Chapter 12 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
I'm already pulling on my jeans before Maya can process what's happening. The headlights cut through the darkness outside, and every instinct I have screams that this visit isn't social. Not at this hour.
"Stay here," I tell her, my voice harder than I intend.
"Like hell." She's out of bed too, yanking on clothes with quick, efficient movements. Her hands shake slightly as she buttons her jeans, and I notice the way the denim hugs the curve of her ass even as my mind catalogs exits and potential threats.
I grab my shirt from the floor and pull it on.
Pavel's truck sits in the driveway, engine still running, exhaust visible in the cold air.
He's alone, but something about his body language sets my teeth on edge.
He keeps looking over his shoulder, back toward the road, like he expects someone to follow.
"He looks scared," Maya says quietly, appearing at my side. Her shoulder brushes mine, and even through the layers of clothing, I feel the contact like a brand.
"He looks like he's about to bolt." I watch Pavel climb out of the truck, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Something's wrong."
The knock comes hard and fast, urgent. Maya moves toward the door, but I catch her wrist, pulling her back against my chest. She fits there perfectly, all soft curves against hard muscle, and my body responds despite the situation.
"Let me," I say against her ear, feeling her shiver.
"It's my cabin."
"And I'm the one with violent instincts, remember?" I release her and cross to the door, positioning myself to the side before opening it. Old habit. One that suggests I've answered doors expecting bullets before.
Pavel practically falls inside, his wire-rimmed glasses askew, his face pale and sweating despite the cold. His pale blue eyes dart between Maya and me, lingering on her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. The jealousy that flashes across his face is almost comical.
Almost.
"Pavel, what's wrong?" Maya steps forward, concern overriding caution. "It's almost midnight."
"I had to warn you." He's breathing hard like he ran here instead of driving. "There were men in town today. After you left. Asking questions."
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees. Maya goes rigid beside me, and I feel the fear rolling off her in waves.
"What kind of questions?" My voice comes out cold, controlled. A command voice. The kind that expects immediate answers.
Pavel's eyes snap to me, and I see him register the change in my demeanor. Good. He should be nervous.
"They were asking questions. About a blonde woman, but also about who else might be around." He adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers.
"I'll make coffee," Maya says quietly, her voice steadier than her hands. "We should sit down."
She moves toward the kitchen without waiting for agreement, and I watch her go, noting the slight tremor in her movements.
When I turn back to Pavel, I gesture toward the dining table with a subtle tilt of my head.
He hesitates, then shuffles over, pulling out a chair like he's moving through water.
I remain standing until Maya returns with three mugs, the rich smell of coffee filling the space between us.
She sets them down with careful precision, then takes the chair across from Pavel, leaving the head of the table for me.
I sit, my body still coiled tightly, but the simple act of sitting, of drinking coffee, creates a thin veneer of civility over the tension crackling through the room.
"Now," I say, wrapping my hands around the warm mug, "tell us everything."
Pavel takes a shaky sip of coffee, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I was at the general store and two men pulled up in a black SUV. Expensive. Not the kind of vehicle you see around here."
"What did they look like?" I lean forward, every muscle in my body tensing.
"Professional. Dark suits. One was tall, maybe six-two, with a scar on his jaw. The other was shorter, stockier. They went inside and started asking Earl questions."
Maya's hand trembles as she sets down her mug. I want to reach for her, pull her close, but I need to hear this first.
"What exactly did they ask?"
"If he knew of any blonde women living alone in the mountains.
Said they were looking for someone. A friend who'd gone off the grid.
" Pavel pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he's remembering something.
"But here's the thing. Earl said they asked about that, but then they kept pushing.
They wanted to know if anyone lived with her.
If there was a man staying nearby. They kept asking about who was around, who came and went.
It was weird. They seemed more interested in that part, come to think of it. "
I feel Maya's body go still beside me.
"A man?" I ask carefully. "They specifically asked about a man living here?"
"Yeah. They didn't give any explanation, though," Pavel said with a shake of his head. He adjusts his glasses. "Now I'm thinking maybe they weren't looking for you at all, Maya. Maybe they were looking for…" He glances at me with accusation.
"Did Earl give them anything?" My jaw clenches so hard, it aches.
"No. Earl's good people. He told them most folks up here value their privacy and he doesn't keep tabs on his customers.
" Pavel shifts in his seat. "But they didn't leave right away.
They sat in their vehicle for a while, looking at something on a tablet or phone.
