Nikolai
I need names.
I make my way down the hall, past the offices and toward the conference room at the back of the estate. Maksim and Roman are already there, sitting at the table with steaming mugs in front of them and cold looks on their faces.
Roman glances up as I enter. “You look like shit,” he says.
“Funny,” I reply, “Because I feel fucking awesome.”
Maksim arches a brow. “Clara said you brought someone home.”
I say nothing. Just sit. That should be answer enough.
Roman leans back in his chair, studying me like he’s trying to read through my skin. “You planning to keep this one, or is she another casualty waiting to happen?”
I don’t flinch. “She’s not going anywhere.”
The air tightens. Maksim’s eyes narrow slightly, but not in disapproval. It’s calculation. The same way he looks at new acquisitions. At territory that has not yet been claimed.
“She came through the woods?” he asks.
“She was running from someone. Said she got into the wrong car after her friends ditched her at a club. Recognized the vehicle make. Thought it was her ride.”
Roman snorts. “Amateurs. You have any descriptions?”
I nod. “Two men. Early twenties. Drunk. American accents. One had a scar on the back of his left hand and a cigarette behind his ear, the other a scorpion tattoo on his neck. She said they didn’t speak much until she started asking questions. Then they told her they just wanted to have fun.”
“Fun,” Roman repeats, voice dry and laced with venom. “The kind you don’t walk away from.”
“She jumped out before they could touch her.”
“You’re sure?” Maksim asks.
“She had scrapes on her palms, bruises. I saw her body. They didn’t get that far.”
Maksim nods slowly. “Good.”
Roman smiles without humor. “How do you want to handle it?”
“I want them found.”
“I’ll get Aleksei on it,” Roman says, knowing he is the best man for the job.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “When we find them, I want them brought here. Alive. I want them to see my face before I carve it into the backs of their fucking eyelids.”
Roman lets out a low whistle. “You’re in deep.”
“I was the second she looked at me and didn’t run.”
“She did run,” Maksim points out.
I smile. “Only when I told her to.”
There’s silence. Maksim taps his fingers once against the table before speaking again.
“We’ll need the name of the club to check the cameras from the exterior.
The car she described is a match to a crew that’s been sniffing around the outer districts.
Low-level freelancers. Not connected. Not smart.
Probably grabbing girls too drunk to remember their names. ”
“They’re a liability to whoever they’re affiliated with,” Roman adds. And he is right. I wonder if the organisation they work for even knows of their extra-curricular activities.
I leave the room with blood humming in my veins.
It’ll take time to track them, but not much. Aleksei moves fast when he knows one of us is on edge, and Maksim has no tolerance for any man who touches women without consent. I know how this ends. I can already smell their sweat, taste their fear.
But right now, I need something else.
I need her.
I climb the stairs two at a time, my boots thudding against the polished wood. I turn the corner and pause outside my bedroom door. I can hear her inside, soft footsteps, the rustle of fabric. She’s not afraid. I would hear it. She’s settling in.
Claiming space.
I knock once before I open the door.
Rachel is standing near the window, barefoot, wrapped in one of my old sweaters. It swallows her frame, making her look even softer than she is, but there’s still a sharpness in her posture. Her spine straight, her eyes steady.
She turns when she hears me, and fuck, my chest goes tight.
There’s no fear in her gaze.
Just questions.
“I thought maybe you’d left,” she says quietly.
“I did,” I reply. “But not for long.”
She studies me. “You always walk around with that look on your face after you’ve been gone an hour?”
I arch a brow. “What look is that?”
“Like someone’s already dead. You’re just waiting to bury them.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s low, rough, honest.
She doesn’t flinch at the sound.
“You’re not wrong,” I admit. “I was getting answers.”
Her expression shifts. She crosses her arms, suddenly uncertain. “About me?”
“About the men who picked you up.”
She blinks, the color draining from her face just enough to make my jaw tighten.
“They won’t touch anyone else,” I tell her. “They’ll be found. They’ll be dealt with.”
She doesn’t speak for a second. Then she walks toward me, slow and deliberate. “You believe me? About what happened?”
I step into her space, close enough to feel the heat of her body through the sweater. “I never doubted you.”
Her lashes lower, and she exhales. “Most people would’ve said I was asking for it. Drinking too much, wearing hardly any clothes.”
“Most people are stupid. How much you drink and what you wear doesn’t mean you have less rights as a human.”
She looks up at me again, searching my face. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because I saw you.” I lift my hand, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “Because you didn’t scream when you saw me. Because you ran like hell and let me catch you. Because you let me fuck you into the forest floor and still had the nerve to meet my eyes.”
She sucks in a breath.
“You didn’t break beneath me,” I murmur. “You bloomed.”
Her lips part, and I lean in before she can say anything. My mouth brushes hers, soft this time, lingering. She tastes like coffee and breathless tension. She kisses me back like she’s falling and hasn’t decided whether she wants to be caught.
I pull away and press my forehead to hers.
“You’re not just some woman who stumbled into the wrong woods,” I whisper. “You’re mine now. You understand that?”
She nods. Barely. But it’s there.
“And I protect what’s mine.”
Her hands curl into my shirt. She leans her weight into me like she wants to be held up. I wrap my arms around her and lift her clean off the ground, carrying her back toward the bed like she weighs nothing.
She doesn’t protest. Doesn’t squirm.
She rests her head on my shoulder, like she belongs there.
And inside myself, I know she does.