were close on my heels. I wasn’t going to make it to the front door, so I changed course for the back and prayed it wasn’t locked. Please, don’t be locked. I came to a halt in front of the door, and in an instant, one of those black riding gloves wrapped around my ponytail and pulled. I cried out in pain as I went flying backward. My head hit the pavement, and a kaleidoscope of lights flickered behind my eyes. Rough hands tore at my clothes. “No,” I moaned, but my consciousness was stuck in sticky black Sludge, and I couldn’t get out. Pain and icy air wrapped around my body, rousing me from darkness. I peeled my eyes open. Scarred face. Dark coat. Denim-clad legs straddling my hips. “No!” I fought his hands, but my body wouldn’t work right. My head—it felt like it was split open. The man ripped my blouse down the middle. “Stop,” I sobbed. He did. It took a moment to realize what had caught his attention. He lifted the nautical star necklace from between my breasts and looked almost confused ... or afraid. Whatever it was, I used his distraction to rake my nails down the scar on his face. He reared back to cover the wound with a hand, hissing, “Ty malen’kaya suka.” You little bitch. I scrambled out from beneath him. He seized my ankle, but I kicked back with the other foot, making contact with something that caused him to grunt in pain. Stumbling to my feet, I fought the dizziness that grabbed at me but couldn’t hold on. My sweaty grasp fumbled with the door handle. It opened, and I slipped inside, colliding face-first with something solid. I hit it—him —so hard, the remaining air in my lungs escaped me on impact. I fell backward, but with a soft Russian curse, the man wrapped an arm around my waist to steady me. The door had just shut with a thud when a burst of cold air announced it was open again. I spun out of the man’s grasp and moved behind him,