Ultimate Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 4)(2)
In reality, she was untouched and remained whole.
A soft moan from across the way mingled with the strangled sound that escaped her at what she was seeing. Two occupants behind Alekzander’s large desk looked over. The woman stopped on the downward glide and rolled her hips as though she just couldn’t help herself. Bile filled Sacha’s throat, scorching it until her eyes watered. With the height of the desk being what it was, it was easy to see how Alekzander’s beautiful hands held the woman, her skirt bunched in his fists at her waist.
Agony poured into Sacha’s every cell. At least the woman’s upper body was still covered, which was unusual considering Alekzander was a “breast man”—if that was the correct term.
It wasn’t until her chest started to burn and little squiggly lines filled her vision that she remembered to breathe. She forced some air into her lungs and used the death grip she had on the doorknob to hold herself up as she stepped back out into the corridor. Not a word was spoken, no eye contact was made. She couldn’t have looked away from the display of sex had someone put a gun to her head. Pulling the door closed, she stumbled down the hallway and slammed through the exit leading to the stairs. A high definition movie showcasing Alekzander’s glistening length moving in and out of that woman’s body played through her mind. The fact that Sacha hadn’t actually seen it didn’t matter, it was there anyway, becoming a permanent scar singed onto her brain.
Why didn’t Alekzander care that she’d seen him in such a position?
Because he doesn’t care about you, a saddened voice whispered in her mind.
As she repeatedly swallowed, trying not to vomit, her heel slipped on the last step of the flight. She grasped the railing to keep from falling. Her raspy breathing sounded amplified in the empty stairwell as she pulled open the door in front of her. She needed to try twice because her muscles weren’t cooperating, but she finally got it and shuffled to the elevator as if she were a hundred years old. It took a short moment for the lift to arrived, and as she stepped into the thankfully empty car, she pressed the button for the ground floor and stared unseeing at the numbers as they flashed. Why was there no blood? She couldn’t understand it. How could these fatal injuries not be gaping wide and bleeding rivers?
She put one foot in front of the other and retraced her steps through the lobby, passing the security guards who gave her sympathetic, pitying looks—their earlier behavior now made sense. Humiliation layered over her pain as she pushed her way through the door and lifted her thousand-pound arm to call for one of the taxis speeding by. Tires chirped as the driver swung to the curb. She got in, carefully placed her purse on her lap, and mechanically gave the driver the address to the apartment she and Alekzander shared.
She was dropped in front of the luxury high-rise, and as she traveled up in yet another elevator, let herself into their quiet unit and packed only a few things, that insecure, reserved girl that lived inside her, the one who’d moved on her own from Russia to the United States with the hope of finding a good life, screamed and screamed and screamed.
ONE
Present day
Amid Christmas decorations and colorful Chinese lanterns, Alekzander Tarasov sat at the long table in the small restaurant and looked around at his family. They were celebrating an engagement. Another one.
His three best friends were wrapped protectively around their women, their contentment making everyone nearby want to kill themselves.
Or maybe that was just him.
His gaze swung away from all the happy when wind chimes tinkled, signifying the door was being used. In their line of work, it was ingrained to always be aware of who was coming and going—
The sound of rushing water filled his head. Or was that blood? Because every time this happened lately and he snapped back to reality to find himself staring at a stranger, he bled. How often had he seen her across a busy restaurant? On the street? In a passing vehicle?
In his fucking dreams?
Too many times to count.
Are you really seeing this? his brain asked calmly, forcing him to blink his burning eyes. Or have you manifested her because you need the visual so damn badly?
His head was silent for a few seconds.
And then the positive identification came, his mind whispering two beautiful words. Reverently. In a stunning relief.
It’s her.
Sacha. His angel. Please be real. He’d been searching for over a year for this one he’d pushed away so callously. Would have searched until the end of time. Because it had been proven that he simply could not live without her.
Even though he could barely grasp what this meant, everything in him once again centered, focusing on the woman he was destined to share his life with—