34. Lev
I spend the rest of my night in my office, lying to myself that I’m being productive when, really, all I’m doing is trying to avoid going to my room and lying awake in my bed, torturing myself with images of her.
Tension tightens my shoulders, and my lower back aches. I’m so fucking tired. The effects of the vodka wore off hours ago when I decided I was better off working than drinking.
We are no closer to finding Vlad, and the frustration is only fueling my permanent bad mood.
We should have him by now. But the snake has slid off into the abyss.
Hide all you like, motherfucker, but I am going to smoke you out.
I won’t rest until he’s on his knees in front of me, pleading for his life and begging for forgiveness for what he’s done.
I run a palm across the nape of my neck. But it’s not Vlad who’s on my mind tonight. If I’m honest, it hasn’t been Vlad on my mind for the last few days. Every second, every minute seems to solely exist so I can think of her and how it felt to hold her when I fell asleep. How I would wake up in the morning and she would be there, her warmth fooling me into believing that I could have something so beautiful and precious—that it could remain untouched by the darkness of my world.
I fucking ache for her.
And nothing I do seems to kill that ache inside me.
Because Brooke is no good for me. She is a weakness, and I can’t afford to indulge in weaknesses when I’m heading into battle.
Out in the hallway, the old grandfather clock chimes two o’clock in the morning. My head tells me to stay up and keep working, but my body protests and tells me to get my ass to bed.
And let’s not acknowledge what my heart urges me to do.
I’m not going to her.
I won’t let her in.
In an attempt to drown out the annoying voice in my head—the one that tells me to go to her—I leave my office to go to bed. I’ve made up my mind. No turning back. No thoughts about her lying only a few doorways down from my bedroom. But even as I take that first step on the staircase, my lust crashes through me, wanting her.
Needing her.
And it takes all of my strength to turn left instead of right at the top of the stairs.
My bedroom is dark except for a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the curtains.
That’s when I see her.
She’s lying on my bed, cuddling my pillow. Her breath soft. My sweet bratva lullaby.
No.
She’s not that anymore.
The closer I get to the bed, the tighter the knot in my chest squeezes.
She’s kicked off the blankets. She’s wearing nothing but a slip that is so sheer I can see her skin underneath. The hem has slid up to the top of her thighs. I can see the swell of her firm breasts. Her tight nipples. That soft mound between her thighs.
Lust rages through me. But it’s not the strongest emotion crashing into me right now. There’s another more potent emotion, vying for my attention. Craving. It’s so powerful it’s making me dizzy. You could join her, it tells me. You could end this agony by simply climbing in behind her and pulling her into your arms.
I sweep my gaze over her again.
No, there’s no going back, no matter how much my heart wants it. I would rather have this agony of longing than feel that stab of betrayal and heartbreak when she decides she doesn’t want me again.
I pull the blanket up over her long legs to her waist.
Then quietly leave the room.
I don’t sleep. Instead, I take my car and drive around the city, hoping the sights and sounds of my favorite city in the inky early hours of the morning will calm the venom roaring in my veins. I don’t know how long I drive for. But sometime after sunrise I find myself outside the apartment of Agent Michaels.
I watch him leave right on seven o’clock, and follow him as he goes about his morning routine. He wolfs down a coffee and bagel from Bernie’s Coffee Stop. Then smokes a cigarette outside the diner before picking up a paper from a newsstand near the subway.
There is a lot I could do to this asshole.
I could wait in the shadows, and when the moment is right, grab him and slide a blade across his throat, and watch him bleed out on the ground at my feet.
Or I could kill him slowly with bullets to various parts of the body that would give him a slow and painful death. Parts of the body like the knees and the stomach.
But killing him would be too good for him. He doesn’t deserve the peace it would bring.
No, before I’m done with him, he will know the sting of losing something he loves and all the pain that follows.
Just as he has done to me.