Chapter 11 Lena
LENA
Ispin around so fast, I nearly lose my balance, my heart trying to punch through my ribs. Sasha stands there in the darkness of my bedroom, his hand still raised from where he touched my shoulder, his gold eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window.
"Jesus Christ." I press my palm against my chest, trying to slow my racing pulse. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I called your name." His voice is low, careful, like he's approaching a spooked animal. "You didn't answer."
"I didn't hear you." Truth is, I was so lost in my own spiraling thoughts that the entire cabin could have collapsed around me and I wouldn't have noticed.
He steps closer, and I resist the urge to back away.
The thermal pants he's wearing hang low on his hips, and his bare chest catches the silver light, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every scar that maps violence across his skin.
Even terrified and exhausted, my body responds to the sight of him.
"You're shaking." He reaches for me again, slower this time, giving me space to refuse.
I don't refuse. His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and solid, and I realize I am shaking. Have been since we left town.
"I'm fine." Another lie. I'm collecting them tonight like other people collect stamps.
"You're a terrible liar, Maya." His thumbs stroke small circles against my collarbone, the gesture both soothing and distracting. "What's really going on? And don't tell me nothing. You've been wound tight as a spring since we left town."
"I told you. I don't like it there. Too many people."
"That's not it." His eyes search my face, reading things I don't want him to see. "You were fine until John Davis spoke to me. Then you grabbed my arm like the building was on fire and practically dragged me to the truck."
"I was being cautious."
"You were terrified." His voice drops lower, more intense. "Who are you running from, Maya?"
The question hits like a physical blow. I jerk back from his touch, putting distance between us. "I'm not running from anyone."
"Then why do you live like this?" He gestures around the cabin, at the security cameras, the reinforced locks, the isolation.
"Why do you check the perimeter every night with a loaded rifle?
Why do you pay cash for everything and avoid conversations in town?
Why do you look over your shoulder like someone's coming for you? "
"Maybe I just like my privacy."
"Privacy is one thing. This is something else entirely." He moves closer, and I back up until my spine hits the wall. He doesn't touch me, but his presence fills the space between us. "Talk to me. Let me help."
"You can't help." The words come out sharper than I intend. "You don't even know who you are."
His jaw tightens. "I know what I see. A woman who's scared out of her mind."
"You don't know anything about me."
"Then tell me." His hand comes up to cup my face, and despite everything, I lean into the touch. "Tell me why you're really here."
"I can't."
"Can't, or won't?"
"Does it matter?" I push past him, needing space. "You show up bleeding in my yard with no memory and a body covered in scars. And you want me to trust you with my secrets?"
"I've trusted you with my life." Frustration bleeds through his voice. "You could have left me to die in the snow. Why didn't you?"
"Because I'm an idiot with a savior complex."
"Bullshit." He crosses the room in two strides, backing me against the wall. His hands bracket my head, caging me in. "You saved me because you recognized something. Maybe you understood what it's like to be hunted."
"Stop."
"Make me." His face is inches from mine. "Tell me I'm wrong."
I can't. The words won't come because they'd be lies.
"That's what I thought." He pushes away from the wall, running his hands through his hair. "You want me to trust you, but you won't give me the same courtesy."
"Because letting you in could get us both killed!"
Silence falls like a hammer. Sasha stares at me, his gold eyes wide.
"So there is someone," he says quietly. "Someone looking for you."
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He crouches in front of me, those broad shoulders blocking out the lamplight. "Maya."
"Don't." I shake my head. "Just don't."
"Don't care that you're terrified?" His jaw tightens. "I'm not blind."
"You should be." I push to my feet. "You should focus on healing so you can leave."
"Is that what you want?" He stands too, and God, he's tall. The muscles in his chest flex beneath his shirt as he crosses his arms. "You want me gone?"
Yes. No. I don't know anymore.
"I want you to stop asking questions I can't answer."
"Why? So you can use it against me later?"
His eyes flash, gold turning molten. "You think I'd hurt you?"
"I think you're a dangerous man who does dangerous things for dangerous people." I meet his stare head-on. "I'd be stupid to forget that just because you've been playing nice."
The muscle in his jaw jumps. "Playing nice."
"Aren't you?"
"No, Maya. I'm not playing anything." He moves closer, and I hate that my body responds to his proximity, that heat pooling low in my belly. "I'm trying to be honest with you. But you won't let me."
"Because real gets people killed!"
