Chapter 24
Kolya
Chloe shoves off me and retreats as far as the living room will allow.
I climb to my feet but give her space. A light in her eyes—berserker rage—confirms she’s not done yet.
Without looking, she grabs a vase from the table and hurls it straight at my head.
I duck.
This is real, not a performance or a calculated move. She’s lashing out with everything she possesses. Childhood terror. Adult fury. All the things she’s masked behind smiles and sweet talk in the years since.
A beat passes before she launches the next missile, just long enough for me to take a breath.
This time, a thick hardback book soars through the air. The dust jacket flies off before the rigid spine catches me in the shoulder.
I accept the stinging pain as my due.
I could stop this at any time and force her to submit. Instead, I let her “empty the magazine” while I dodge bullets.
I count the seconds, the projectiles, the hoarse cries as she throws anything within reach.
She’s creative.
Remote control. Candle. A potted faux succulent gets me above the eyebrow. The warm, metallic trickle of blood is familiar and oddly grounding.
It doesn’t hurt the way seeing her in pain does.
She’s announcing her return to the world one desperate act of violence at a time.
Good. Her catatonia scared me more than any bullet or blade ever could.
I told myself this was about the mission. A necessary evil to get her functioning again, so she could help me solve the puzzle and survive.
Bullshit.
Truthfully, I missed her.
This bright, chaotic, infuriating woman who lives at maximum volume and fills the world with noise and light. Not that shell of a human my antagonizing created.
It’s the most ridiculous thing, but after only one week, I’ve fallen for this woman.
This changes everything. I just don’t know how.
That’s what terrifies me most.
Finally, she starts winding down, burning the last of her fuel. Her breath rasps, a high, hitching sound like she’s choking on memories.
Her next weapon is a pillow, the throw so weak the cushion plops straight to the floor.
For a moment, she stands, arms out, waiting for something to fill her hands.
Within reach, nothing much remains except furniture.
Other than herself.
As if overhearing my thoughts, she charges at me. Her fists beat my chest, but the power is gone. Operating on fumes, the last act of aggression she manages is a shove that feels more like a plea than an attack.
Not once did she actually try to damage me.
Even after everything, once she released that first round of rage, she didn’t truly want to hurt me.
I grab her by the wrists and press her to the wall. Her back hits the barrier, the sound like air punching out of a paper bag.
I brace my forearm across her collarbones while my hips pin her lower half, trapping her hands between us. She’s struggling, but the fight is leaking out of her, replaced by ragged, tear-choked breaths.
“Stop throwing shit at me.”
She snaps her teeth at my arm, just barely missing the skin.
Okay, now she’s trying to hurt me. My lips twitch at the flame left inside her.
Her eyes blaze with hatred, but fear dwells in them too. The same fear that dwelled in that kid with the shell-shocked expression in the newspaper clipping.
I tighten my grip just enough to force her to pay attention. “Use your head. I’m not your enemy. Whoever’s out there is. I’m your only protection.”
She squirms, craning her neck to glare at me. Her cheeks are wet, her mouth twisted in a snarl. “Then why are you hurting me?”
I lean closer. “I’m not. You’re hurting yourself. And me, if you haven’t noticed.”
Her eyes dart to the blood on my forehead and harden. “Maybe you deserve it.”
I wrench my hips to the side to avoid her knee. I want to believe that after this is over, she’d regret putting my balls out of commission. “Maybe I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that some people out there want you dead. Or worse.”
Her resistance melts all at once. For a second, she’s dead weight against the wall.
“Who are they? And how do you fit in?”
I release her, but not all the way. Just in case she gets a second wind, I pin her arms at her sides, keeping her anchored. “I’m not sure. Yet.”
Her head lolls back, and she stares up at the ceiling like she might find the answer in the fan’s spinning blades. “Liar.”
Sighing, I loosen the hold a bit more. “It’s not a lie. I’m not sure. However, I could guess it’s the Falcones. They’ve got reason to hate my family. Unless you know something I don’t…?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Then I can’t be certain. The island…fucked everything up. Made a mess of the hierarchy. A dozen syndicates were represented there on neutral ground. Could be anyone. Could be everyone.”
Her body goes rigid at the mention of the island. For a few heartbeats, she’s back in the past, a kid witnessing men die in the rain.
I soften, tracing my thumb along her wrist and the frantic pulse under her skin. “We need to find out for sure. But you can’t help me if you’re…gone. If you’re too scared to think. I need you here. With me.”
Her eyes narrow, a familiar darkness flickering in them. “You need me? Is that what this is?”
