Cadence

35. Dark hair

Three years later...

Cadence

Running down the hall, I quicken my pace, the unknown man close on my heels. This wasn't apart of the plan. I wasn't supposed to get chased. But nope, as always, fate has other plans for me.

The man's footsteps are heavy, like he weighs a ton, they're meaningful and hold the promise that he will catch up to me.

My legs are on fire, the muscles working as hard as they possibly can to get me away from him. Reaching the end of the hall, I skid to the right and continue running.

His footsteps are closer now, my heart is just about ready to leap from my chest. I pull my arms out of my leather jacket and throw it to the floor behind me hoping it will slow him down.

Though it doesn't work, before I know it, a gloved hand is wrapping around the back of my ponytail and ripping it backwards.

My body goes flying to the floor, my head hitting the hotel carpet and my sight going foggy at the impact.

I throw my fist at what I presume to be his face, he catches it. His gloves squeaking when he twists my wrist. He's straddling my hips now, his elephant like weight stopping me from getting to my feet.

I shake my head to clear the fog and throw my other fist to his face. I smile when it connects with his jaw, snapping his head to the side and making a growl escape his lips.

I raise my knee and hit him in the back, causing him to roll to the side off of me. Mind still in a haze, I jump onto him and straddle his waist.

I throw punch after punch into his face, though he blocks every one with his hands before he pushes me off him, sending me flying into a wall. My head hits the concrete and my mind goes blank.

Fuck.

***

My eyes shoot open when I register the cold ice being thrown over my form. I sputter, trying to regain the oxygen that just evaporated from my lungs.

Blinking like a mad woman, I try to clear my vision, once I've succeeded I snap my head in all directions trying to find the asshole who just soaked me from head to toe.

In front of me stands a familiar face, dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin. River fucking Molki. I inwardly groan. He's here.

"You changed your hair." A deep voice says from the corner of the dimly lit room, lifting his hand and gesturing to my now blonde hair.

The sound penetrates through the darkness, creating a path from me to him. Making the hatred and tension between us very recognisable.

I don't reply to him, only keep my head hung low, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing my face after all these years. That is until, I hear his footsteps coming towards me.

I twist my hands in the ropes around my wrists, growing agitated by the fact that I can't punch the dick in the face.

"Malyshka you're in my country now, don't ignore me." He says from in front of me.

He's in his usual suit, perfectly polished shoes and straight lines.

I spit on his shoes, annoyed by how clean they are.

Grabbing my chin he forces my gaze to meet his, his perfect hair styled as it always was. His cold eyes and how they penetrate through my soul. How they leave a fire across my skin when he looks at me.

How they've haunted my dreams over the years.

"Well, are you mute? What the fuck are you doing in Russia." He seethes.