Chapter 13 —Eva
We’d come out here on foot, but we’re going back in a convoy. Maybe he asked his men to bring the cars while we were at the nice couples’ café. It was the only logical explanation.
Speaking of the nice couple, I had no idea someone like Demyon could be a normal human around other people. This was the first time I ever saw him smile, let alone laugh.
The scene was so shocking that my eyebrows were arched in a mix of surprise and disbelief for almost the whole time. This was a version of Demyon I’d never seen and never thought existed.
I’d always found him attractive, even though I often dismissed the thought the second it crossed my mind. But seeing him in such an elated mood did something to me that I wasn’t yet ready to name.
The first time I saw that smile on his face, my heart warmed. I hadn’t realized how contagious that grin was until I found myself doing the same.
The couple’s reaction to his arrival and his behavior around them made me realize he might not be as bad as I thought.
Although I’d been lost initially, it was still enthralling to watch and listen to their conversation in Russian. From what I gathered, Demyon must’ve grown up around the couple and had some childhood memories of that café.
Tonight was the closest we’d come to living a normal life, like regular people. It was beautiful, to be honest, especially because I didn’t think it was possible. At least not so soon.
We hadn’t fought or gotten on each other’s nerves since he returned from work a few hours ago. We strolled down the streets, walking side by side under the soft glow of the streetlamps. Our conversation during the stroll was pretty decent—casual and teasing.
We were even mistaken for a couple, and somehow, I wasn’t repulsed by the idea. The old man and his wife had thought that we were an item.
Demyon and I, an item?
Crazy!
However, what was even crazier and more shocking was that we chorused our response as if we’d already planned it. The silence that followed was awkward, as were the stares the couple cast on us.
We’d said the exact same words in the exact same sequence at the exact same time. What were the odds of that?
Yes, we denied the allegation that we were together. But judging by the couple’s expressions, it was clear they didn’t buy it.
In all honesty, I had a pretty good time tonight, and I would’ve returned home feeling happy and maybe even satisfied.
But Demyon, being who he was, just couldn’t keep it cool—he had to ruin the night for me. What exactly was my offense, trying to help a stray cat? Did he have to be so mean to me? Did he have to be so cold to pass his message?
I didn’t mean to wander off alone; I just wanted to help the poor animal. It was injured and limping across the street, crying in agony. I couldn’t pretend to not notice; I couldn’t turn away from the poor thing.
In my defense, Demyon was still inside the café, finalizing things with the couple. The plan was to quickly help the cat and return before they finished talking. I didn’t think the animal would resist my help—I had to run after it, trying to gain its trust.
Just when it finally realized that I wasn’t trying to hurt it and surrendered to me, Demyon showed up with that stern look on his face. Even the stray cat seemed afraid of him and hid under the bench.
Because of him, I hadn’t tended to that poor animal’s injury, and I hated the fact that I had to abandon it like that in the snow.
As the vehicle drove back home, I leaned my head against the glass, my arms folded across my chest. A mix of anger and sadness coursed through my blood as I sat in the backseat, seething in silence.
Seated on the other side, his expression remained unreadable, his watchful eyes scanning the surroundings outside the window. I couldn’t help wondering what he was looking out for, and it only pissed me off how he completely ignored me.
Demyon was certain that I was angry at him, and although I wasn’t expecting an apology, he should’ve at least glanced in my direction. That way, he’d see the frown on my face and would be forced to acknowledge my anger.
But he didn’t. He just kept looking out the window and glancing at his goddamn watch.
I adjusted in my seat, the fine leather crunching beneath my weight. The plan was to move noisily until I gained his attention, but the more I tried, the more he kept ignoring me.
Gradually, I started becoming more angry than sad, and my face was already contorted into a frown. “You didn’t have to be so mean, you know,” I growled, shooting a stern glare at him.
“You didn’t have to run off the way you did,” he replied, his voice calm and steady.
“I didn’t run off; I was trying to help an injured cat.”
He kept his gaze out the window. “What are you, Mother Teresa?”
“Are you kidding me?” My scowl deepened. “The cat was injured. Where’s your empathy?”
“Do not lecture me about empathy if you cannot obey simple instructions.”
I groaned, furious at his nonchalance and the coldness of his tone. “Everything is about control with you, isn’t it?”
Without turning to look at me, he added, “I told you to wait outside the café, and I expected you to do just that.”
“I’m not some robot you own, Demyon!” I snapped, my voice rising higher than I intended. “I’m a human being with rights and free will—and stripping me of those only makes you a monster.”
He still didn’t look at me and didn’t even bother responding this time. His silence infuriated me all the more.