"So does hiding!" His voice rises. "You think I don't know what it's like to look over your shoulder? I'm certain I’ve lived that life. I am that life. But at least I'm not pretending otherwise."
"Good for you." I turn away, but he catches my wrist.
"Don't walk away from me."
"Let go."
"Not until you stop treating me like I'm the enemy."
I yank my hand free. "Maybe you are."
The words hang between us like broken glass. Sasha's expression shutters, going cold and distant in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Fine." He heads for the door. "You want to be alone? You got it."
"Where are you going?"
He doesn't look back.
"Sasha—"
But the door closes behind him with a soft click that feels louder than a slam.
I sink onto the bed, pressing my palms against my eyes. The urge to call him back wars with the need to protect myself.
Except he's already in. Somehow, in just a short time, he's wormed his way past defenses I thought were impenetrable.
I should tell him to leave. The moment the roads clear, I should send him away.
But the thought of this cabin without him in it feels wrong in a way I can't explain.
He's dangerous. I know that. I can see it in the way he moves, in the cold calculation that sometimes flashes through his eyes. He's exactly the kind of man I should be running from.
So why do I feel safer with him here than I have in years?
I give him twenty minutes before I go looking. Time to let us both cool down, to figure out what the hell I'm going to say.
He's on the porch, leaning against the railing with his back to the door. The moonlight highlights his dark hair, turns his profile into something carved from stone. He's not wearing a jacket, and I can see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his spine.
"It's cold out here," I say quietly, stepping onto the porch. The boards creak under my feet.
"I've been colder." His voice is flat, emotionless.
I wrap my arms around myself, the night air biting through my sweater. My breath fogs in front of me. "I'm sorry."
"For what? Being honest?" He still doesn't look at me. "Don't apologize for that."
"I'm not apologizing for what I said." I move to stand beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "I'm apologizing for how I said it. You didn't deserve that."
"Didn't I?" Now he turns, and the pain in his eyes steals my breath. It's raw and real and so unlike the controlled mask he usually wears. "You're right. I am dangerous. I have hurt people."
"How do you know?" I ask as a chill works its way up my spine.
"I remember a man in a chair," he says, his voice low and rough.
"He was tied down. Blood was everywhere, and he was terrified.
" His jaw clenches. "I stood there and watched as he begged for mercy, and I felt nothing.
" He looks at me, and there's something broken in his eyes.
"That's what scares me. Not that I was there. But that I felt nothing at all."
"You don't remember everything?" I ask carefully, even though ice has formed throughout my veins.
"No." His voice turns hard. "I only have pieces.
I know what I'm capable of. I looked at that man's fear like it was data.
His suffering meant nothing to me. It was clinical.
It was cold." He runs a hand through his hair.
"What kind of person does that? What kind of monster watches someone suffer and feels absolutely nothing? "
I cup his face with my hands and stare into his eyes. "You don't know how real those flashes are or the context of them," I say sternly.
"But—"
"No, Sasha," I interrupt. "Even if they are glimpses of your past, you are not that man now. Losing your memory gives you a fresh start to be the kind of man you want to be."
His mouth finds mine suddenly, startling me. His other hand slides into my hair, angling my head as he deepens the almost desperate kiss. I press against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest through his shirt, the strength in his arms as they wrap around me.
"Inside," I murmur against his lips. "Before we freeze."
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The muscles in his arms flex as he carries me through the door, kicking it shut behind us. We barely make it to the bedroom before he's laying me on the bed, his body covering mine.
His shirt comes off first, and I run my hands over the defined ridges of his abdomen, the broad expanse of his chest marked with scars. My sweater follows, then everything else, until there's nothing between us.
We move together in the darkness, his mouth on my neck, my breasts, everywhere. I dig my fingers into the solid muscle of his back as pleasure builds between us. He whispers my name almost reverently, almost like he's silently asking for forgiveness for whatever he's done in his past life.
I know I should be concerned. What if he was part of the Russian mob? What if he was one of the hitmen sent to kill me?
But I can't force myself to worry about that, no matter how dangerous that may be. This man, Sasha, is not whoever he was. I feel safe with him.
After, we lie tangled together, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. His arm wraps around me, and I trace the scars on his chest with my fingertips.
The sound of a car approaching startles us both. Before I can even sit up, Sasha is at the window looking out. He turns to me, his beautiful mouth turned down in a scowl.
"It's kind of late for your neighbor Pavel to be visiting, isn't it?"