I’m so close to the point of eruption.
Chaotic emotions swirl through me and I want to burst into a spree of violence or release a long scream.
As long as I inflict pain on the asshole who’s gripping me by the arm and leading me through fuck knows what.
Again, I had to wear the blindfold so I don’t find out the location of where he’s keeping my brother.
My mind buzzes with the reminder that Maks could kill him at any second. Hell, if Kirill hadn’t used force earlier, I might be mourning my brother’s death as we speak.
My friend didn’t say a word to me, let alone try to explain why he’s been ignoring all of the texts I’ve been sending over the past week.
Maybe Anton was right and Maksim is blindly loyal to Kirill, and, therefore, he won’t hesitate to kill my brother if my monster of a husband gives the order.
My muscles are tense to the point of pain and I have to put up with touching the bastard despite wanting to throw him down and kick him in the nuts.
All I see is black and it’s a true translation of my current mood. The worst part about having my eyesight taken away is the heightening of my other senses.
I can hear the distant howls of the night creatures and the rustle of the leaves beneath our shoes. Even Kirill’s steady breathing sweeps through me like an irritating highlight of the sounds.
My arms erupt in goosebumps, and I want to blame that on the night chill, but if that were the case, why am I hotter than normal?
In fact, they feel like they’re disconnected from the rest of my body and living in a strange in-between. One that’s filled with Kirill’s overwhelming presence.
His scent clashes with that of the forest—woodsy, deep, and most importantly, bottomless. Like his emotions.
“Aren’t we there yet?” I ask with a brusque tone.
We’ve been going for what I’m sure is longer than half an hour—though it feels like ages.
The walk to Anton’s prison was twenty minutes. I was able to tell by calculating the time between when he put on the blindfold and after he removed it.
“So you do have a voice. And here I thought you’d lost it.”
I glare at him even through the blindfold. “You think I’m in the mood to talk to you after you made me watch my brother’s attempted murder?”
“You know very well that wasn’t my intention.”
“Know very well?” I repeat in an incredulous tone and force him to a halt, then yank away the blindfold. I’m greeted by shadowy trees and Kirill’s stoic face. “You’re the type who gives people a safety net just to pull the rug from beneath their feet, so no, there’s no way of knowing your true intentions.”
He steps forward, invading my space and trapping me with his arctic wolf eyes. “That might apply to everyone else, but never to you.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Stop saying things like that!”
“Why?” He cradles my fist in his hand and keeps it caged against his chest. “Are you by any chance afraid that if you listen to me without projecting your self-induced hatred, you’ll actually believe me and eventually forgive me?”
“Forgive you? For what, exactly? For keeping me a secret while plotting to marry someone else? For sending your people to get rid of my family and me because you couldn’t finish the job six years ago?”
“If you were my secret, I wouldn’t have introduced you to my family and my organization as my fucking wife. I didn’t send anyone to kill you or your family. Not now, not six years ago.”
“But I saw Makar that day! He was there near the cottage to make sure I was blown up inside it.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Makar?”
“Your father’s senior guard who’s been loyal to you since his death, or are you also going to pretend you don’t know him or didn’t give him the order?”
“I do know him, but he was under no such fucking order. In fact, he’s supposed to be working closely with the Bratva branch in Chicago and has been for months now.”
“So you’re telling me you’re not the one who called him back to eliminate me?”
He grabs my shoulder with his free hand, and shakes me, nearly knocking all my senses out of their confinements. “This is the last fucking time I’ll say this, I’d never hurt you.”
“But you did!” I punch my chest. “You took the stupid feelings I had for you and used them against me in the cruelest way. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m over it and you.”
“Liar.” His huskily spoken word sends a jolt of electricity through my stupid heart that refuses to die already. “If you were over it, you wouldn’t go out of your way to avoid me. You wouldn’t be shaking in my arms like you are now.”
I try to jerk away, but he wraps an arm around my lower back and slams my front against his.
In the dark, our harsh breaths echo in the air, intertwining with the sounds of the night creatures.
“Let me go.” I push at his chest.
“I made that mistake once. I believed you were dead and buried what I thought were your fucking bones with my own hands. I’ll never do that again.”
“You’re only delaying the inevitable.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You agreed to divorce me in three months.”
He lowers his head so that his face is nearly level with mine. I almost forgot how beautiful he is up close. His straight nose complements his sharp jawline and his defined lips. He’s one of those people who has model-like features but with the charm of a shrewd businessman.
No matter what happens, he stands there like an unmoving mountain, forever in control and unperturbed. It’s almost inhuman. I wish I could see the version of him where, according to Karina, Anna, and even Rai, he was a ghost of himself after I was gone.
I wish I could stop trembling when he touches me.
I wish I could…just make him disappear and not miss him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Makar?” he asks instead of answering my earlier question.
“Why is it important?”
“Let me think. Because of the fact that I have a fucking traitor in my ranks? Thanks to you, he might’ve already fled.”
“So it’s my fault now?”
“Just stop it. Stop trying to invent a fight and drive a deeper wedge between us. For once, stop fucking running.”
Easier said than done when my flight trigger is awakened. In fact, all I want to do is run into the middle of an unfamiliar, faraway place, as long as I’m not in his immediate vicinity.
His merciless grip is the only thing keeping me in place, and he seems to recognize that, too, because he tightens his arm around my waist.
I don’t know if it’s the added pressure of his touch or the fact that a foolish part of me is starting to believe him, but my fight slowly wanes until I can barely sense it.
