Valerie
I'm lying in my own bed for the first time in hours—Lev finally let me leave around midnight, after holding me in his arms like I was something precious instead of a spy he caught red-handed.
My body still aches. Still feels him inside me. Still trembles with aftershocks every time I shift position.
The phone rings again, vibrating against my nightstand, and dread pools in my stomach like ice water.
Patrick.
I grab the phone with shaking hands and answer. "Hello?"
"You missed your deadline." His voice is cold. Controlled. The kind of calm that precedes violence. "I gave you forty-eight hours for security codes. That was three days ago."
"I'm sorry, I couldn't—there was no opportunity—"
"Don't give me excuses." The temperature in his voice drops even lower. "I've been very patient with you, Valerie. Very understanding about your situation. But my patience has limits."
"Please, I just need more time—"
"No. No more time. No more chances." Papers rustle in the background. "You want to know what happens when you fail me?"
"Patrick, please—"
My phone buzzes. Incoming photo.
I pull it away from my ear with trembling hands and open the message.
The world stops.
Ethan.
My baby brother. Seventeen years old. Tied to a chair in what looks like a basement. His face is swollen, bruised purple and black. Blood streams from his nose, his split lip. One eye is completely shut.
He's crying. I can see tear tracks cutting through the blood on his face.
And he's looking directly at the camera with an expression that says he knows exactly what's happening. Knows I'm supposed to see this. Knows this is my fault.
"No." The word tears out of me. "No no no, you said—you promised you wouldn't hurt him—"
"I promised I wouldn't kill him if you cooperated." Patrick's voice is pleasant now. Conversational. "But you're not cooperating, are you? You're fucking with my intelligence instead."
"I'm not—I didn't—"
"Don't fucking lie to me, girl." He pauses. "Ethan paid the price for your distraction. Next deadline, he pays with more. Eventually, he pays with his life."
I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe. "Please don't hurt him. Please, he's just a kid, he didn't do anything—"
"Then do your job." Patrick's voice goes cold again.
"You have twenty-four hours to send me Lev Volkov's complete schedule for the next two weeks.
Every meeting. Every location. Every movement.
If I don't have it by this time tomorrow, I send you another photo.
Except next time, Ethan will be missing fingers. "
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can. You photographed his planner didn’t you? That means you’re smarter than you look.”
How do I tell him I’m actually not smarter than I look? That Lev set traps for me, and I fell for it, and that’s the only reason I was able to take those pictures?
“I saw the images you sent. But they were incomplete. Old information. I need current data. I need to know where he'll be and when so I can plan accordingly."
Plan accordingly.
"If I give you that information, you'll kill him." My voice breaks completely. "You'll kill Lev and his men will investigate and know it was me."
"That's not your concern. Your concern is keeping your brother alive. Your mother safe. Yourself breathing." He pauses. "Twenty-four hours, Valerie. Don't disappoint me again."
He hangs up.
I stare at the photo of Ethan for a long time. At his swollen face. At the blood. At the fear in his eyes.
This is my fault. All of it. He's being tortured because I couldn't get Patrick what he wanted fast enough.
But if Lev dies, what happens to Mila?
Seven years old. Already lost her mother and baby brother to violence. Finally starting to trust again. To smile again. To feel safe.
I'd be destroying her. Again.
But Ethan is my brother. My actual family. And he's being tortured right now because of me.
I pull up my photos. Find the ones from Lev's planner. Stare at the schedule entries.
Friday: Shipment arrival. Pier 17. 11:00 PM. M + 4.
Monday: Meeting. Warehouse District. 2:00 PM. M + 6.
Thursday: Dinner. Russo's. 8:00 PM. Personal.
All I have to do is forward these. Hit send. Patrick gets what he needs. Ethan gets released.
Lev dies.
My finger hovers over the send button.
I can't do it.
Why can't I do it? Ethan is my brother. This should be easy.
But it's not easy. Because in three weeks, a lot has changed.
I love Mila. Actually love her. That part isn't pretend. I can’t bear to hurt her. I can’t do it.
And Lev—
But Ethan is my brother.
I throw the phone across the room before I can hit send.
It hits the wall and clatters to the floor, and I curl into a ball and sob until there's nothing left.
