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Chapter Twenty-Five

Tempest

Tears blur my vision as I’m dragged past the rows of bikes by a humongous, bald-headed dickhead. He’s taller than Sargent and has his hand fisted in my hair.

“Gently, Sergei,” my captor snaps at his bald-headed guard.

My captor being a very Russian, much older man called Yaroslava. The...

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