Tension lingers in the air even as my fist tries to push at him. It’s my last desperate attempt to keep some distance between us.
He squeezes my hand, but it’s not meant to crush my fingers as I would expect. It’s more like he’s demanding my attention. “Work with me, not against me.”
“Or else what?”
“Why do you need the or else, Sasha? You think I don’t see your feeble attempts at provoking me? You’re wishing for me to give you an ultimatum again so you can convince yourself that hating me is the right thing. I’m sorry to burst your delusional bubble, but that won’t be happening.”
The asshole.
Can’t he be less perceptive?
“You’ve already given me an ultimatum by imprisoning Anton.”
“That’s because if I gave you the choice, you’d run away again, and I can’t bear to be separated from my wife.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“Like what? That you’re my wife, Mrs. Morozova?”
I feel heat rising within me and the unconscious loosening of my muscles. I’m losing the battle again.
You can’t, Sasha.
If you trust him again, you’ll end up being hurt. This time, you won’t be able to pick yourself back up.
But even as I tell myself those words, I’m not confident I can hate him forever either. Hell, I haven’t been able to hate him ever since I found out Kristina married Konstantin and he was the one who plotted it.
A rustle comes from off to the side, but I could barely hear it over the heartbeat that pounds in my ears.
Kirill, however, is more alert. He subtly releases my hand that’s on his chest and reaches beneath his jacket for his weapon.
I finally snap out of it and do the same, then whisper, “Is it Viktor?”
“No. I sent him home.”
“What? Who’s going to drive us back?”
“We were never supposed to return tonight.” He studies our surroundings. “We have unwelcome company. Three of them. One is in the tree behind you, another is behind me, and the third is northwest of the first. There could be more.”
I swallow. Please tell me these aren’t men my uncle sent. I told him not to interfere, but he and especially Babushka have never listened to me.
Besides, this has to do with their precious heir, Anton, after all.
“Go north.” Kirill’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and then he taps a few times on his watch. “I just sent you the coordinates of the cabin we’re spending the night in. I think they followed us, so they don’t know about the cabin’s location, but if by any chance it appears they do, run as fast as you can.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll stop them and join you at the cabin.”
“You think I’ll let you do that on your own?”
“I mean it, Sasha, go.”
“And I mean it, Kirill. I don’t need your protection.”
“You—”
“Let’s lose them by going separate ways,” I say, and without waiting for his reply, I head east.
I can hear him curse before he runs in the opposite direction.
Before I can find a safe location, I sense light footsteps closing in on me. I swing to the side, then shoot and miss.
Shit.
I need to only take calculative hits. Otherwise, I’ll run out of ammunition and put myself in a deadly position.
They shoot at me, but I manage to duck and hide behind a tree.
If they’re shooting to kill, they couldn’t have been sent by my family, right? At least, I hope they’re not trying to eliminate me.
Though that’s a huge possibility if they think I went back to Kirill.
Damn it.
I catch my breath, hold my gun with both hands, and slowly peek around the tree.
That’s weird. While I was fast, they probably are, too, so where are they?
All of a sudden, a doomsday-like feeling ticks in my head and I look back just in time to see a black-clad figure staring at me. I shoot him right before he kills me.
Blood splatters on my face as he hits the ground in front of me.
I don’t have time to check his identity since other footsteps are approaching me. So I take note of his weapon and run deeper into the forest.
In the meantime, I manage to exchange bullets with one of my pursuers.
It isn’t until I’m far into the thick trees that I manage to kill the second.
But I keep running, suspecting a third to be close behind.
If that’s the case, what about Kirill?
Once I make sure no one is hot on my trail, I check the location he sent me. I’m twenty minutes away from the cabin, which I can get to without going back through the forest.
I spent approximately thirty minutes in the cat-and-mouse chase with the second one. It’d be easier to meet Kirill at the cabin rather than go back to the forest and risk being shot.
Especially since I have only one bullet left.
I reach the cabin in record time. It’s located in the mountains, surrounded by trees for as far as the eye can see.
Instead of heading inside, I do a tour of the entire property, my finger on the trigger.
Fortunately, Kirill was right and they don’t seem to know about the place.
One problem, though. I don’t have the key. I try under the mat and beneath the porch, but I end up finding it in one of the flowerpots lining the steps.
After I’m inside, I release a breath, but I still track the cozy-looking area in case there’s an uninvited guest. Once I’m sure I’m the only one here, I lean against the back of the sofa and call Kirill. It goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
I pace the length of the cottage. He’s okay. It’s Kirill, after all. Those guys couldn’t get him.
Unless he was ambushed.
Maybe the two who followed me were a red herring and the actual army is out for Kirill’s life.
Shit.
Shit.
The longer I call him and he doesn’t pick up, the harder my heart beats.
I completely forget why I want him out of the picture or that if he’s gone, I’ll finally be free of him.
But that’s the thing. I don’t think I ever will be.
The bitter truth slaps me in the face: I prefer being in this fucked-up coexistence with him than being happy without him.
I’m so damn sick.
But apparently I don’t give a damn, because I sprint out of the house and run the length of the garden.
He should’ve been here by now.
He should’ve—
My feet come to a halt when I catch sight of him walking onto the property, a gun in his hand and blood covering his neck and chest.
“Kirill!” I run toward him. “What’s wrong? Have you been shot—”
The words die in my throat when he meets me halfway and slams his lips to mine.
