Drugs in a bag in a box. Hunters hunting. The hunted waiting.
Alina Popov doesn't trust Aiden. He's a killer tasked with keeping her safe from the mafia looking for her and her brother and the drugs they think he's stolen. Alina doesn't care and she will run if Aiden cannot breach the distance between them.
Holed up in a dilapidated building deep in cartel territory, Gavriil Popov has few alliances left. Strange then that his greatest resource and treasure may be Ify, a nosy true-crime author. When Ify is caught in the crossfire, Gavriil must decide whether to remain hidden or step out of the shadows and take his rightful place as king of the Bratva.
As the mafia continue their search for the Brothers, the only shot for the hunted to stay alive is to rise and when they do, to rise together.
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"This book is so hot. So layered and so deep...dark...sometimes hilarious." "There is a shi$$torm and this book explodes..." "These damaged men love their women so fiercely and unconditionally." "These women will battle for their men..." "Hoo boy. Panties. Melted." "This is a 6 star book."
*Continue reading for a sneak peek*
“Alina.” I bang on the door. “Let me in.”
There’s no answer.
“You’re going to have to eat.” I keep myself from cursing. It isn’t easy. I want to tear through the wood and hurl myself at the girl with every intention of violence, but I know what will happen when she does open the door and I do see her – the same thing that happens every time: I fall the fuck apart.
“Alina, open the door. You will eat.” Statements don’t work, neither do threats, so I try pleas. “Goddammit, Alina. Do you want to die? I told your brother I’d keep you safe.” Then coercion. “I’ll take you shopping, alright? Just eat something. Alasha delivery will be here in half an hour. Sara says to try to eat bread or soup beforehand so your stomach doesn’t hurt. Alina? Alina.”
She still hasn’t said anything and I’m hot. The hallway is shrinking around me and I can hear other people in the house, but they don’t come into the hall. They’ve learned from their past mistakes, which is a fucking pity because I could use someone right about now to be my punching bag.
“Alina! Open the door, or I will.” My hand closes around the knob and twists. Bloody hell. It’s unlocked. My mouth dries up. Sweat beads along the back of my shaved head. I lick my lips and step inside her room without her permission.
The bed is empty. The bathroom is empty. She’s not hiding in the closets or beneath any of the furniture. But the window in the bathroom – barely bigger than an air vent – is open. I reach for my phone and pull up the security app Clifton had installed on all of our devices, hoping that it will prove something that my eyes cannot. But no, there’s a blinking red notification from seven minutes ago – left unread – telling me that someone exited the house. Alina is gone. My blood turns to slush and for a moment, the world ceases to turn.