Savage Tracker by Maggie Cole

1

Obrecht Ivanov

Hundreds of menand women have been the source of my focus over the years for various reasons. Some I needed to find so my cousins, brother, and I could destroy. Others were more of a safety precaution. I followed their every move to know for sure what side they were on. If I had to take a guess, I'd say half are still alive, and the others we deemed enemies. Those men, we didn't hesitate to torture for information and kill. The planet is a better place without them walking around. The third category are the few who I've kept my eye on to make sure they were safe.

Sergey's latest request fits into the last bucket, and it's having effects on me I don't like. From the moment I saw her golden legs stretched across a lounger, an uncomfortable feeling hit my chest. I didn't even see her face. I only saw those long, sun-kissed legs. And they aren't legs full of bone. They're a perfect sculpture of flesh and bones with a tad of meat on them.

Jesus Christ. How did I miss seeing her?

I ignored the feeling and left the rooftop. I was covered in sweat and didn't need to be late. Then I stepped out of the shower and got a text.

Sergey: Can you do me a favor?

Me: What's that?

Sergey: The woman on the roof...can you keep your eye on her?

My heart beats faster. The vision of those perfect legs enters my mind again.

Me: Want to tell me why?

Sergey: She's about to settle a divorce, and her ex isn't going to be happy.

Please tell me her ex isn't who Sergey had Adrian digging up dirt on.

Now I get to be a babysitter.

At least she lives in my building, and it'll make it easier.

He wouldn't ask if it weren't important to him.

Me: This guy knows where she's at?

Sergey: No. I'll send you his picture. If you see him hanging around, let me know.

Me: Done.

He sends me a picture of Jack Christian from his company website, and my anger bubbles. It's the same bastard Adrian's had numerous trackers follow. Adrian and I spent the previous night in an underground private club, documenting proof of Jack and his friend, Judge Peterson, engaging in all kinds of debauchery. I took a quick nap when I got home, went for a workout on the roof, and didn't know anyone was in the corner loungers.

And now all I can imagine is how angry this douchebag is for losing possession of those sexy legs.

Me: Looks like a prick.

Sergey: Yep.

Me: What did he do to her?

Sergey: I don't know all the details, but he hurt her.

One thing an Ivanov doesn't handle well is men hurting women. There's always a rage stewing in my gut. Most of the time, I keep it under wraps. The times I get to engage in it are a sweet release for me. I'd be more than happy to show Jack Christian my wrath.

Me: Then I kind of hope he tries to come near her on my watch.

Sergey: Thanks. Message me if you see him.

Me: Will do.

I didn't ask Sergey any more questions. I didn't need to. Tracking is a world I've submerged myself in. I took care of my pending business and spent the rest of the night digging into everything I could find on Jack Christian and his wife, Selena.

From the outside, he looks like the typical, highly successful entrepreneur with a trophy wife. Selena is about twenty years younger than him. She's beyond gorgeous with an exotic flair. Before I read anything about her, I guessed she is Mediterranean. Her Greek olive skin is flawless and her brownish-green eyes have an innocence about them. But I'm not ignorant. She can't be that innocent if she was married to Jack. He surely put her through hell before she escaped. Her long, dark, wavy hair is thick and hangs a few inches past her breasts, which are so perfect, I wonder if they are real or fake. Her nose is long and straight, perfectly positioned on her oval-shaped face. Her pouty lips are always smiling. To the public, she looks happy, yet I see the sadness in her eyes. It's a skill I have, almost as if I can read people's emotions.

For several weeks, I watch her, keeping my distance so she doesn't see me. The urge to meet her gets so pressing when I speak to our security team in the building, and a package arrives for her, I act in haste. I sign and tell them I'll deliver it.

It's uncalculated, impatient, and stupid on my part. For several hours, I play the role of her friendly neighbor, helping her switch out her faucet. She doesn't seem bothered and isn't questioning how long I'm taking to do it. Of course, the constant breaks to talk to her aren't helping me finish.

Selena's eyes travel to my feet again. It's like the universe has to play with me. I've been restraining myself from commanding her to kneel from the time she opened the door.

Who am I kidding? I've wanted her to kneel since I looked at those legs.

Besides the time spent under her kitchen sink, every look she gives me is restricting the room in my pants.

She's not a bottom. She's just flustered.

I wish she'd stop blushing every time I look at her.

She looks like she's in her early twenties, not thirty.

How was she with that monster?

What did he do to her?

Is she biting on that plump little lip of hers to mess with me?

I groan inside. Even after several hours, I'm still not used to her intoxicating scent of lavender and something else I can't put my finger on. It has a woodsy flair. "All done," I proclaim and begin to break down the boxes.

"Thank you. I-I can do that," she says with her angelic voice. It's another thing driving me crazy. She sounds so young, and it's the icing on the cake. She stands next to me and picks up the faucet box.

There's an aura of energy around her.

Few people have it.

Annika had it.

The thought of the woman I spent years loving, the one I bought an engagement ring for with the notion of spending the rest of my life with, makes my stomach clench. It happened years ago when I was in my twenties. It's why I don't date. If someone could penetrate my life so thoroughly without me having any clue who they really were, then something is wrong with my radar.

