22. Chapter 22 #5
I took a couple of steps, already on my way to comply with his order, when a shred of sanity returned. It was almost as though I was regaining my wits as I increased the distance between us.
Wow. Okay. Nope.
We’re not just glossing over this.
“Um, wait. What?” I asked carefully because it felt important to have clarity when the man in your living room was the subject of an active manhunt.
Sasha chuckled. “What did you think I was here for? You’re coming with me.”
I turned, propped my hand on my hip and stared at him with raised brows. “I’m what now?”
“Coming with me. We’re kind of running out of time, and I mean, I really don’t wanna rush you or anything buuuut we do need to leave.” He shrugged, like this was completely out of his hands.
I gaped at him.
Great. A nationally wanted fugitive has decided I’m part of his exit strategy.
Am I being kidnapped? Wait, would this even qualify as a kidnapping? I’ve never looked up the specific terms and limitations. Where’s Google when you really need it?
“Five minutes,” he added, tapping on his wrist like he was wearing a watch.
I didn’t move.
“I’m not going anywhere.” The words came out sharper than I expected. “You don’t just get to — show up, shoot someone, and decide I’m coming with you like I’m — what? A carry-on item?”
Something in his posture shifted, subtle but no less dangerous.
He stepped closer. “Addy.”
“No,” I said, backing up a step. “No, you don’t get to ‘Addy’ me right now. You’re—” I gestured wildly. “You’re a wanted criminal. You just shot a man in my living room. I don’t even know if he’s going to—”
“He’s not dying,” Sasha cut in, his voice firm. “I didn’t hit anything vital.”
“That is not reassuring!”
My heart was racing and panic was clawing its way up my throat.
“This is insane. This is actually insane. I should be calling the police. I should be—”
“You won’t,” he said quietly.
The certainty in his voice made something in my chest stutter.
“I might,” I shot back, but it sounded weaker now.
He closed the distance between us completely. “If I wanted you hurt, you’d already be hurt.”
My breath hitched.
“I want you with me.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing once before stopping again, staring at him like he might suddenly make sense.
“You planned this,” I said slowly.
“Yes.”
“Months ago?”
“Yes.”
“And your next move was … coming here?”
His head tilted slightly; the mask obstructed any attempt to read his expression, which made things infinitely worse. “Well, yeah. I wasn’t just gonna leave you here.”
He made it sound like we’d discussed this countless times before, as if it were the next logical step in his plan. Like he’d already run the numbers and I’d come out as necessary inventory.
To be honest, the truly humiliating part was the unmentionable warmth I felt in my chest at his words. It was how I knew I should not be allowed to make my own decisions.
I shut my eyes for a second, trying to regain some dignity and circulation at the same time.
This is how people end up in documentaries.
“You’re out of your mind,” I muttered.
“Probably.”
“And I’m even worse for…” I gestured helplessly at myself. “Standing here debating this instead of screaming.”
“Yes,” he agreed easily. “You’re also stalling.”
“I’m panicking!”
A car honked outside, causing Sasha to turn his head sharply towards the window.
“Time’s up.”
I looked at Eric again.
At the blood.
At the life I’d packed into boxes like it didn’t matter.
“I—” My voice broke. “I can’t just … leave everything.”
“You’re not leaving everything,” he said, grabbing a duffel and shoving it into my hands. “You’re taking what matters.”
“You don’t get to decide that!”
“I already did.”
There was a heavy, terrifying silence.
I started moving, grabbing things blindly, without ever consciously deciding to, no rhyme or reason to my selections. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped my phone twice before managing to shove it into the bag. I was absolutely losing it.
“Fuck,” I muttered, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay … okay, this is a terrible idea.”
“Not really.”
“I’m probably going to regret this.”
“I’ll make sure you won’t.”
“If this turns into a Dateline episode, I’m haunting you.”
He squeezed my hand once.
“You won’t need to.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Because I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine.”
There was no hesitation, no softening or pretending this was impulsive.
With just three words he’d made it clear he’d chosen this — chosen me — and that realization landed somewhere deep inside me, setting off a flurry of butterflies. For the first time in forever, the feeling of loneliness dissipated.
I wasn’t hovering anymore, floating around aimlessly. His words were the line and he was the anchor.
I turned away before my face did something embarrassing and allowed myself one moment to think this through. Or at least I pretended to think it through for my conscience.
Curiosity killed the cat, I reminded myself. But surely, I had a couple of lives left, right?
Was it really so wrong to give in to this impulse when he was the first person I’d ever truly connected with?
I’d always wanted to belong to someone, to not feel so alone anymore, and here he was. Wanting me so badly, he came for me, refusing to leave me behind.
Maybe it was insane, but sometimes you had to take a chance. My life had never been conventional, never been a straight path so what was one more unexpected twist?
Off into the deep end I go.
Determinedly, I started shoving things into a duffel bag. Pictures, some clothes, my dad’s apron and some paperwork because apparently I was leaning in. Instead of calling the police like a rational adult, I was packing for a life on the run.
