Chapter 2 - Alyssa #2
A group of tourists walks by, loud and oblivious to everything around them.
I use them as cover and fall into step behind their little cluster as they move down the sidewalk.
It’s not much of a disguise, but anything that helps me blend into the crowd is worth trying.
I’ve gotten good at becoming invisible, at moving through spaces without drawing attention.
Three blocks later, I duck into a coffee shop and order a latte I don’t really want.
My stomach is too twisted with anxiety to handle caffeine, but I need the excuse to hang around somewhere safe.
The barista is a college kid with purple hair and multiple piercings who looks like she’s seen some things.
When I ask if there’s a back exit, she jerks her thumb toward the rear of the shop without asking questions.
“Thanks,” I tell her, leaving a generous tip.
“Stay safe out there,” she replies, and something in her tone tells me she’s been where I am.
I slip out the back door into an alley that smells like garbage and broken dreams. The narrow space feels safer somehow, hidden from the main thoroughfare where Troy might be watching. Just as I’m about to make my escape, a familiar voice calls my name.
“Alyssa?”
My heart stops beating for exactly three seconds before kicking into overdrive. Blood rushes in my ears, and I suck in a breath. I know that voice. I’ve replayed it in my head more times than I care to admit, usually in the quiet moments before sleep when my defenses are down.
I turn around slowly, and there he is. Maksim Barkov, looking exactly as devastating as I remember.
Maybe more so, if that’s even possible. Today, he’s wearing a charcoal gray suit that fits him like it was sewn directly onto his body, and his hair is perfectly styled in that effortlessly tousled way that some men just naturally possess.
The sight of him steals the breath from my lungs.
“Maksim.” His name comes out breathier than I intended, and I curse my body’s automatic response to his presence. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive that makes my knees go weak.
The scent triggers a flood of memories from that night—of his hands on my skin and his mouth against my throat.
“Though I have to say, this is the last place I expected to run into you.”
“I was just… getting coffee.” I gesture vaguely toward the coffee shop behind me.
“In the alley behind the shop?” One eyebrow arches in that way that’s both amused and skeptical.
“I like the ambiance.”
That earns me one of his panty-dropping smiles, the kind that probably makes women do stupid things on a regular basis. “Of course you do.”
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms and forget about everything else. The other part knows that right now is not the time.
“Listen,” I start, wrapping my arms around myself like armor, “this is really bad timing—”
“Have dinner with me,” he interrupts, and the words come out more like a statement than a question.
“What?” My brain struggles to process the request. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t on the list.
“Tonight. I know this place that makes the best—”
“I can’t.”
“Tomorrow then?” He doesn’t look deterred by my refusal, which is both flattering and problematic.
“Maksim, I really can’t. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I take a step backward, putting distance between us before I do something stupid like say yes.
I turn to leave, but he catches my wrist, much gentler than Troy. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning at the simple touch.
“Wait,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me pause. “What’s wrong? You look…”
“I look what?” I don’t really want to hear the answer, but I can’t help asking.
“Scared.”
I want to deny it, to tell him I’m fine and just busy, but something in his eyes makes me pause. There’s genuine concern there, not just wounded male pride or frustrated desire.
“It’s messy,” I finally answer, which is the understatement of the century.
“Try me.” He doesn’t let go of my wrist, but his grip remains gentle. He could easily overpower me if he wanted to, but he’s choosing restraint.
Before I can answer, movement at the mouth of the alley catches my eye. My blood turns to ice water in my veins, and every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Troy.
He’s standing at the corner of the street, partially hidden behind a delivery truck, but I’d recognize that profile anywhere. He’s wearing the same black jacket he always wears, and his gaze is fixed directly on me. On us. The familiar surge of panic claws up my throat like a living thing.
“Alyssa?” Maksim’s voice seems to come from very far away, filtered through the rushing sound in my ears. “What is it?”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except stare at Troy and wait for him to make his move. He’s not alone this time. There’s another man with him, someone I don’t recognize but who gives off the same dangerous vibe as those men in Troy’s apartment.
“Hey.” Maksim steps into my line of sight, and his large frame blocks my view of the street. His free hand comes up to cup my face, and he brushes his thumb across my cheekbone in a gesture so gentle it almost breaks me. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
I look up at him, this beautiful, powerful man who probably has no idea what he’s walked into, and I realize I’m about to drag him into my mess whether I want to or not.
Because Troy has seen us together. He’s seen Maksim touch me, talk to me, look at me like I matter.
And knowing Troy, that’s not going to end well for anyone.