Chapter 12
Sergei stepped inside the safe house, breathing in the stale air of the familiar setup above the abandoned bodega, reinforced doors and barred windows. Keisha paced the room’s center, arms hugging herself, eyes snapping to him.
Relief flashed in her gaze, but she masked it fast. He was glad that Nadia and Mateo had gotten her and Tiana here safe, but staying behind to shake the enforcers’ tail had left him in the rain, wondering if he’d make it back to her.
“You made it,” she said, voice low, stepping closer but stopping short.
He nodded, locking the deadbolts with quick twists. “Yes, we are in the clear for now.”
Her gaze fell to the blood stain on his t-shirt. The safehouse was basic but solid. One room, a bed, and a detached bathroom through the narrow door, first aid laid out on the edge of the bed.
“The bathroom is through there,” she said, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you bleed everywhere.”
One corner of his mouth quirked as he tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair. “Bossy already.”
“Practical,” she said, a twitch of sass cutting the worry he could see in her stance.
His eyes met hers briefly, skittering away. Trust stretched thin between them.
“Thanks, Keisha,” he said, voice soft.
She turned, checking the window locks. Rain pelted glass, neon distorted below. The safehouse hid behind graffiti-coded stairs, a spot Nadia swore was off Kryvaya Stal’s radar. Her fingers traced the blackout curtain.
“They won’t find us here,” he said, more to himself.
“You sure?”
He wasn’t, not fully, but she needed certainty. “Yeah.”
Her warmth was torture and salvation. His hands shook as he shoved them into his pockets.
“You’re still bleeding,” Keisha said, cutting through.
He glanced down to see blood seeping through his t-shirt. “It’s no big deal.”
“Let me look.” Her voice firm.
He could imagine her speaking to her kids with the same tone.
“I’ve had worse.”
“You’re not helping,” she said, a twitch of sass.
His mouth quirked.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to the chair.
He sat, chair creaking. Keisha grabbed a clean cloth, wet it, each move sharp despite exhaustion. Her vanilla scent hit, mixing with rain, his cock stirring. She stood between his knees, fingers brushing his collarbone, tugging his shirt. He inhaled, sharply not from pain, but from her touch.
“This needs stitches,” she said, dabbing blood, gentle but firm.
“No hospitals.”
“I know.”
He looked at her. “Can you do it? If not, Nadia—”
“Doesn’t get to touch you,” she interrupted.
He struggled to hide his grin as Keisha grabbed the first aid kit. She washed her hands before pulling on a pair of gloves. Her fingers trembled as she threaded the needle.
“Have you done this before?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but I hear it’s like sewing clothes, which I’m really good at.”
He chuckled. “Not quite the same, but close enough.”
“This’ll hurt,” she warned.
“Good.” He deserved it.
Her eyes flicked up, seeing too much. He looked away. The needle stung, but Sergei clenched his hands into fists to hold steady. Pain was clean, unlike the weight of her safety, what his past could cost.
“Why’d you stay behind?” she asked, soft, stitching. “You could have come with us.”
“You know why.” His life was her now, undoing his sins.
Her fingers paused. “Tell me.”
He met her gaze. “I couldn’t let them win. Not again.”
Not all of it, but enough. She tied the last stitch before moving away to wash her hands.
Want and guilt tangled. “We should sleep,” he said, standing, needing distance. “You take the bed. I’ll take the chair.”
“Sergei, you’re hurt,” she protested.
“I’m good,” he said, lighter than he felt.
Rain drummed, filling silence. In this cramped space, her eyes stripped him bare. “I’ll check the perimeter,” he said, escaping. “Get comfortable.”
Her hand caught his wrist, warm. “Thanks. For everything.”
He nodded, throat tight, her trust heavy. She settled on the bed, springs creaking, looking small, brave. Sergei exhaled, vowing to keep her and Tiana safe, no matter the cost.
