Page 65 of Anton

She’s right. He’s exactly the kind of man they would pick.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, knowing I won’t.

“What is there to think about? Unless there’s a very sexy Russian bad boy who is occupying your mind instead.”

“And how is calling him sexy supposed to make me not think about him?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs with a salacious grin. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

Picking up my drink, I take a long swallow before setting it down. “I’m really not into dating right now.”

“Just fucking, then?” Her full brow arches.

“Blair!” I whisper-shout, looking around. “Not that either.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” She nods, giving me a look that says she knows I’m bullshitting. “Of course not, because you’re Virgin Mary.”

I play with my salad, trying to ignore her, but she keeps staring.

“I’m serious,” she adds. “If you’re seeing that guy, you need to stop. He’s going to get you killed.”

“I’m not seeing him. Stop worrying.”

With a huff, she lifts her chicken Caesar wrap, knowing I’m completely full of shit.

ANTON

The rooftop is silent as I lie prone behind the ledge, the rifle positioned in front of me and my eye fixed to the scope. Across the street, tonight’s target moves through his penthouse, about to learn a valuable lesson.

The man bought from us for more than ten years, but the instant the Whitlocks offered him a better deal, he abandoned us without hesitation. That alone would have been enough to get him killed, but then he made the mistake of becoming disrespectful, speaking to Konstantin as though he was untouchable and we were desperate enough to tolerate it.

Now he and his family are about to understand the difference between business and disrespect.

I adjust the scope, centering the crosshairs on him as he walks through the room in an expensive suit with a woman who isn’t his wife, completely unaware that his brains are about to paint the fucking wall behind him.

But as I’m about to pull the trigger, she appears in my mind, as though she’s there to stop me.

My fingers press against the panties tucked inside my pocket. The ones I told her I’d clean, but couldn’t stomach stripping of her scent. They’re the only thing I have left.

It’s been two days since I last saw her, and somehow it already feels like withdrawal.

I crack my neck and lean away from the scope, rubbing a hand over my face before forcing my focus back where it belongs. The rifle settles against my shoulder as I look through the scope again, tracking the target while the woman says something that makes him laugh. She disappears from the room while he stays by the window, distracted by his phone.

Mudak. Idiot.

I slow my breathing and let instinct take over, my body falling into familiar rhythm as the noise in my head clears. My finger squeezes the trigger; the bullet flies and tears straight through the middle of his forehead, killing him before his body even hits the floor.

The woman struts back into the room seconds later. Then comes the screaming. I’m already dismantling the rifle and packing everything away while panic erupts inside the penthouse across the street.

But as I zip the case shut, Thora’s face flashes through my mind with a gun aimed between her eyes.

My gun.

What would she think if she knew what I do? If she saw me this way and understood exactly what I am?

My teeth clench. Why the fuck do I care?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE