White Nights (White Nights 1)

Lifting my panicked gaze, I look into a pair of dark eyes set in a square face. It’s not Alex. The man is not as tall, but bulkier. His lips tilt into a malicious smile as he tightens his grip on my throat, cutting off my airflow. I fight with everything I’ve got, clawing at his hands with my nails, but he only grins wider. I swing my fists at him, punching him in the gut, and he doesn’t so much as grunt.

Panic sets in as my lungs start burning and spots dot my vision.

He flashes a set of crooked teeth as he lifts me off my feet. Only the toes of my boots are dragging on the ground. I aim for his eyes, but he drops his hand from my mouth and leans back, effectively escaping my efforts to claw at him while keeping me at arm’s length and dragging me back to the street. A sliver of light from a window above catches his face, shining over his bald head. An eight-pointed star is tattooed in black ink on his skull. The scream I try to push from my throat comes out as nothing but a croak. I struggle in his grip, kicking at air as he laughs at me quietly while tugging me along like I weigh nothing.

The blood rushes in my ears, amplifying the beat of my heart. From somewhere else, my name comes to me like a sound through water. A figure appears at the top of the alley, his shadow falling tall in the light that comes from the streetlamp on the corner. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. The menace dripping off him is palpable.

As he comes toward us at full speed, the man hauling me to the street lets me go. The pressure lifts and my lungs expand. I fall to my knees, choking on oxygen while my assailant rips the strap of my bag from my shoulder. I try to scream again, but no sound comes from my raw throat. The man offers me a last grin and sprints to the end of the alley with my bag in his hands.

The man coming to my rescue charges after the bald guy down the alley, but my attacker is already sailing over the wall at the end. A third man looms over me.

“Katyusha.”

Warm hands grip my arms and drag me to my feet.

Blinking, I stare at the face hovering over me. “Alex?”

“Fuck.” Alex drags his hands over my body as if he’s patting me down for a weapon. “Are you hurt?” The words sound cold and murderous. “Are you bleeding?”

“He’s gone,” the other man says in a gruff, heavily accented voice as he returns from scaling the wall.

I turn my attention to him, and my mouth goes dry.

It’s the man from the express bus with the bushy eyebrows.

I grab Alex’s shoulders as fresh fear pounds in my temples. “That man,” I say in a thin voice. “He followed me.”

Alex puts an arm around me and pulls me to his chest. “It’s all right. He’s with me.”

I point at the man. “I saw him. On the bus. He’s following me.”

“It’s okay, Katyusha,” Alex says. “Dimitri’s only there for your protection.” Glancing toward the man, he says, “Call Yuri. Tell him to bring the car.”

Dimitri turns with a “Yes, sir,” and promptly leaves, but not before I see him slip a pistol into the back of his waistband under his jacket.

Shivers rack my body despite the warmth of Alex’s embrace. “My phone. He took my bag. We have to call the police.”

“I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.” He lowers his head to peer into my eyes. Outwardly, he appears calm, but his tone has an urgent edge. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

I press cold fingers to my neck. “I’m fine. It’s just my throat and my head.”

His jaw tightens dangerously. “What did he do to you?”

“He knocked my head against the wall and tried to strangle me.”

His nostrils flare. “That son of a bitch.” Throwing an arm around my shoulders, he turns me toward the street. “I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him.” He holds me so tightly against him it hurts. “We need to have you checked out at the hospital.”

“I said I’m fine. I should know. I’m a nurse, remember?”

Silence.

“Wait,” I say when he takes a step, hauling me along. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you at the restaurant. What are you doing here?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly and wince as pain threatens to split my skull in two. “I was only walking by.”

He stops. A hint of anger creeps into his voice. “Walking by? Alone? In the middle of the night?”

“It’s not even midnight.” Wait. Why am I justifying myself to him?