* * *
Keisha sat on the bed. She pushed a strand of her hair back, fingers trembling from having stitched Sergei’s skin back together. It wasn’t like sewing clothes at all.
“Is Tiana safe?” she asked, voice soft, slipping out.
Sergei turned from the window. “Mateo is with her. He will guard her with his life. I promise.”
Keisha nodded, exhaustion crashing. Seventy-two hours blurred. The warehouse, enforcers, Sergei’s hands on her in alleys. Her walls, built years ago, crumbled with him.
“They targeted me to get her,” she said, tremor spiking, hand tucked under her thigh. “If they’d grabbed me—”
“They didn’t.” Sergei knelt before her. “They won’t. The FBI and CIA will hold their attention for some time to come. We’ll still have to be careful, but it’s the first step of many.”
The mattress dipped as he placed his hands near her legs, the heat from them seeping through her jeans.
“You don’t know that,” she said, throat dry. “They’ve got hooks in the system. If not me, they’ll find another way to Tiana.”
“We’ll stop ‘em,” he said, voice low.
“How?” Her voice sharpened. “I’m a social worker. You’re a—” She stopped.
“Say it.” He leaned closer, breath warm.
“A deserter. Marked.” Her pulse raced as she pressed her forehead to his. “Killer.”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightened.
She should pull back.
“Keisha,” he said, fingers brushing her wrists. “Your tremors.”
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking worse. “I’m fine.”
“When’d you take your meds?”
The question stung, exposing her guard. “Before the warehouse,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’ve taken all of my emergency backups. My full bottle is at my place.”
Sergei stood, grabbing an orange bottle from his bag.
Levetiracetam.
“I had Mateo get these just in case,” he said, uneasy. “I knew it was a possibility that we couldn’t go back.”
Their fingers brushed as she took it, heat sparking low. She swallowed a pill dry.
“They know about my epilepsy,” she said. “They’ll use it thinking I’m weak.”
“I know.”
His fingers grazed her hands. Killer’s hands, artist’s hands.
“Why’d you dig into this, Keisha?” he asked, thumb on her pulse. “You could’ve dropped Tiana’s case.”
“No one protected me,” she whispered. “In the system.”
His eyes flashed with understanding. His hand moved to her cheek. “I read up on you,” he admitted. “Before we met, when your name came across the radar.”
Relief hit, not anger. She didn’t need to explain. “Then you know,” she said, leaning into his touch, a surrender.
His thumb traced her lip. “Yeah.”
Need and want surged through her, pooling between her legs. His knee pressed between hers.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, thighs parting.
“The worst,” he rumbled. “I’ll keep you safe, Keisha. I swear it.”
* * *
Sergei moved closer, mouth claiming hers, hunger shocking him. Keisha gasped, tensing, then melting. He pressed her back onto the bed. Her hands slid up his chest, hesitant, then bold, clutching his shoulders.
His cock hardened, straining. He’d wanted this since their encounter at the community center.
“Fuck,” he groaned as her hips shifted, electricity spiking through his body.
Her lips parted, breath fast as he pinned her wrists with one hand, arching her breasts against him. His other hand dug into her hip. “Sergei,” she whispered, question and answer.
He pulled back, seeing her...eyes dark, lips swollen, hair wild. Beautiful. His. “You’re mine,” he growled, possessive. “Fuck, you’re mine.”
She didn’t recoil, eyes darkening, hips lifting. “Prove it,” she challenged, husky.
He kissed harder, swallowing her moan, lifting her shirt over her head. Her skin glowed, nipples dark through her bra. He tugged it down, mouth on her breast, hardening against his tongue. She whimpered, arching. Her nails raked his back, stinging, his cock throbbing even more in response.
“More,” she demanded.
He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes traced his tattoos, lingered on his bandage, then his bulge. He unbuttoned her jeans, tugging them off, her scent hitting him. Warm, sharp, hers. He spread her thighs, dropping between them.
“You deserve this,” he said, breath hot.
