Free Bound to the Beast: Russian Hitman Romance by Ada Stone Page B

step I took, I got closer to her apartment. Then, finally, I was standing right in front of it—which just happened to be the number listed for the address of Christopher Ferrars.
     
    “Something isn’t right. This must be an old address,” I said to no one at all.
     
    But I was wondering if I was right. Was this yet another dead end?
     
    I thought it must be, but my gut was telling me otherwise. Searching for answers, I raced downstairs to check the line of mailboxes that I’d passed in the lobby of the place. When I reached them, I searched the numbers and names until I found what I was looking for. Susanna.
     
    But more specifically, Susanna Ferrars.
     
    That was when I remembered that he had a sister, though I’d never found a good recent picture of her. I hadn’t wanted to involve an innocent in this, so I’d never pursued whether or not she could be involved in all of this, or know where he was. But I should have. I thought of her long blonde hair, like warm honey or wheat. Her bright blue eyes, her freckles. Features that transferred over perfectly to the pictures I had of Christopher.
     
    “Damnit!”
     
    How had I made this complicated?
     

Chapter Nine
    Susanna
     
    Today was a workshop day, thankfully. I only had my workshop classes once a week for three hours, and I was allowed to use the art studio freely between the hours of seven and nine in the morning, and six and twelve at night. Otherwise they were occupied by classes.
     
    Workshop was one of my favorite classes, because it was basically a free for all. Our professor would occasionally walk around and spout existential theories on why art was important or how the colors determined the light of the world, but for the most part this was just about creating viable pieces for our portfolios. And of course our gallery piece. There was going to be one at the end of the semester for all graduating seniors. It would be our exhibit, and for some of us—most of us—it would likely be our only exhibit.
     
    The thought made me nauseous—or maybe that was the baby? I wasn’t sure anymore if it was the stress from school, the pressure to complete a masterpiece worth displaying in a gallery, or the strange situation with Tyler. Had he really proposed to me? Of course he had, and it had been an earnest, completely noble plan to save me from embarrassment and exile.
     
    He was so selfless, but…did I really want to spend my life with him?
     
    Not that I had a lot of options. I hadn’t dated more than a few people in my life and we had only gotten to the kissing stage, nothing beyond. Until Alexei. He was so different from everything I had ever known, and I thought for sure that was what had swept me away. It was the sense of danger and intrigue he carried with him. It was that sexy Russian accent, just smooth enough to slip beneath his perfect English and make his whole self darker, deeper, and more desirous. It was even that medal he had suspended around his neck, an almost gaudy gold thing that should have made him look cheesy, but only spoke of heritage and belief.
     
    I cursed myself for still thinking of him. For focusing on him. He wasn’t coming back. If he wouldn’t come back just to…to, well, fuck me, then why would he come back once he knew that a baby was involved? Simple, he wouldn’t. Few men would, but certainly not a dark, sleek stranger like him. He was the type of man who owned expensive cars and rented expensive apartments, daring to live carelessly, even dangerously, because there was nothing anywhere that tied him down.
     
    The complete opposite of some farm girl and her baby.
     
    No, Alexei wasn’t an option—which was why the painting that kept appearing before me was so inappropriate. It was an urban scene, dark and foreboding. The background was a mixture of streaked rain, midnight skies, and alleys a charcoal gray color that might be full of shadows and nasty things. The roads were cobblestone and shining wet.