Chapter 21 #2
"We don't have time to get him out of the bunker," comes from the room ahead.
How the hell do they know about the bunker?
Maksim seems to have the same thought, but he doesn't verbalize it.
I watch him signal me to get behind him, and in the next moment, we burst into the room, each raising our guns toward the intruders.
I'm no expert, but it's clear they're hired assassins, by their mode of operation. Their target is Ivan; the rest of us are just collateral damage in their mission.
Max's first bullet stops in one of their chests, while the second manages to fire a shot. My aim isn't as precise as Max's, and I manage to hit where I think the liver is.
I see that the first shot fired by the second assassin has hit Max, who's bleeding from his left forearm, and now I'm furious.
As if through a red veil, I empty my entire clip into the guy who dared to make him bleed, who dared to cause him pain.
I'm so caught up in my fury that I don't feel someone sneaking up behind me until I register Maksim's voice.
"Julia, down!"
I've obeyed his orders so many times during training that my body doesn't even need reason to submit to his voice, so I drop down at the last second.
A knife cuts through the air where I would have been, and I take advantage of the moment of shock on the face of the guy dressed all in black, sweeping my legs into his, making him lose his balance.
Max moves over him and, with a single bullet, leaves him with open eyes in a pool of blood.
The only sound heard is our own breathing until a soldier comes running into the room.
"We've cleared the property, Mr. Rastovski."
With a simple nod, Maksim turns toward the hallway leading to the bunker where the monster from so many people's nightmares is.
We could have not intervened, but I know the old man has cameras throughout the house and would have seen this. Maksim needs to prove he's the heir Ivan has in mind, and he can't do that if he doesn't protect him in a situation like this.
And I can only imagine how much this consumes Max. Having to constantly pretend, to restrain himself from plunging a blade into the base of Ivan’s neck at every abuse carried out.
Maksim enters a code on a tablet outside a metal door, and after a sound like an alarm, Ivan and Aleksandr emerge, red-faced, from the room.
While so many people died, they sat with a bottle of whiskey nearby and watched the footage.
When Ivan's gaze settles on Maksim, their typical nonverbal communication takes place. Even I can see the pride in the monster's eyes when he realizes his heir has done his duty.
"Someone marked the eyes of the soldiers in front of the house with an X. Any idea who it might be?" Maksim asks, and I watch him analyze every feature of Ivan's face.
I look at the old man's face for a few seconds, but I see nothing. No reaction. No emotion. But when I look at Max, I see something on his face. It's the way the corner of his mouth turns slightly upward for a fraction of a second. He saw something I missed.
"With as many enemies as we have, Maksim, it's like asking me to find a needle in a haystack," he finally answers, and it's obvious he knows who's behind the attack but doesn't want to say.
After we escort Ivan to his bedroom and make sure there are no more intruders on the property, I lean against the wall of our bedroom and take my first normal breath in the last hour.
An avalanche of emotions weighs on my chest after today, and all I hope is that Akim managed to get those children off the property.
We erased the surveillance camera recordings, using the excuse that the intruders cut all connections, so no one suspected anything. With all the soldiers drawn to the house by the sound of gunfire, no one had been monitoring that exit.
My eyelids feel heavy, and I could fall asleep on this floor by the time Maksim enters the room. Today seems to weigh on him too, because his eyes are a stormy gray and filled with emotion.
"Akim?" I ask softly.
He just nods, and I can't help but smile. We succeeded.
"Ilya will take care of the rest," he tells me, and I sense he wants to say more.
But I don't want to hear anything else. Not when he might take back the kiss, the words, and with them, the small hope that has grown in my soul.
"Let's shower," I say and reach out my hand to him.
It takes him a few seconds to come to me, and I try not to get discouraged at his hesitation. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, he takes two steps toward me and takes my hand.
In the bathroom, I turn on the shower, and I know he probably wants to ask what the hell I'm doing, but I don't give him time to think too much as I take off my clothes and step into the stall.