I call Tash at 3:30 AM because I have no one else.
She answers immediately, voice alert despite the hour. "Val? What's wrong?"
"Patrick has Ethan." The words come out broken. "He sent me a photo. Ethan's tied up, bleeding, and Patrick says if I don't send Lev's schedule in twenty-four hours, he'll start cutting off fingers."
Silence. Then: "Fuck."
"I have the schedule. I photographed his planner days ago. All I have to do is send it, and Ethan goes free."
"But if you send it—"
"Lev dies. I know." I'm crying again. Can't stop. "Patrick will ambush him. Kill him and probably everyone with him. Maybe even little Mila. Definitely Lev."
"And you care about that." It's not a question.
"I don't know! I shouldn't care. I barely know him. He's terrifying and violent, and he's using me just like Patrick is—"
"Val." Tash's voice cuts through my spiral. "Do you care about Lev Volkov? Yes or no."
I open my mouth to say no. The truth comes out instead. "I'm addicted to him. To the way he looks at me. The way he touches me. The darkness in him that matches something in me I didn't know existed. I can't stop thinking about him even though I know I should."
"That's not the same as caring."
"No. It's worse." I press my hand over my mouth to muffle a sob.
"Because I'm drawn to him in ways I can't control. And I love Mila. Actually love her. She trusts me. She feels safe with me. And if I send this schedule, Lev dies, and she loses her only parent, and I’ll live with knowing I did that to her. "
"But if you don't send it, Ethan dies."
"I know!"
The silence stretches.
"What do I do, Tash? How do I choose?"
"I don't know." Her voice is quiet. Honest. "There's no good answer here. Either way, someone you care about gets hurt. Either way, you live with the consequences."
"I can't send it." The words come out certain. Final. "I can't kill Lev. Can't orphan Mila. I just—I can't."
"Then you need to tell Lev what's happening. Let him help—"
"No! If I tell him, he'll know I've been lying this whole time. Know the debt story was bullshit. He'll kill me, Tash. Or worse."
"Worse than watching your brother get tortured?"
I don't have an answer for that.
"Twenty-four hours," I whisper. "I have twenty-four hours to figure this out, or Ethan loses fingers."
"I'm sorry, Val. I'm so sorry."
She hangs up, and I'm alone again.
Alone with impossible choices and no good options, and the knowledge that whatever I decide, I'll hate myself for it.
I don't sleep.
Can't sleep. Just lie in bed staring at the ceiling, playing out scenarios that all end in blood.
Send the schedule: Lev dies. Mila loses her father. I live with that guilt forever.
Don't send it: Ethan gets tortured. Maybe dies. Mom loses her son. I live with that guilt forever.
Tell Lev: He kills me for lying. Or hands me over to Mikhail. Or something worse.
Run: Patrick finds me. Kills my whole family. Probably kills me too.
There's no way out.
No solution where everyone lives.
I'm trapped in a nightmare with no exit.
At 6:04 AM, I give up on sleep and get ready for the day. Put on my uniform. Braid my hair. Try to make my face look like I haven't been crying for over three hours.
It doesn't work.
My eyes are red and swollen. My face is blotchy. I look exactly like someone whose world is ending.
Perfect.
I go through the motions. Make coffee. Take care of Mila—braid her hair while she chatters about a dream she had, and I have to force myself to smile and nod and pretend my heart isn't shattering.
Lev appears at breakfast. Our eyes meet across the table, and something hot and dangerous passes between us.
He doesn't say anything. Just looks at me like he's remembering last night. Like he's planning tonight.
And my traitorous body responds. Heat pooling low. Aching for his touch despite everything.
I'm so fucked up. My brother is being tortured, and all I can think about is Lev's hands on me.
The day drags. Every minute feels like an hour. The deadline ticking closer.
At 8:00 PM, after Mila's in bed, someone knocks on my door.
I know who it is before I open it.
Lev stands there, still in his shirt and slacks from whatever business he handled today. His eyes are dark and hungry.
"Come with me."
I should say no. Should tell him I'm tired. Should do anything except follow him.
I follow him.
Down the hallway to his private quarters. Into his bedroom—massive, dark, everything expensive and masculine and smelling like him.
He closes the door behind us and locks it.
