s a softness about her now. And then I see it. Some drunk asshole leans over the bar, too close, slurring something in her ear. I know the second it makes her uncomfortable because she stiffens and pulls away—but he grabs her wrist.
And the words I wrote in blood, the ones I texted her, the ones I whispered to her, surge into my mind. I’m half blinded by red-hot fury.
Mine.
I watch as she forces a polite smile as if trying to de-escalate the situation, but he doesn’t let go.
I don’t think. I move. Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand is locked around the asshole’s throat, slamming him against the bar. The glass rattles. Conversations stop. Anissa’s eyes widen.
“You’ve got a problem?” I keep my voice calm, even—but there’s no mistaking the threat in it. I press a knife where no one else can see, just below the hollow of his collarbone. He gasps, his hands scrambling at mine, but I don’t let go. I want him to feel it, to understand the cost of putting his hands where they have no fucking place.
“Leave now,” she says. “Before I have to call the police.”
“Why don’t you do that, doll?” I tell her. Interpol’s got a file on her an inch thick, and I’ve already paid off locals. I’ve thought of everything before I came here.
“Let me go,” the guy says, smacking at my hands. I pin him down and whisper in his ear.
“Stay the fuck away from her. You touch her again, and I’ll slit your fucking throat.”
He nods frantically before bolting out of the bar. The room is silent as she watches me, her blue eyes unreadable. I lean in just enough for her to hear.
“You need to be more careful, little ghost.”
I hold her gaze. I have every exit monitored, everything I need on my person.
“Close the bar. Send everyone home.” I lean in. “Do it now.”
Chapter Eight
Anissa
I should be terrified,but it isn’t like it was before. The last time he came for me, I practically ran from the shadows, waiting for him to make his move.
But this time… I can’t even explain it. The moment I saw him at the bar, standing with his bottle of whiskey, I should have felt terror claw up my spine. But instead, something inside me exhaled.
Relief.
As if I needed further proof that I’m fucking losing my mind.
For months, I’ve been running. Forging new names. Slipping through cracks. Changing disguises and burning bridges before they could even be crossed, and it’s exhausting. Always having to look over my shoulder. Never feeling at ease. Never knowing if the next breath is my last—somewhere along the way, it wore me down.
Maybe I got sloppy.
Maybe I did it on purpose.
And now he’s here, Matvei Kopolov.
Yeah. I’ve done my homework.
I outplayed him once before, but he swore he would make me pay.
I’ve thought of him every fucking night since I escaped. I remember the way he looked. The way it felt under the heat of his intense glare. I remember staring at the marks of ink that showed him to be Bratva.