Then they drove off toward the mountain roads. "
The coffee turns bitter in my mouth.
"I came as soon as I could," Pavel says. "I had to have my car worked on, so I couldn't come sooner, but I wanted to warn you."
"We appreciate that," I say, my tone making it clear the conversation should be ending.
But Pavel doesn't take the hint. He leans forward, addressing Maya directly. "You should come stay at my place. It's closer to town. Easier to get help if you need it. Safer."
The word 'safer' grates against my spine like sandpaper.
"She's safe here," I say flatly.
Pavel's jaw tightens. "With all due respect, you're the man they're looking for. If these people are serious, if they come looking, you'll need backup. My cabin has better sightlines. I have a radio. I can call for help."
"She's. Safe. Here." I repeat each word like I'm explaining something to a child.
Maya's hand finds mine under the table. Her fingers are cold, but her grip is firm. "I appreciate your concern, Pavel. Really. But I'm staying here."
Pavel's face flushes red. His eyes drop to where our hands are joined, and something ugly flashes across his features. Jealousy, raw and obvious.
"You barely know him," Pavel says, his voice rising. "I've been your neighbor for years. I've helped you. I've been there when you needed things."
"And I'm grateful," Maya says softly. "But I'm not leaving my home."
Pavel stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You're making a mistake. When those men come back, and they will come back, you're going to wish you'd listened to me."
I rise slowly, deliberately. I have four inches and at least forty pounds of muscle on Pavel. I let him see all of it, let him understand exactly what kind of man he's challenging.
"Thank you for the warning," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "We'll take it from here."
Pavel's eyes meet mine, and whatever he sees there makes him step back. Good. He should be intimidated. He should understand that Maya is under my protection now, and I don't share.
"Fine," he mutters, grabbing his coat. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
Maya walks him to the door, murmuring polite goodbyes. I watch Pavel's eyes track the sway of her hips in those worn jeans, the way her sweater clings to her full breasts. My hands curl into fists.
The moment the door closes behind him, Maya turns to me. "He means well."
"He wants you." The words come out harsher than I intend.
"Maybe." She crosses her arms, and the gesture pushes her breasts up in a way that makes my mouth go dry. "But I don't want him."
Amazing how much those five little words drain some of the tension from my body.
I clear my throat. "We need to secure this place."
For the next three hours, I work. I check every window, every door, every possible entry point. I move furniture to create better defensive positions. I inventory what we have that could be used as weapons. A hunting knife. A fire poker. Not enough, but it'll have to do.
Maya watches me work, bringing me water, asking questions.
Her presence is both comforting and distracting.
Every time she bends to pick something up, I catch myself staring at the tight curve of her ass.
Every time she reaches for something on a high shelf, her sweater rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin that makes my fingers itch to touch it.
As I'm reinforcing the back door, a memory slams into me with the force of a freight train.
"A safe house is only as strong as its weakest point." My voice echoes in a concrete room. Six men stand at attention, listening. "You check every entrance. Every window. Every ventilation shaft. You create fallback positions. You always, always have an exit strategy."
One of the younger men raises his hand. "What if we're outnumbered?"
"Then you make them pay for every inch." I tap the blueprint spread across the table. "You use the environment. You create choke points. You make them think twice about coming through that door."
The weight of command sits heavily on my shoulders. These men trust me to keep them alive. To teach them how to survive.
I blink, and I'm back in Maya's cabin. My hands are shaking.
"Sasha?" Maya's voice is soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." I'm not fine. The memories are coming faster now, sharper. But I can't afford to fall apart. Not when she needs me.
"You remembered something," she says. It's not a question.
"Later." I straighten, rolling my shoulders. "Right now, I need to check the perimeter."
"It's dark."
"Exactly." I grab my coat. "Stay inside. Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone but me."
She nods, her blue eyes wide and trusting. It does something to my chest, that trust. Makes me want to be worthy of it.
The night air is sharp and cold, biting through my coat. I move silently through the trees, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The moon is nearly full, casting everything in silver and shadow.
I'm about fifty yards from the cabin when I see them.
Tire tracks. Fresh. The tread pattern is clear in the soft earth near the tree line.
My heart kicks into overdrive. I follow the tracks, my breath forming clouds in the frigid air.
They lead directly toward the cabin, close enough that whoever was driving would have had a clear view of the windows.
Then they stop, turn in a wide arc, and head back toward the main road. They don't belong to Pavel's vehicle.
Someone was here. Watching. Circling.
And they know exactly where we are.