Then he just looks at me for a long moment.
"I need to fuck you." The words come out blunt. Raw. "I need you."
I should say no.
Every rational part of my brain is screaming to say no. To run. To put distance between myself and this man who's become an addiction I can't control.
"Yes." The word falls out before I can stop it.
Something in his expression shifts. Goes darker. Hungrier.
He moves.
Fast. Brutal. Backing me against the door we just came through, hands already shoving my skirt up around my waist.
"No underwear again?" His fingers find me bare and already wet. "Good girl. Fucking hell, Valerie."
"Lev—"
He kisses me. Swallows whatever I was going to say. His tongue invades my mouth while his fingers work between my thighs, and I'm lost.
Completely, utterly lost.
His other hand fumbles with his belt. Gets it open. Shoves his pants down just enough.
"Wrap your legs around me." His voice is rough. Desperate. "Now."
I obey without thinking. Jump slightly, and he catches me, pins me against the door, and positions himself.
Then he's inside me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out—it's too much, too fast, I'm not ready—but he swallows the sound with another kiss.
And starts moving.
Hard. Fast. Desperate. Like he needs this to survive. Like I'm oxygen and he's drowning.
The door rattles with each thrust. My back hits the wood over and over. His hands grip my thighs hard enough to bruise.
It's frantic. Raw. Nothing gentle or controlled about it.
Just need.
"Ty svedyosh' menya s uma," he growls against my neck. You're driving me insane. "Can't think about anything except this. Except you. Except being inside you."
His teeth find my shoulder. Bite down hard enough that I gasp and clench around him.
"Fuck. Do that again." He bites harder, and I can't help it—my body responds, tightening around him, pulling him deeper.
"Lev—oh God—"
"Not God." He reminds me again as his hand slides between us, finds my clit, circles it with brutal efficiency. "Me. Say my name."
"Lev—"
"Again."
"Lev, please, I'm going to—"
"Come for me." He thrusts harder, fingers working my clit faster. "Right fucking now. Let me feel it."
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me so hard I see stars. My whole body goes rigid, clenching around him, and I'm screaming his name against his shoulder while he fucks me through it.
"That's it. That's my good girl. Taking my cock so perfectly. Coming so hard for me." He's still moving, chasing his own release. "Moya. Ty moya, Valerie."
He comes with a Russian curse, slamming into me one final time and going still. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the heat even through the condom he somehow remembered to put on.
We stay like that for a moment. Both gasping. Both trembling. Still connected.
Then he carefully lowers my legs and pulls out.
I expect him to let me go. To send me back to my room like last time.
Instead, he picks me up.
Actually lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing, carries me across the room, and lays me down on his bed.
"Stay." He strips off his shirt, kicks off his pants, deals with the condom. "Tonight you stay here."
"Lev, I should—"
"Stay." His voice leaves no room for argument. "I'm not done with you yet."
He climbs into bed beside me, pulls me against his chest, and wraps his arms around me like he's claiming territory.
And I let him.
Because even though my brother is being tortured, even though I have a deadline ticking down, even though I should be planning or escaping or doing literally anything productive—
All I want is to stay right here.
In the arms of a monster who's become my addiction.
We lie there in the dark. His breath warm against my neck. His hand stroking my hair. His body solid and real against mine.
"Whatever you're afraid of," he murmurs into the darkness, "I'll protect you from it. You're mine now. That means you're under my protection."
The words should comfort me.
They break me instead.
Because he can't protect me from this. Can't save Ethan without dying himself. Can't fix the impossible choice I'm facing.
And lying here in his arms, feeling safe for the first time in weeks, I realize the truth.
I am really in trouble.
Can't kill this man. Can't orphan Mila. Can't destroy this fragile, twisted thing between us.
The tears come silently, soaking into his pillow, and I press my face harder against his chest to muffle the sound.
His arms tighten around me.
"I've got you," he whispers. "Sleep, Milaya. I've got you."
But he hasn't got me.
Nobody does.
I'm fracturing.
Coming apart at the seams.
And the worst part?
I don't want to stop.
Because being in Lev's arms, even while my world burns down around me, feels more right than anything else in my life.
And that terrifies me more than Patrick's threats ever could.