Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
But the next photo nearly sent me to my knees.
In every other photo she had been dressed plainly, with a loose cardigan or jacket over her clothing. In this photo she was in jeans and a tank top, standing in profile. And what a profile it was.
Never mind the absolute perfection of her face, with her stubborn chin, prominent cheekbones, and slightly upturned nose. Her body was almost hard for my brain to process. She wasn’t rail thin, like so many young girls, rather ridiculously curvy. Any doubts I had had about her maturity were washed away by those luscious, upturned breasts, tiny waist, and absurdly delectable hips and bottom. The way her jeans fit her long legs and dat ass, should be illegal.
“Down boy,” Cain said. I could hear his frown, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her photo. “You don’t want to tangle with this one.”
“Oh yes, I fucking do.”
I heard his sigh.
“Can you be professional here? I don’t want your ass to get killed.”
“She’d be worth it.”
“Maybe so. Still. I need to know you can handle yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, finally lifting my eyes with an effort. But only long enough so he could see my determination. I wouldn’t risk her life. “I will fulfill my duties to the utmost.”
“More ‘ut’, than usual,” Trace said with a snicker. He wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to know what kind of trouble this gorgeous angel had gotten herself into. And what on God’s green earth I could do to help.
“Her name is Anastasia. She is the sole heir of the Aslanov empire.”
“Fuck,” Trace said. “Double fuck. Triple fuck,” he added.
I didn’t say a word but my mind was spinning. I agreed with Trace.
“How old?”
“Easy Tiger. She’s nineteen. Recently released from a nunnery, if you can fucking believe it,” Trace said, scrolling through the file on his phone.
“Is she in danger? Or is she the danger?” I managed to ask. A fucking nunnery? What century was this?
“A little bit of both, I think,” Cain said with a frown. “In this case, her father has hired us.”
“To do what?”
“To run her to ground. Little Anastasia is in the wind.”
“Why? Why would she run away and leave herself exposed like that?”
“Let’s just say she isn’t interested in the family business. She was apparently in the dark about the particulars of daddy’s work until recently. Raised in a nunnery and all that.”
“So she is on the loose, with no worldly experience, with rival families most likely after her, and her own father hunting her down.”
“I’m glad to see your brain is still functioning,” Cain said wryly.
“Hard to imagine it could be since all the blood is currently in his dick,” Trace laughed.
But Trace was wrong. The blood wasn’t in my dick. It was thudding painfully in my heart.
The girl was in terrible danger. She needed me. My protective instincts had always been strong, but never like this.
I would save her. I had to. Something deep and unknowable inside me depended on it.
For a split second, I wondered if it was my soul.
“Where did she start running?” I asked, mentally rolling up my sleeves.
“Last known location was in Manhattan.”
“On it,” Trace said.
“This is priority. Drop your other cases,” I said.
He looked at Cain, who nodded.
“Got it,” he said as he ambled into his cave, a room with a wall full of monitors. I exhaled. He might appear lazy, but Trace was the best in the biz. If anyone could find her, he could.
I just prayed that Trace found her before anyone else did.
CHAPTER TWO
Anastasia
I pressed my hand against my sternum, reassuring myself that the cash was still there. I didn’t have much, but it was enough, I told myself. It had to be.
I hadn’t had a plan. Running had been a reaction. A spur-of-the-moment thing. I hadn’t had a choice. I’d had to get out.
I had to get away.
Away from the violence. From the men in suits. From the blood splattered on the walls of the condo, before I’d been shuffled off to yet another property owned by my father. A townhouse in Soho this time. More guards. That didn’t make me feel safe though.
I wasn’t sure I would ever feel safe again.
So I ran. It hadn’t been easy. But the guards were there to keep people out. Not to keep me in.
I’d slipped past them in the early morning light, figuring it was a little harder to see. And that I could pretend to be going out for coffee if they spotted me. The last thing I wanted was to alert them before escaping.
But even I knew I was in over my head. Way, way, over my head. The bustling streets of Los Angeles were a far cry from the school for girls where I had spent most of my life. I missed the serene quiet, as much as I had chaffed under the strict rules. In time, I had also came to understand they did more to protect me than anything else.