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I take a breath, then I take his hand.
7
KRISTOF
I drive recklessly, with little care for road rules or anyone else who stands in my way.
The GPS I embedded in Katja’s pendant pinged at one of the most popular clubs in the city—Gemini. To say that was a surprise is an understatement. In the space of thirty seconds, I’d gone from furiously entertaining all the ways I was going to torture the bastard who took her to realizing that she likely ran away.
I’d be impressed if I weren’t so fucking angry.
Did she not think of anyone but herself? Did she not think of how dangerous it would be for her to leave the Estate?
Part of me understands.
Mara runs that place like a prison, and over the years, I’ve noticed a distinct lack of affection existing between those walls. When I kissed her last year, the way she melted into me at the barest hint of affection told me all I needed to know about how starved of love she was, and with an impending marriage to a psychopath… well, running away makes sense.
But she didn’t just run away from them. She ran away from me.
And I know what exists out here. The price on the name Orlova is high, and all it takes is one random glimpse for Alena to enter a whole world of hurt that she’ll have no idea how to survive. I have to get there first.
I have to get to her first.
Rage pulses through me like molten lava, and Alena consumes my thoughts to the point that it doesn’t even cross my mind to call anyone. Not Mara, not even Aleksander. All I can think of is getting to her before anything happens.
The tires squeal, and my car crunches up the curb as I pull up outside Gemini. The queue darts backward as every single person expects me to drive straight through them. The bouncer, a wall of thick muscle, starts toward the car as I grab my phone, but the moment I step out, he freezes in place.
My reputation precedes me in more than just the underworld.
“Mr. Lazarov,” he says, taking a step backward. “Welcome.”
I stride past him without even a glance. People here know me well enough to know exactly how I like to be handled—private rooms, expensive liquor, and to never be disturbed unless it’s of the utmost importance.
Finding Alena in this crowd is going to be a challenge, and as I step out into the heart of the club, my mind races. She doesn’t have a phone, so calling her will be useless, and the GPS tracker isn’t detailed enough to pinpoint Alena in this sea of faces that dance, bump, and grind against one another.
And yet, as I descend the stairs trying to form a plan, something catches my eye that makes my problem vanish in an instant.
I don’t need to search for Alena.
She’s right there.
My heart stops, rage quelling for a moment as utter relief swells through me at seeing her alive and well. Then, the anger bubbles back.
Alena is on one of the side stages, stripped down to her underwear and dancing around a silver pole to a crowd that cheers and surges around her stage.
My mouth runs dry.
She’s like an incredibly filthy fantasy come to life right before my eyes. One hand stays on the pole, and she twirls around elegantly. Her body arches into the pole, and she parts her thighs, grinding against the metal. Her long, blonde hair has come loose and drapes like a golden waterfall down her back as she dances. Suddenly, she turns on the spot, her back to the pole, and she sinks down to the ground while spreading her knees wide and giving me—and the entire fucking club—a full display of the silk panties hiding her pussy from view.
As she stands back up, she stumbles slightly either from alcohol or inexperience. The crowd doesn’t care. She’s a half-naked, sexy woman, and they love her. The smile on her face is wide and bright, and her eyes, slightly lidded, blink lazily as she dances. She spins once more, her bra strap slipping down her arm, and then her tongue darts out.
The second she licks the pole, I surge forward as fury takes me.
She is mine.
Fuck. She’s not, but she should be.
Yet here she is, half-naked and dancing for a sea of men who don’t even deserve to know her name, never mind glimpse her beauty. How she got here and why she’s here falls second to getting her off that stage and under my protection, away from the gaping men salivating at the sight of skin.
