Chapter 21
Ryder
I wake up irritated.
Not because of the attack, or the wound on my inner thigh that pulls when I stretch too far. I’m not even too annoyed at the constant shuffle of guards moving around the property like anxious wolves. Those things make sense. Violence and paranoia are predictable parts of my life.
What I cannot stop thinking about is Vivienne Baranov.
Which is deeply annoying.
I slide a pan onto the stove and crack two eggs into it harder than necessary.
The kitchen smells like coffee and toasted bread.
The early sunlight spilling across the marble island makes the room feel almost normal.
It’s the kind of calm domestic scene that still feels unfamiliar to me, even after weeks in this house.
Vivienne is gorgeous.
The thought lands in my brain again, and I scowl at the eggs as if they personally offended me. She is tall and elegant. She could disappear into a crowd or slit your throat before you finished blinking. She’s also significantly closer in age to Liev.
I flip the eggs forcefully.
The worst part is that yesterday morning, she looked at me like she’d already figured me out. I hate that kind of self-assurance. I hate walking in and finding them in our bedroom. It made me feel like a stranger in this place that’s supposed to be home.
I really hate knowing that Liev was right. I am jealous.
Footsteps sound on the tile behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
Actually, I can see him reflected in the window above the sink. Perfection in a leisurely outfit, a t-shirt and jeans, the light fabric pulling across his chest. His thick hair glints in the reflection of the morning light, with streaks of silver through it.
Ugh.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
His voice is calm, low, and already irritating. I keep my attention on the pan.
“I’m making breakfast.”
“That’s not resting.”
I slide the eggs onto a plate and finally glance over my shoulder. Liev leans casually against the doorway, freshly showered. He looks frustratingly put together for someone who had been covered in blood yesterday and slept like the dead last night, an arm slung over my waist.
“I’m fine,” I say.
His gaze moves slowly over me, lingering briefly in a way that makes me wonder. He can’t tell I’m pregnant, right?
The doctor assured me she wouldn’t say anything. Probably a stupid move considering she’s paid by the Bratva, and I only just married in months ago.
“That remains to be seen.”
I roll my eyes and turn back toward the counter. “You already had a doctor look at it. She said in about five days, I can get back to normal as long as I’m careful. So we’re done discussing it.”
Liev steps fully into the kitchen. I hear his boots cross the tile before he stops directly behind me.
“No,” he says calmly. “We are not.”
I set the plate down harder than necessary. “You don’t own me, remember?”
His hand closes around my wrist before I can step away.
The motion is quick and firm, turning me around to face him before I have time to argue. I glare up at him automatically.
“Liev—”
“Enough.”
His voice drops slightly; the command in it quiet but unmistakable. Before I can protest again, he pivots me toward the island and guides me forward.
“Hands on the counter.”
I blink.
“What?”
“Ryder.”
The warning in his tone makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with irritation.
I place my hands on the marble surface.
He moves with efficiency, as if he’s taking apart a weapon—tugging my sweatpants down over my hips to fall at my ankles. The cool air against my skin sends a small shiver down my spine. I’m in a t-shirt and white panties.
His fingers brush lightly along the edge of the gauze, then move higher. Just shy of where I want to feel him most.
I inhale sharply.
“That tickles,” I mutter.
“Good,” he replies.
He peels the edge of the bandage back just enough to inspect the wound. His touch is careful and surprisingly gentle for someone who spent half a night threatening to dismantle Miami’s criminal underworld.
“It’s healing,” he says after a moment.
“I told you.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it.
The bandage settles back into place, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, his hand rests lightly on my waist. My irritation starts to fade into something warmer and significantly more confusing.
“You’re still angry,” he observes.
“I’m not angry.”
“You were glaring at me this morning.”
“I glare at people all the time.”
His quiet laugh sends a strange ripple through my chest. “That’s true. I like it, the way you look at me.”
There’s a pause.
Then his hand slides slightly, turning me just enough that I’m facing him again. The proximity makes my pulse trip over itself.
“Ryder,” he says quietly.
“What.”
“Trust me.”
Before I can figure out how to respond, he leans in and kisses me.
It’s not rushed or demanding. The contact is slow and warm, his hand still steady at my waist as if anchoring me there. Everything melts away, including the little throb of pain in my thigh.
When he finally pulls back, I realize I’m breathing a little unevenly.
Well.
That is embarrassing.
Liev studies my face with a faintly amused expression. “Better?”
I clear my throat and step back slightly, grabbing the plate of eggs as if that will somehow restore my dignity.
“You’re very smug,” I say.
“You were the one picking a fight.”
“I was not picking a fight.”
“You were jealous yesterday.”
I scoff, but even to my ears it sounds forced. “I was assessing a situation. One you got yourself into.”
Liev laughs softly. I focus very hard on cutting my eggs while my brain refuses to stop replaying that kiss. The tension between us feels different now, softer somehow.
More intimate.
Which is both comforting and deeply unsettling.
A horrible thought creeps into my mind as I chew.
Maybe this is just hormones. The wanting him.
The idea makes me flush slightly. That can’t be right, though. If I’m honest, I’ve wanted Liev Demsky from the second I laid eyes on him on that boat in Savannah. As soon as I realized calling him “old man” would push him to prove he’s anything but old.
Which has gotten us into a different situation. One where I’m pregnant with his child.
I shove the thought away, part of me afraid that he’ll be able to read the truth on my face. Or at the very least will know that I’m hiding something from him.
Liev’s phone buzzes against the counter. He glances down at the screen, and I watch his brows knit as he reads the message.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
He turns the phone toward me.
The message is from Kazimir.
You’re about to have a visitor.
Liev and I lock eyes. “I swear, if it’s another stunning assassin…”
He laughs, but the sound is tight. And that’s how I know that whatever is coming could destroy us as easily as it could turn the tide.