Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
He pulls back, cupping my face in his hands. His thumbs brush away my tears, leaving streaks of dirt on my cheeks.
“I’m here now,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Where have you been, what happened?”
“It’s a long story,” Nikita says, his arm wrapping around my waist, holding me up. “We’re standing in the middle of a crime scene.”
He looks at Ayaan. “We need to move. Now.”
“Go,” Ayaan says. “I’ll secure the site.”
“We wait for you,” Nikita says firmly.
“You can’t.”
“We will.”
They stare at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Two men who have seen hell and survived it.
Finally, Ayaan nods. “See you at the safe house.”
Nikita turns me around, guiding me toward the exit. I’m numb, my mind racing. My brother is alive. He’s here. How?
We step out into the cool night air. The adrenaline is crashing, leaving me shaking uncontrollably.
“Hey,” Nikita says, stopping me. He pulls me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. “Breathe.”
“I don’t understand,” I gasp against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You promised me the truth.”
“I promised you safety. The truth would have gotten you killed.”
I pull back, looking up at him. “Is that why you married me, to protect me from the truth?”
“Yes.”
“He asked you to?”
“Yes.”
Nikita’s gaze flicks past me, to the warehouse door.
“He did what he had to do. He went deep undercover to take down Lorenzo from the inside. He’s been living in the belly of the beast for two years, Freya.
A single slip, and he would have been tortured and killed.
And you… if you knew, if Lorenzo even suspected you knew… ”
“He would have used me.”
“Exactly.”
I look at Nikita—really look at him. I see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lines of pain around his mouth. I see the weight he’s been carrying, the burden of keeping my brother’s secret while watching me fall apart, while watching me hate him for a crime he didn’t commit.
“You did this for him,” I whisper.
“I did it for you.”
He leans down, kissing me. It’s not the gentle kiss from earlier. It’s hard, desperate, claiming. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s been wandering in the desert and I’m the first drop of water.
I kiss him back with everything I have. All the fear, all the relief, all the love that I’ve been fighting so hard to deny.
The heat is instant, a roaring fire that threatens to consume us both. I can feel his heart hammering against my ribs, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
“Take me home,” I murmur against his lips.
“I intend to.”
***
We don’t make it to the bedroom.
The moment the elevator doors close, sealing us in the privacy of the penthouse, he pins me against the wall. His mouth is on mine, hot and demanding. His hands slide under my coat, gripping my waist.
“I thought I lost you,” he growls, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. “In the warehouse… when they surrounded us…”
“You saved me.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter, because you did.”
He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the nearest surface—the dining table. He clears it with a sweep of his arm, sending a vase crashing to the floor. He doesn’t even flinch.
He sets me down on the edge, stepping between my thighs.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I open my eyes. His are burning, dark with possessive need.
“You are mine, Freya,” he says, his voice rough. “I chose you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m yours.”
He unzips his pants, freeing himself. He’s hard, thick, and ready. There’s no foreplay, no teasing.
He enters me in one smooth, powerful thrust.
It’s intense, a sharp stretch that borders on pain, but it feels so good. He fills me completely, his hips flush against mine.
He starts to move, his strokes deep and punishing. The table groans under us, scraping against the floor. He fucks me with a desperation that matches my own, a frantic need to reaffirm life, to cement our survival in sweat and skin.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. I meet him thrust for thrust, matching his intensity. The tension that has been building for weeks—the fear, the secrets, the longing—unravels, exploding into pure, unadulterated pleasure.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls, his hand finding my clit. “Be a good girl, yeah?”
His touch is electric. I shatter, my body convulsing around his, my vision blurring white. I scream his name, a sound of pure release.
He follows me over, his own release tearing from him in a low, guttural groan. He buries his face in my neck, his body shuddering against mine.
After, the only sound is our ragged breathing.
Eventually, he lifts his head. He looks at me, his eyes softening. “Your brother is alive,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes again. “I have you to thank for that.”
“No,” he says, brushing a lock of hair from my face. “You have yourself to thank. You never stopped looking. You never gave up. That’s why he’s alive.”
He kisses me, soft and sweet.
“Now, let’s go get cleaned up. Ayaan will be at the safe house in an hour.”
I nod, sliding off the table. My legs are shaky, but he steadies me.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“Now,” he says, taking my hand. “We live. We fight, and we win. Together.”
Together.
The word hangs in the air, heavy with promise. I squeeze his hand, feeling the rough calluses of his palm against my skin.
I’m ready for the war. As long as I have him, I’m ready for anything.