I don’t answer, but the silence is its own kind of confession.
I do need her.
Telling her that? I’m not ready.
She sags forward, her hair swinging in a curtain between us. “Why did you drug me?”
The question catches me off guard. I don’t flinch, but my jaw clenches so tightly my teeth ache.
“I had to search your house and couldn’t risk you waking up and…” I trail off, because the rest of the sentence is a minefield.
I couldn’t risk you waking up and seeing me for what I really am. I couldn’t risk you wanting me when I needed to stay focused. When the alternative was so much easier.
Chloe pushes against my hands. “And?”
“And I couldn’t control myself.” I force the sharp, ugly words out.
“You were a temptation I couldn’t resist when I was supposed to be working.
And I can’t afford complications. So, after I gave in that first time, I took you out of the equation.
That allowed me to search your house instead of fucking you all night long on every surface like I wanted to…
starting with you bent over the counter and ending in your bed the next morning. ”
A dazed Chloe stares at me, her lips parted.
I expect her to slap me or spit in my face or scream.
Instead, she just stands in front of me, quivering with emotion, every muscle taut.
I succumb to temptation and savagely claim her mouth.
She resists for an instant before surrendering, her teeth clashing with mine, her tongue hot and frantic in my mouth. Her hands grapple my shirt, yanking me closer. I sense that if she could crawl into my skin, she would.
I drag my hands up her arms, over her shoulders, and into her hair. I tangle the strands in my fist, tilting her head back, and exposing her throat.
I want to mark her with my bite. Remind her that she’s alive. That she survived.
I curse under my breath. “This is what I was trying to avoid. Getting distracted when I should be working.”
Her nails dig into my back. “Then walk away. Just leave.”
I laugh with no humor, just raw disbelief. “Leaving you is not an option. You’re my fucking mission, Chloe.”
She flinches but doesn’t let go. Her hands untuck my shirt, searching for skin. “You still want the diamonds?”
“I want you alive. Everything else is secondary.” Lowering my arms, I cup her breasts, rolling her nipples beneath the fabric of her shirt. “At the moment, these diamonds are the only ones on my mind. And impossible to say no to.”
She shudders before kissing me again, harder this time. “You’re a monster.”
I nod. I can’t deny that or ignore the twist of my stomach. After everything I’ve done, how else could she look at me?
I’m barely human on the best of days. And she hasn’t witnessed any of those.
Her body responds well, but will her mind accept me the same way?
Doubtful.
She releases a low, long exhale. “But you’re my monster.”
The words come out so softly, I’m not sure she meant for me to hear them.
That knot in my stomach disappears in an instant, and my heart races.
I pin her arms over her head, forcing her back against the wall. Her wide eyes shine with tears.
My monster.
I kiss her again, deeper, slower and more brutally, until she moans into my mouth.
My hands roam her body, mapping her the way I would enemy territory. Hips, ribs, breasts, the curve of her ass. She’s trembling, but not from fear. I slide a hand up her shirt, find bare skin.
She bites my lip a little too harshly, and I grunt. “Hurt me, so I know I’m not dreaming.”
I oblige by hauling her to the sofa and tossing her down, face-first.
My body covers hers, my clothed cock pressing against her from behind. I don’t bother with finesse. I want her to revel in every ounce of need, every bit of anger, every broken part of myself that’s now bound to her.
She arches under me, begging for more. My hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her painfully aware of her own pulse. “Tell me you survived.”
She gasps and tries to sob. “I survived.”
I press harder along her veins. “Louder.”
“I survived!” She breaks. Her body convulses in my arms as her emotional release hits with the force of an orgasm.
Long-buried emotions gush out, leaving space for new life to take root. I hold her through the tremors, shuddering with her, unwilling to let go.
When she finally relaxes, I collapse against her, burying my face in her neck and breathing her in.
For a long time, we don’t move. We simply exist, knotted together in the aftermath. Running my hands up and down her back, I soothe her as her release pours out through her tears and hiccupping sobs.
My father died protecting a Pakhan. A symbol.
I will protect her, this woman who is my mission and my weakness and my future all in one.
I pull her up and cradle her in my lap. Her face is blotched red, her hair a tangled mess, but for the first time in hours, her eyes are clear.
She’s never been more beautiful.
I tighten my arms around her waist. “We’ll get through this. Even if I have to kill the whole world to do it.”
She laughs, then cries, then laughs again, her arms draped over my neck as she clings to me like I’m the only thing keeping her from drowning.
Maybe I am.