Her mouth opened, but his tongue on her clit silenced her. He licked slow, but firm.
She gasped, broken. “Sergei—”
“Look at me while I eat your pussy.”
Her eyes met his, shaking, hands scrabbling. He sucked her clit, flicking, thrusting into her entrance, nose tight to her clit. He moaned causing her to jolt in response.
“Fuck, you taste like sin. Like mine.”
He locked his hands around her thighs, holding her open, lashing her clit ruthlessly. “I want you to come for me.”
She grabbed his hair, grinding, his fingers curling deep inside.
“Rough or deeper?” he asked.
“Deeper,” she choked.
He gave both, fingers fucking hard, mouth relentless. Her pussy’s squelch filled the room, obscene, perfect. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”
The words were barely out before Keisha shattered, screaming hoarse, pulsing around his fingers. Her thighs clamped his head, back arched, flooding his hand. He licked through aftershocks until she begged him to stop.
He rose, licking her from his lips, kissing her lips, jaw, neck. “Now you’re mine,” he whispered.
She trembled. He brushed his cock against her slit, teasing her clit.
“You want me inside? Say it.”
“Yes. Please. I need it. I need you.”
“Look at me.”
Her eyes locked his. “Sergei. I want you to fuck me.”
He pushed in slow, watching her flush, stretch. “Oh—shit—” she gasped.
“So fucking tight,” he grunted, bottoming out.
Her nails bit his arms, legs wrapping his waist. He pulled out, slammed back. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Yours.”
He thrust harder. “Louder.”
“I’m yours, Sergei. All yours.”
His rhythm brutal, deep, skin slapping. He circled her clit. “Give me another. Squeeze me tight.”
Her thighs trembled, breath broke, until she snapped, coming loud, back arched. He thrust faster, teeth gritted.
“Yes. That’s it. Gonna fill you up.”
He came, hips locked, pulsing deep. Then he collapsed, falling to the side so he didn’t crush her.
They lay there for several minutes before she lifted her head to look at him.
“Good,” she whispered. “You didn’t open your stitches. I don’t think I could sew you back up again.”
Sergei chuckled.
Several more seconds of silence ensued before she spoke again.
“This one,” she murmured, touching a leaf tattoo. “What’s it mean?”
“Protection,” he lied, then stopped. “No. Failure.”
She nodded, hand on his heart, unraveling him.
“They’ll come for us at some point,” he said against her hair.
“I know,” she said, resolute. “We’ll be ready.”
His arm tightened, her scent calming him.
Keisha’s breath slowed as she curled against him. The small bed forced them close, his arm heavy, fingers tracing her skin. He should feel trapped, but he didn’t.
“You’re thinking loud,” he murmured, rumbling against her ear.
She touched his jaw. “What now?”
“We face them head on.”
“They won’t stop,” she said. “After the files, the warehouse...”
“I know.” His arm tightened. “Neither will we.”
There was so much at risk. Deportation, death, her career, freedom, Tiana. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit the odds were stacked against them. The tip to the FBI had been a stall tactic. If Pavel covered his tracks like he normally did, they had a few weeks at most.
“We need proof,” she said. “Something the cops can’t bury.”
“I got contacts,” he said, facing her. “With your files, their intel, we might have enough.”
A tremor shook her hand, but not a seizure. His gaze caught it, then her face. “Meds working?”
“For now,” she said, nodding.
His hand laced hers, tremor quieting. He kissed her knuckles, throat tightening. “When this is over,” he said, “When Tiana’s safe what then? For you?”
She’d lived moment-to-moment since being in danger from discovering the Coastal files.
“Dunno,” she admitted. “Keep fighting the system. It’s me.”
“Alone?”
“I’ve never known another way,” she said.
“Sleep,” he said, tucking her hair. “You need it.”
She settled into his shoulder, legs tangled with his. Trust went both ways. He had to let her in if he wanted the same in return.