Chapter 22
Kelly
The past week has been a blur of sleep and headaches, most of it spent in Alexei’s bed. Today is the first time I’ve actually felt better, but it’s still been rough.
Gary’s been texting me nonstop about when I’m coming back to work, but that’s the least of my problems now.
I push myself up from the bed and immediately regret it when the room tilts sideways.
I brace against the mattress, wait for my vision to stop swimming.
Still recovering from the concussion. I make my way to the living room, one hand trailing along the wall for balance, but I don’t see or hear anything. The entire house is eerily silent.
This place is incredible. But there are no photos of him or anyone on the walls. Nothing personal anywhere. It’s more like he hired a designer to fill the space and never bothered making it his own.
My hand stays against the wall as I move deeper into the house, past what looks like a full home gym. I thought I heard him earlier, but maybe he left after I fell back asleep.
A metallic click echoes from the end of the hallway, toward the garage. I haven’t been in there yet. I head that direction, ease the door open, and blink.
Three cars sit in the corner, including his Aston Martin Valiant, and there’s room for at least five more cars. The garage is massive. Low Russian rap fills the space.
Alexei’s at a workbench against the far wall, shirtless in gray jeans, turning around with a disassembled gun in his hands.
He’s cleaning it with a cloth. Then I actually look at the wall behind him.
Rifles. Sniper rifles. Handguns. Things I don’t even have names for.
All mounted. All organized. An entire arsenal just hanging there.
He raises an eyebrow at me, keeps wiping down the gun. “Da, I know. Impressive.”
I rub the back of my head, wincing when my fingers brush the bruise, and walk farther into the garage. Then I see Clover darting out from under one of the cars and I actually laugh. “You brought Clover in here while you’re cleaning guns?”
He shrugs and tosses the cloth onto the bench, then does something to the gun that makes it click back together. “Rabbits need open spaces to explore. Nothing dangerous in here.”
I scoff and glance at the wall again, then back at him. “Yeah. Nothing dangerous at all.”
He sets the gun down on the bench and crosses over to me, pulling me against his bare chest. He kisses the top of my head, and I wrap my arms around him, breathing him in.
His hands rub up and down my back, slow and grounding. “How are you feeling? Hungry?”
“I’m a bit better today. What happens next?”
His hands go still on my back. Something shifts in his expression. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I’m so tired of feeling broken all the time.”
He hums low and pulls me tighter against him. “Zaychik.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Please believe me when I say I would never hurt you. You’re the only thing in this world that makes me feel human. The only thing I want to protect instead of destroy. I’d cut off my own hands before I’d let them touch you wrong. I will take care of everything for you.”
The words catch in my throat. I swallow, nod, feel my eyes start to burn.
I bury my face against his chest before he can see me fall apart.
His grip shifts, and I’m about to protest when his hands slide under my thighs and behind my back.
He lifts me in one smooth motion. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him carry me, let myself sink into the feeling of being held.
“I’m running us a bath. I bought bubble bath for you.”
He did what?
“How did you even know I love bubble baths?” I press my lips to his chest.
“I went through your laptop when we first met. All your apartment searches had tubs. And I saw you at the store once, staring at bubble bath for three minutes before walking away without it.”
I pull back and just look at him. He raises his eyebrows, completely deadpan, zero awareness of how unhinged that sounds. I burst out laughing. “That’s … Jesus Christ.” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
He carries me into the bathroom and sets me down carefully. I watch him turn on the water, add soap until bubbles start foaming up. Then he’s unbuckling his belt, shoving his jeans down, and I can’t look away. He’s half-hard already and my pulse kicks up.
He crosses back to me, and his hands are gentle when he helps me out of my clothes, fingertips dragging over skin.
He takes my hand and pulls me toward the tub as it fills.
He gets in first, then reaches for me, helping me settle between his legs.
His arms wrap around me, and he’s careful not to touch the back of my head where it’s still tender.
I sink back against him, let the heat of the water and his body seep into my sore muscles.
My head still aches but this helps. Being here with him helps.
