Page 29 of Jetmir

And by God, I’d meant it.

Soon, she would learn the Volkovs kept their promises. Always.

CHAPTER NINE

ANYA

Afamiliar awareness slid beneath my skin. One I had felt over the years since I’d left my husband, but it always failed me when I went searching. Jetmir—or Thorne, as I had once called him—was never there.

My hand moved to the back of my neck, intent on shaking off the feeling much like I had done before, but the sensation only intensified.

As though caught by an invisible thread, I turned my head. And then I saw him.

Jetmir Thorne Volkov-Tijuana.

My ex-husband.

My heart stuttered and time seemed to grind to a halt. Across the room stood a towering man whose burning gaze was entirely focused on me. Those eyes that haunted my dreams. The very ones I had spent three years trying to forget.

He was the only thing I could see as pain lanced through me and my pulse thundered against my ribs.

No. It couldn’t be him.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, willing the image away. He was a hallucination. A nightmare. A cruel trick of the mind.

When I opened them again, he was still there.

Jetmir.

In the flesh.

He stood above the crowd like a storm cloud given human form. Broad-shouldered and imposing, he commanded attention without seeming to seek it. People moved around him instinctively, parting without realizing they were doing it.

Like subjects stepping aside for a king.

But he wasn’t a king. Kings ruled kingdoms. Jetmir ruled chaos, lies, and the Volkov criminal empire.

The black suit only disguised the devil beneath. I swallowed hard as my gaze swept over him.

A tumbler rested loosely in his hand, untouched.

Fingers that used to touch me, pleasure me, curled around the delicate glass, and a memory flashed through my mind—those same hands gripping my hips, my thighs, my waist.

My breath caught, and my core throbbed. Heat unfurled through my veins, igniting every nerve ending.

My mind remembered every reason I should hate him. My body remembered none of them.

The ache spread through my chest with the realization that despite everything that had happened and the damage he’d caused… I still wanted him. The realization hit like a slap.

Disgusted with myself, I straightened my shoulders.

I would ignore him and pretend he didn’t exist. Yes, that was my plan, and⁠—

No. No, no, no. Why was he walking toward me? Please turn around. Go anywhere else.

I wasn’t ready for this. Three years hadn’t been enough. A hundred lifetimes probably wouldn’t have been either. Five feet, four, three… He stopped two feet away.

His scent reached me first.