Page 20 of Claim

I should have spent more time getting to know them. There’s a very real chance I may not survive today.

But I’m tired of Ivan always having the upper hand. I need to rescue Anastasia, and once I know she’s safe, I’ll be able to finish him.

There’s a small rocky outcropping just a mile or so from his estate that I know I can hide my rig by. No one will see it parked there, but will be handy for when I’m ready to escape.

I just need to find out where they’re keeping her.

Creeping slowly through the thick woods, I only stop when I hear the crunch of leaves betraying someone else’s presence.

Shit.

This will either be my downfall, or the chance to find out where she is.

I squat low behind the trunk, and wait.

Holding my breath to keep the steam low, I can hear them turn closer.

Perfect.

A dark shadow solidifies into the silhouette of a man with a rifle.

He moves at a steady pace, not pausing nearly as often as he should on patrol.

Amateur.

His mistake is going to cost him.

I take a long inhale, and hold it when he passes. I give him a full stride away before I make my move.

Grabbing him by the back of his jacket, I snatch the strap of his gun, pinning it to his chest, and whip him around so he’s pressed against the tree.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

“That’s right. You are fucked. But you have a choice.” My forearm tightens against the back of his neck. “You can tell mewhat I want to know, and I make this quick. Or, fight me, and I make sure you die in agony without being able to scream.”

His rapid panting makes a fog form around his head.

“I’ll talk,” he whines as his fingers dig into the bark.

“You’re smarter than you look. Where is the girl that Ivan kidnapped?” I pull out my knife and let the tip trace down his jaw.

His nostrils flare and he shows the whites of his eyes as he looks back wildly. “You mean the brat? I’ll lead you to that little bitch’s quarters myself.”

“What did you do to her?” I growl.

“Are you kidding? You must not know Ivan. He’d fucking kill me worse than anything you can dream up.” A smirk forms on his lips.

He thinks he’s being cute.

My hand on his throat squeezes him silent while I take my blade and push it into the back of his ear, sliding it beneath the skin of his cheek until it imbeds into the tree.

His muffled cry doesn’t make it far.

“Are you done? Do you want me to cut tiny ribbons from your face and hang them like garland on this pine? Tell me you’ll cooperate, or you’ll have a very merry Christmas.” I pull out the blade and keep him quiet until he stops struggling.

He nods against my palm, and I uncover his mouth.

“Now, where is she?” I ask hoarsely. “Or do you want to speak out ofbothsides of your mouth?”

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