Page 9 of Unleashed

I duck under a vine-covered trellis, my mind racing. At first, when I heard those footsteps, I went through the usual doubts. Maybe it's just somebody going for a run. Maybe he doesn't know who I am. But one look at that man and I knew that all of my fears were right—he knows me, and he's after me, and he’s nothing but raw, alpha male with a mission.

Fuck. I didn't bring a weapon with me. But I know how to get away if he catches me. What else can I do? One more glance over my shoulder, and this time, I realize he's close enough tomeet my eyes. Close enough that his gaze locks onto mine—dark, menacing… swallowing me whole.

Raw fear lances through my chest the moment his dark eyes connect with mine. I’m too far to make out the color, but it doesn’t matter. They’re dark and bottomless, an abyss ready to pull me under. Something about his gaze reaches deep inside me, an invisible noose around my throat. It isn’t just the threat but the raw power, the absolute control that burns in his eyes, daring me to defy him. My pulse races, and heat rises to the surface of my skin. He’s not just watching me. He’safterme with a marksman’s laser focus. Nothing about that look tells me I have a chance of escape. It’s a promise that he’ll catch me—and when he does, I’ll be wholly at his mercy.

My adrenaline spikes, and I try to run faster. But it's not fast enough. He isn't even winded, and I feel as if my lungs are going to burst. It looks like he's jogging.

A busy street. I look over my shoulder again, and he's so close to me now, I can see the broad expanse of his shoulders, slicked with sweat, the corded muscles of his arms and chest. To my right, two women in workout clothes jog at a slow pace. One smiles at the other and murmurs something, and the two women look appreciatively at the man behind me. There's something about him that saysraw, attractive male—preen yourselves, ladies.Do they not see the menace in his face?

Oh god… What does he have wrapped around his hand? A rope? Is that achain?

"Stop!" he commands, his voice a deep, low growl. Another woman nearby watches him in wide-eyed wonder, awe written in her features. Yes, yes, he’s sexy, masculine perfection, but don’t they realize he’s dangerous?

I keep running. "I know who you are. You know what you did. Stop."

What?

There's nowhere else to go. Ahead of me are the red-brick walls of the Kremlin, the symbol of Russian power and authority. The sight of guards patrolling in front of me enhances my desperate need for help.

Whydid I protest my brothers’ oppressive protection so much? I’d give anything for one of them right now.

In front of me I see a busy street, early morning commuters already racing to get to the office.

I decide to make a run for it when the unthinkable happens—he catches me. I scream when he grabs me by the waist from behind and pulls me against the rock-hard wall of his chest. I scream again, fighting against him, when a heavy, rough hand crashes against my mouth. A man ahead of me turns and starts our way. “Hey—” he begins, but he takes one look at my captor’s face andruns.

Oh my god.

His breath is hot on my neck as he whispers to me, “Did you really think you’d be able to get away from me?”

Within seconds, he’s ducked us both in a darkened alley near a brick building. I’m struggling, but it’s useless. He’s too strong for me, and everything I’ve learned about self-defense flies straight out of my head.

I struggle in his grip when he pins my wrist about my head, pressing me to the cold, rough brick. Our faces come dangerously close. It’s strange because he looks as if he… as ifhe knows me. This is no random attack. But I’ve never seen this man in my life—I would remember someone so devastatingly masculine, handsome, andterrifying.

I squirm when I feel heat radiating off him. “You fucked up,” he says, shaking his head at me with dark eyes that promise wicked retribution. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

“Me?” I gasp. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He takes a moment to snarl in fury at me, but it’s all that I need—that one split second. I aim for his groin but barely land the blow.Shit.He fumbles, grasping for me, but I’m already sprinting toward the street.

People. Cars. Crowds.

I have to cross the street and hope that he gets caught behind in traffic. I can make it. I can make it if I push with the last bit of energy I have, and then once I get into the street, I can melt into the crowds milling around Red Square. I know I can. I dash into the street and hear the blast of a horn. A crash. Blistering, searing pain, a deep bellow of rage behind me… then darkness.

Chapter 5

POLINA

I don't ever remember feeling somuch pain—it’s carved into my bones, relentless and unforgiving. Crushing. My head feels three times its normal size, and my shoulder and arm throb relentlessly. The skin on my face stings, and something is very, very wrong with my leg.

What happened? Where am I? I try to recall something that will bring reassurance but can’t.

But there’s one question that troubles me far more than the pain does:Who am I?

I hear voices talking over me but not to me because they think I'm still asleep. Am I still asleep? My stomach roils with something like hunger, and my mouth waters. I feel as if I'm going to be sick. I try to open my eyes, but they feel too heavy. One thing is clear—at least I’m not dead. It doesn't seem possible that death and pain this intense can coexist. Or maybe that's all there is—maybe there's nothing but pain after death.

I try to sleep. It's minutes, hours, maybe days later when I try to open my eyes again. I need answers. Who am I, and why does it feel like everything I knew has slipped away?

This time, I'm able to open my eyes a bit, even though it seems to take every single ounce of my energy. I see someone sitting in front of me, with long, auburn hair that I don't recognize, and the inside of a well-appointed room that’s equally unfamiliar. I look down at my body, hoping that I will recognize something. I stare at my hands. The fingers are long, the nails trimmed, painted with a tip of white. What's that called? I can't remember. There's a white sheet over me, and on the left side, something bulges underneath the sheet. Why is my left side so much bigger than my right? I'm aware of deep voices and high-pitched voices, but none are familiar. It terrifies me becausenothingis familiar.

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