“Alexei?”
“Hm?”
I hesitate but go for it. “Will you teach me how to use a gun?”
He goes still behind me. “What?”
“I want to learn how to protect myself. I’m tired of being helpless.”
His arms tighten around me. “Why?”
“Because I’ve spent my whole life running from things. Making myself smaller, hoping that would keep me safe, but it doesn’t work.”
“You are safe with me.”
“I know. But you can’t be everywhere at once. What if something happens when you’re not there?” My voice cracks slightly. “I don’t want to be that scared person anymore.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“Good,” he says finally, and there something like pride in his voice. “You should know how to protect yourself.”
“Really?”
“After you heal.” He presses a kiss into my hair. “You are stronger than you think, zaychik. Time to learn to use that strength.”
“You’d be okay with me having a gun?”
“More than okay. This makes me proud, not worried.”
There’s something intoxicating about the thought of not being a victim anymore. I want to feel that confidence, that strength that comes from knowing you’re not an easy target.
I close my eyes and just breathe.
A few days later, I finally drag myself to the couch, feeling weak, but better than I have all week.
Alexei walks in wearing only black workout shorts, chest bare and covered in sweat.
His hair damp and clinging to his forehead.
The guy works out so much, and I have no idea how someone can wake up at five thirty every morning to torture themselves with exercise.
He’s been using his home gym every day since we got here.
I might have wanted to murder him the first time that alarm went off so early, but now I’ve gotten used to it and sleep through it.
His phone’s been buzzing constantly all day. He opens the freezer, pulls out a bottle of vodka, takes a sip and puts it back.
I scoff. He glances over his shoulder, catches me looking, and smirks at me.
He’s been weird, like weirder than usual, keeps ordering things online for Clover with express delivery. Every day it’s a new package with food, toys, treats she’ll probably ignore. He even bought me clothes, like full outfits with shoes and jackets, everything I could possibly need.
He walks off toward his bathroom. I hear the shower start a minute later.
I stare at the ceiling and try not to overthink everything. He hasn’t really touched me since the hospital, not like that, and I know why. I know he’s trying to be careful with me, but I hate it. I don’t want to be treated like I’m made of glass.
Yes, what happened with David sucked. Yes, I was scared. But I’m still me, and I still want him.
I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I feel is something soft in my hair, fingers moving gently through the strands.
I blink open my eyes and see Alexei sitting next to me, shirtless with damp hair, holding my phone in his hands.
His thumb moves across the screen, deleting something, before he notices I’m awake.
He glances down at me. “Sleep well?”
I sit up slowly and watch his hand fall from my hair. I catch a glimpse of him setting my phone back on the coffee table. When he looks at me now, there’s something pained in his expression.
“What were you doing with my phone?” I ask, still groggy.
“Spam call. I declined it.”
Something about his tone feels off, but I nod.
I know he’s trying to protect me, trying to give me space after everything with David, but it’s making me feel worse. I need to know he still wants me. That David didn’t ruin this. That I’m not broken in his eyes now.
My body’s still sore, and my head feels foggy, but I want this, want him. I press my palm against his thigh and slide my hand higher until I’m cupping him through his shorts. I pause and look up at him.
His eyes darken as he looks at me. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens, and I can see the conflict in his expression, the way he’s holding himself back.
“What happened with David doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
He reaches up and cups my face gently. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I’m better now, I need you.”
He leans back a little and spreads his legs more, and I feel him growing under my hand, my cock twitches at the sight of it. I climb onto his lap without saying anything, straddle him, and the second my weight sinks down, his hands are on my hips dragging me into him.
Our mouths crash together, and he kisses me like he’s starved, tongue already pushing into my mouth, messy and rough and so good I can’t help the sound I make when I grind against him.
I kiss down his neck, teeth dragging against his skin, and when I suck hard near his collarbone and feel him flinch, I do it again. I want everyone to know he’s taken. If anyone sees the edge of his shirt shift, sees his collar pulled down, they’ll know someone’s been on him.