It's the first time I’ve been completely naked in front of him, and I wish I could see his face now, but again, I'm terrified to see rejection. To see that he regrets everything that happened earlier.
"Julia." My name said with so much yearning makes me close my eyes as the warm water washes away the day's emotions.
I let every anxiety and moment of fear go when I feel his presence behind me.
I want to beg him to put his hands on me. I want to beg him to lift me up like he did earlier. I want...
"I'm afraid I'll hear him when I should hear you . I'm afraid I'll see him when I should only see you . I'm afraid I'll never be able to touch you like this because my mind is so broken that it associates intimacy with him ," he says quietly, and I hear him inhale.
I bite my lip, trying to stop the tears from falling, because I understand him perfectly. There were months when I believed Martin had broken me for good, months spent wondering if I’d ever want to give myself to another man, months convinced no one could ever stir this longing inside me again.
"The desire to put my hands on you is killing me, but knowing I could fall into the black hole in my head and hurt you destroys me."
"Then hurt me," I say and turn to face him. "You hurt me more by denying me this."
I'm not prepared for this image, and I know I'm staring rudely at him, but he's perfect. His body is sculpted from hundreds of missions and thousands of constant training sessions. He has tattoos on his arms and abdomen, and unable to help myself, the tip of my finger traces the ink on his stomach.
I feel his entire body tense, but that Celtic pattern fascinates me. I think I've seen it explained somewhere as representing the cycle of life.
I withdraw my hand, but he grabs my wrist and brings my fingers back.
"Keep touching me," he whispers, and I notice his eyes are fixed on my face.
A blush covers my cheeks because he's the first man I've touched so freely. The first I've seen completely naked before me.
My fingers continue to trace lines on each of his tattoos while a wave of warmth engulfs my chest and belly.
So many nights dreaming what it would be like to be his, so many dreams I didn't want to wake from just because he was there and free to love me.
"Are you okay?" I whisper.
His hair is wet and his mouth slightly parted when he leans down, and my hands dig into his skin, preventing him from pulling back.
He kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose, and when he reaches my mouth, he stops and answers.
"If anything I do isn't okay, tell me and I'll stop."
I don't think he could do anything I wouldn't like, but I don't tell him that. I just nod. Because this moment is about breaking down a wall between us.
His mouth begins to apply slight pressure on mine, and before we know it, the kiss becomes brutal, charged with all the built-up frustration, just like earlier.
His hands find my back, and with his fingertips, he touches my skin.
A shiver runs through my body, and I know we're pressed against each other, but I want to melt into him.
He tenses when his fingers trace the scars made by that whip, and while normally I'd be shy about being touched on something so ugly, there's something in the pressure he puts on them, as if he wants to memorize every indentation.
I can feel his erection between us, and although I promised myself I'd be patient and not rush him, the desire to put my hands on him, to erase all the unwanted touches, all the scars left under the skin by the monster just a few rooms away, pushes me to lower my touch.
I feel him freeze, and I break the kiss.
"If it's too much, I'll stop," I promise.
I don't exactly know what I'm doing, and this awkwardness makes me doubt for a second, but when I look at him, I know I want this more than anything in the world.
A sound that seems like agony escapes him, and I instantly withdraw my hand.
"No, it was fine," he tells me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"I thought...you made a strange sound."
He looks at me with that smile I see so rarely as he lifts me in his arms. I feel his hands kneading my skin, and this position, with my legs around his waist, positions him exactly where I feel the most delicious tingling.
Without clothes and other layers between us, I feel how much heat our bodies emit, and my gaze becomes hazy.
"Do you know how many times I've wanted to be able to do this? To be touched without feeling like I need to physically crawl out of my skin?" he asks.
Though I'm overwhelmed by his presence, I still find myself asking, "Where do you go some nights that you come home smelling like perfume?"
I wish my jealousy wasn't so obvious, but it's clear in my tone.
He leans down and kisses the corner of my mouth with a mischievous smile.