“You do understand this kind of thing qualifies as kidnapping.” I crouched on the floor, stuffing clothes in without folding them because chaos felt appropriate.
“It doesn’t.”
“Oh good. What are we calling it, then?”
“Relocation.”
I peered back at him over my shoulder. “You make it sound like witness protection for people who make bad decisions.”
“You’re not a witness.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“You’re much more valuable than a witness, if it makes you feel any better.” The sound of his boots thudding against the cheap floors startled me for a moment. “Witnesses are dispensable. You aren’t.”
I froze, then slowly reached out to grab a pair of shoes and stare at them. “These will absolutely give me blisters,” I muttered. “I refuse to be hunted in bad footwear.”
Sasha scoffed. “You’re not going to be hunted.”
“Said the wanted man. That literally implies running, you know?”
“Don’t worry about fucking shoes. I’ll get you better ones.” I glanced back at him. He cocked his head to the side and I imagined him smirking behind his mask. “One minute, then we’re leaving.”
He was closer now but still just standing there, watching me like this was inevitable. My pulse jumped so violently in my neck, I was sure he could see it.
“This part of your life is over.”
I stared up at him, trying to process his words. He was so calm and certain, it was mind-boggling.
Everything he’d said made it clear he’d already mapped this out, his future, and mine in turn, and he had zero doubts this was how it was going to go down.
And instead of pure terror, what I felt was this awful, addictive pull. It was as if someone had tightened the world around me, stopping it from spinning.
Floating was exhausting and being wanted like this was dangerous. But it was solid.
I rose to my feet, duffel in hand.
“You realize,” I said carefully, because I needed to hear myself talk like a sane person, “this is how documentaries start.”
He lifted one shoulder, uncaring. “Yes.”
“Oh God. I will absolutely be the girl in the interview footage where everyone says ‘she seemed so normal’.”
He stepped closer then. Not enough to trap me, but enough for me to feel his presence shift the air. My breath hitched as I stared up at his masked face.
“You are normal,” he said evenly.
“That’s debatable.”
“Doesn’t change you coming with me, though.”
“Oh my God.” I pointed at him accusingly. “See? That’s exactly the kind of sentence a murderer says before he murders someone.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Technically, I am a murderer.”
I blinked at him, horror washing over me.
Holy fucking shit. How could I have forgotten about that part?!
I blamed his giant dick. And the mask hadn’t helped in terms of keeping my wits together either. Fuck, this was so bad.
“You’re a lot calmer than I anticipated,” he commented.
“I’m spiraling internally,” I informed him, my heart thundering in my ribcage. “And actively reconsidering every life choice leading to this exact situation with a potentially homicidal Russian.”
“I protected my family,” he corrected quietly, his stormy gaze piercing. “I don’t kill for sport … I always have a reason.”
That did not help nearly as much as he seemed to think it would.
“You realize it still sounds fucking creepy, right?”
“If I wanted you hurt,” he said softly, stepping close enough to make my pulse trip over itself, “you would already be hurt. If I wanted you afraid, you would already be afraid. I want you with me.”
There was no arrogance in his voice, just the truth and the worst part was — he was right.
The thought of him walking away, leaving the apartment quiet again with the boxes just sitting there and the half-life I’d been pretending was temporarily consuming me completely, felt worse.
It was deeply concerning but still a fact I needed to come to terms with. There was something seriously wrong with me, but I was done denying myself what I really wanted.
This would likely go wrong — horribly so — but I wanted Sasha.
“I need my good sneakers,” I repeated, because focusing on footwear was easier than confronting my obvious moral collapse.
“Get them. We’re leaving now, Little Devil.”
“If you murder anyone tonight,” I called as I hurried to the bedroom, “I would like to formally state I object.”
“I will take it under advisement.”
I shoved my feet into the sneakers and swung the bag over my shoulder, only for him to snatch it from me.
“You’re not carrying anything,” he snarled, like I’d broken some unwritten rule, hitching the bag over one of his big shoulders.
Sasha held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, I took it. His long, rough fingers entwined with mine, and we walked toward the door.
My heart did another violent and traitorous jump. The pressure of his hand wasn’t controlling, it was claiming.
I couldn’t help but lean into it ever so slightly.
This wasn’t a kidnapping. It was me stepping toward something dangerous, recklessly yet unapologetically, because it made me feel more alive and more wanted than anything else ever had.
As we stepped into the hallway, I realized with sudden clarity that it was his calm, terrifying certainty hooking me right from the beginning. Sasha wanted me, perhaps to a scary degree, but I didn’t care.
I chose it, which might have been the most unhinged decision I have ever made.
“You’re not actually going to murder me, right?” I whispered one last time because apparently I needed verbal confirmation.
He squeezed my hand, just once. “No. You’re mine. I protect what is mine.”
My stomach flipped. His words should not have been romantic and yet the fucked-up part of my brain decided it absolutely was.
Against all reason, I walked out the door with him, somehow feeling lighter than I could ever remember feeling.