After Annika, I became a tracker. I wanted to know how to dig up every bit of information on someone I could so no one ever could trick me again. Annika was a Petrov, placed to mess with me because I am an Ivanov, which made the betrayal even worse. I already hated the Petrovs based on what they did to my cousins and aunt. It happened right before my sister Natalia was kidnapped, raped in one of the Petrov whorehouses for over a year, then left on our doorstep, dead. Extreme guilt eats me daily. I didn't have the ability to see who Annika was or find Natalia the year she was missing. If I had had the skills back then that I have now, Natalia would still be alive. Annika would never have been part of mine or my family's life. And to this day, I always wonder if Annika had anything to do with Natalia's kidnapping.

As good as I am at tracking now, I still don't trust myself around women. So, my sexual needs are taken care of at specific, exclusive clubs where I have a membership. Members can only engage with those they bring into the club or other members tested for STDs every month. If you bring a guest, only you can engage with them. You can't return to the club until you submit new documentation after several weeks pass. Members and guests wear wristbands, so it's clear who is who. In the club, I can get what I want, when I want it, and don't have to deal with all the relationship issues or risk of betrayal. One thing I've learned about humans is we all have weaknesses. Those are things I'm used to exploiting to get whatever information I need. I won't allow anyone else to fool me ever again. I'm the one in control, and it's going to stay that way. The ramifications are too horrible to allow myself to fall into any more traps.

Selena tries to open the other end of the box, but it's glued. Her nail breaks, and she winces. "Ouch!"

"Let me see." I pick up her hand. The middle of her nail has a line going through it. A large piece of her acrylic is on the counter, and I squeeze her finger, trying to apply some pressure to it to take away the sting.

She slowly glances up at me, her doe eyes shifting from brown into a slight green color. Her long lashes frame them. Her mouth forms a tiny O, and her cheeks flush.

Kneel,I say in my head and reprimand myself.

I need to get out of here.

How was she with Jack Christian?

She was only twenty when he married her. The thought of her ten years younger and being swept away from her family, under his exclusive control, makes my stomach churn. From all the information I've gathered, Selena's family is no longer in the picture. It's not unusual for a man like Jack to break off all ties to their wife's family and friends. From what I can tell from the several weeks I've observed Selena, she doesn't have many people in her life. I added another one of our guys to watch her when I can't, and so far, she hasn't left the building very much. The few times she left, she had one of our guys with her. She only went to Kora's office. Last week, she went to get her nails done. All her groceries are delivered, and she stays between the roof and her unit.

I don't move, continuing to keep my hand wrapped around her finger. She's barefoot, and although she's tall, the top of her head comes to my chin. "Does that feel better?"

"Yes," she breathily says, and my dick twitches.

"Guess you'll need a nail appointment. I'm only good for applying pressure," I tease and wink.

She blurts out, "I'm sure you're good at other things." Her face turns crimson when I cockily raise my eyebrows. She quickly looks down, and I groan inside again.

Kneel, my dorogaya.

I need to get out of here.

I release her finger. "I'll handle the boxes." I step out of her aura and focus on the cardboard. When I finish, I put it under my arm. "I'll take this to the recycle bin."

"Umm, okay. Thank you. This was..." She glances at my feet again before straightening up and looking me in the eye. She smiles. "It was very kind of you and nice to meet you. Is cash okay?"

"Cash?"

"To pay you for installing the faucet?"

I snort. "No payment. I'm happy to help. If you need anything else done, give me a shout. Why don't I leave you my number?" My pulse hammers in my throat, and I wonder if she can see it.

She tries to bite back her smile. "Sure."

I take my phone out of my pocket. I already have her number, but she doesn't know that.

She rattles it off. I pretend to put it in. Then I text her.

Me: It's Obrecht.

"There. Now you can get a hold of me if you need anything."

"Thanks. What other services do you provide?" she teases.

Everything you need.

Not helping matters.

She's fifteen years younger, is freshly divorced, and there's no way she's into what I am.

Plus, she's my neighbor. I don't need her getting the wrong idea and thinking I'm available for a relationship. A woman like her surely is going to want a commitment with whomever she sees.

I shrug and walk to the door. I need to get out of here and cool off before I say something I regret. "Seriously. If you need anything, I'm only an elevator ride away."

"Thank you. You don't know how much I hated that faucet."

"Hmm. I'm not a faucet connoisseur, but what was wrong with it?"

Her face darkens. She takes a deep breath. "This may sound stupid, but this condo is the first thing I've ever owned. It's different than where I used to live, which is why I love it. But that other faucet, well, it...umm...it was the same as the one in my other house. I don't want any memories of that place." She turns away as if ashamed of her past, blinking hard.

I stare at her until she turns back. When her eyes meet mine, there's so much pain in them.

What did that bastard do to her?

"You have good taste. The new one looks great, much better than the old one."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

She hesitates then says, "Thank you again. You've made my day."

Against my better judgment, I scan her body. When I get back to her face, she's holding her breath. There's a fire in her eyes.

Kneel.

Time to go.

"Have a good day, Selena."

"You, too, Obrecht."

I spend the rest of the day trying to turn off my thoughts about her, but I can't stop wondering what she would sound like saying, "Yes, sir."