“Are you even listening to me?” I lost my temper, my voice dripping with venom. “Demyon!”
“Quiet.” He held up a hand in the air, his eyes scanning the surroundings outside.
Ignorant and oblivious to whatever he saw out the window, I refused to be silent. “No, you can’t shut me up. I’m not done yet.”
“Seriously, Eva, stop talking,” he growled, his voice laced with urgency.
It wasn’t until after I shut the fuck up that I realized how alert he was, his watchful eyes frantically scanning out his window and mine.
In an instant, the car came to an abrupt halt, as if it had been blocked by something in front. The sudden stop made the car jerk, and I slammed my forehead into the back of the front passenger seat.
I heard his men in the cars ahead and behind us yelling in Russian, their thick voices drifting through the cold air. A shiver ran down my spine when I saw Demyon reach for his pistol, tucked away at the back of his pants.
My heart sank into my stomach because at this point, I didn’t need anyone to tell me that trouble was lurking in the shadows outside.
He turned to face me, his cold, hollow eyes boring into mine. “Get down,” he whispered.
Without wasting another second, I obeyed immediately. The moment my head touched the leather seat, deafening gunshots tore through the air.
I screamed at the top of my lungs as rapid gunfire filled the air and shards of shattered glass exploded into the car’s cabin. Next thing I knew, Demyon was on top of me, his body shielding me from the chaos. His protective arms wrapped around me in an instant, my body trembling beneath him.
“Lay low!” he said, his voice rising above the loud shots outside. “Do not raise your head no matter what. Do you understand?”
I nodded my head, but there was no way he could see the gesture.
“Pinch me if you do!”
I did. I pinched his arm.
“Good.”
I felt his weight lift off me, and I heard the car door open and close. I was so scared I dared not raise my head. I just lay there, shuddering and praying we made it out of this alive.
It was a battlefield outside; bullets were spraying like perfume, and men were dropping dead by the second. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder, those unrelenting, rapid shots tearing at my nerves.
I pressed my palms tightly over my ears, trembling in absolute fear. An abrupt scream fell from my lips when something I assumed to be a dead body thudded onto the car’s roof. Another slammed against the door with such force that my heart sank into my stomach.
As the seconds ticked by, I summoned the courage to poke my head from behind the shattered glass. That’s when I saw him: Demyon Tarasov, or should I say, the monster in him. He moved like a shadow in the dark, fast and agile.
I watched him fight with his fists, his knife, and his pistol. From where I was, it looked like a scene straight out of a John Wick movie. Demyon killed his enemies without mercy, his hands and feet a blur of rapid movements.
The cries of his victims filled the air as he snapped their bones like twigs, his blade tearing flesh with precise cuts. He squeezed the trigger with practiced ease, a testament to how long he’d been doing this.
I watched in awe, fascinated by his speed, battle experience, and agility.
“Get over here!” a deep voice bellowed in my face.
I screamed and leaned back in fear, shocked by the man’s sudden appearance. In a flash, his strong arm yanked the car door open, and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged by the hair.
“Demyon!” I cried out.
“Shut up, bitch!” my attacker growled, his voice thick with a Russian accent.
With lightning speed, Demyon dashed toward the man, striking a powerful blow.
His fist connected with the man’s lower jaw, lifting him into the air.
The man crashed hard onto the ground at least a foot away.
Demyon pounced on him, drilling heavy punches in his face, muttering inaudible words.
His knuckles were covered with his victim’s blood, but he didn’t stop.
He kept hitting harder and harder until the man’s face was completely disfigured—unrecognizable.
By the time he rose to his feet, the man was already dead, and the shooting had stopped. I struggled to stand, my heart hammering in my heaving chest as I scanned the surroundings.
Bodies were sprawled across the ground, drowning in the pools of their own blood. My hands were shaking, and my legs seemed too weak to carry my weight.
Demyon’s gaze was fixed on me, blood dripping from his knuckles as his shoulders rose and fell with slow breaths. Moved by a strange force, I rushed forward and didn’t stop until I was in his arms.
I embraced him tightly, my heart filled with gratitude for how quickly he’d saved my life. He held my waist and pulled me closer, his eyes boring into mine.
“You okay? Are you hurt?” he whispered, his bloodied palm cradling my face.
I nodded, then shook my head, a gesture that showed my brain wasn’t thinking straight yet. With all that adrenaline coursing through my veins, I dared to reach out and place a gentle kiss on his lips.
It felt awkward at first, until he kissed me back, this time with more fervency and intention. His tongue invaded my mouth, drawing the air from my lungs as our heads tilted to the rhythm of this burning passion.
For a moment, the world around us faded away, and for once, neither of us pretended we didn’t want this.