Chapter 11 – Noelle
The crack of the rifle splits the air, sharp and vicious.
Glass rains around us in glittering shards, and before I can think, Niko’s body is on top of mine, shielding me.
My ears ring, my lungs burn, but my hands don’t hesitate.
I roll with him, my fingers already reaching for the small of my back. Cold steel presses against my palm.
We move in unison, crouched low, backs to the wall, guns drawn.
When Niko’s gaze cuts to mine, his eyes flicker with shock. Not at the bullet—at the weapon in my hands.
“You—”
“Demyan gave me back what you all took from me at the clinic,” I whisper fiercely, my pulse thundering. “I always carry a gun.”
I don’t have time to explain further, not with glass still crunching under our knees and the air thick with danger.
Another beat of silence, then he nods once, jaw tight. No time for arguments, no time for anything but survival.
He gestures for me to stay low as he edges toward the window, movements sharp and precise, every line of his body screaming control. I cover him, finger steady on the trigger, heart screaming otherwise.
Niko peers out, eyes scanning the brightness beyond the broken glass. Nothing. Just the morning swallowing everything whole.
He pulls back, cursing under his breath, the muscles in his arm coiled tight as a spring.
Whoever it was—whoever dared fire at us—was already gone.
The door crashes open, and both Niko and I whirl, barrels aimed and ready. My finger tightens on the trigger.
“It’s me,” Demyan barks, one hand raised.
We lower our guns, but my pulse still thrums in my ears. Niko doesn’t relax—he never relaxes—but he eases his aim a fraction, the muscles in his forearm still tight as iron.
“We found a masked man in the cameras. Soldiers are already after him,” Demyan says, stepping inside. He doesn’t even glance at the shattered glass, like bullets flying at dawn is nothing new. “One of the men spotted him running. With luck, he won’t get far.”
Niko’s jaw works, silent and sharp.
Demyan shifts his gaze to me, then back to Niko. “For now, it’s better if she stays put. No wandering, no surprises.”
He’s not looking at me, but I can tell he’s talking about me.
Anger swirls in my belly. The words land like a cage snapping shut around me. Stay inside. Stay safe. Stay still.
But there’s no arguing, not when the evidence of violence is still around us—the shattered glass glittering across the floor, the sharp smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air.
Demyan lingers a moment longer, trading a silent look with Niko, then slips out, the door shutting behind him.
The second the lock clicks, I turn on Niko.
“What the hell was that?” My voice breaks, higher and sharper than I mean it to.
“You promised me safety. You said marrying you would protect me, that I’d be shielded from all this, but look around—” I sweep my hand toward the broken window, the floor littered with glass shards.
“Does this look like protection to you?”
He stands there, stone-faced, like I’m yelling into a wall.
“It doesn’t feel like safety, Niko. It feels like you’ve signed my death sentence.”
The words crack in the air between us. I don’t take them back.
Niko’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring. Then his voice detonates in the small room.
“You don’t need saving from anybody!” He jabs a finger toward the Glock still clutched in my hand. “Clearly, you’re more than capable of protecting yourself. So don’t stand there and act like I’m the one dragging you into danger.”
I flinch, but only because of the force in his tone—not the meaning of his words.
His eyes blaze as he steps closer. “You want to know why I married you, Noelle?” His voice drops, low and venomous. “So I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
The words hit like a slap, sharp and deliberate. I know he said it to wound me, to remind me of how precarious my place in his world is.
But instead of breaking, I feel a laugh bubble up, jagged and humorless. It cuts through the tension like glass on stone.
“Yes, of course,” I breathe, my lips curling in something that’s not quite a smile. “You don’t want to kill me because you’re so obsessed with me.”
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating.
Niko’s eyes narrow, the fury simmering there shifting into something darker, more dangerous. His voice drops low, steady, almost calm—but it strikes harder than his shouting ever could.
“You’re right,” he says. “I am obsessed with you.”
The breath snags in my throat.
“I have been since the first time I saw your face at that clinic,” he continues, his gaze locked on me like a predator that’s finally stopped pretending it wasn’t hunting.
“Desperate. Shaking. Begging someone—anyone—to believe you.” He steps closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.
“That night, something broke in me. Or maybe it woke up. And I knew—I would never be able to let you go.”
The room seems to shrink around us, the air burning hot, unsteady.
“My obsession,” he says, the word rolling off his tongue like a vow and a curse at once, “is why I agreed to marry you so easily. Because it felt like a win. A claim. Something I could take and keep before the world swallowed you alive.”
His chest rises and falls, his breathing ragged, though his voice never wavers.
“So yes, Noelle. I’m going to protect you with my life. Even if you don’t believe it. Even if protecting you destroys me. Even if it ruins us both.”
I fling the gun out of my hands, and it clatters to the floor with a cracking sound. My chest rises and falls in quick bursts as I stalk toward him. If he wants to destroy me, then let him. If obsession is all he has to offer, I’ll take it and burn with it.
I seize his wrist before he can react, dragging his hand down my body, over my stomach, lower—until his palm presses against the aching heat of my pussy.
The words fall out of me like a command, shaky but sharp. “Ruin me, Niko. You’re my husband now—so do it.”
For a second, shock flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink. Then something in him snaps. His fingers curl hard against me, and the sound he makes is raw and guttural, scraping straight through me.
His arm clamps around my waist, crushing me to his chest. The world tilts, spins—my feet leave the ground. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, like I’m already his possession, his burden, his prize.
Then he throws me down onto the bed. The mattress groans in protest, springs squealing as I bounce once before sinking under his weight. His shadow swallows me whole.
The look in his eyes steals the air from my lungs—shocked still, yes, but devoured by hunger. The kind of hunger that doesn’t ask. The kind that takes.
In one rough yank, he tears my pajamas down my legs. Cool air rushes over my bare skin, and before I can even gasp, his hands are circling my ankles. He drags me to the edge of the bed like I’m nothing but prey caught in a predator’s grip.
“Spread for me,” he growls. But he doesn’t wait—he pries my legs apart himself, forcing me open, leaving me utterly bare under his burning stare.
Heat surges up my throat, a flush so deep it almost hurts. My instinct is to close my thighs, to hide, but he’s stronger. So much stronger.
“So beautiful,” he grunts, voice low and hoarse, almost reverent. “So fucking beautiful.”
His head lowers before I can think, before I can plead—or resist. His mouth is on me, hot and wet, his tongue stroking through my folds with devastating precision. I cry out, my back arching violently off the mattress.
It isn’t just his tongue—his fingers slide into me, two at once, stretching me open as if he’s been starving for this. His mouth and his hand work together, relentless, merciless, drawing sounds from me I don’t recognize as my own.
Every lick, every thrust of his fingers drags me closer to the edge.
I claw at the sheets, at his hair, at anything I can reach, but he pins me down with the weight of his grip.
He doesn’t stop when I beg, doesn’t stop when I whimper.
He pushes me higher, wringing every ounce of control from me until I’m writhing beneath him, broken open by his mouth.
My climax tears through me, leaving me trembling, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, sucking, thrusting his fingers into me until I’m sobbing from the overstimulation, my thighs shaking uncontrollably.
“Please,” I gasp, pushing weakly at his head, though I don’t even know if I’m begging him to stop or to take me harder.
He finally lifts his head, his mouth slick with me, his eyes wild and ravenous. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, then grips my waist in both hands.
Before I can blink, he hauls me up like I weigh nothing, flipping me onto my stomach. My cheek slams into the sheets, my breath rushing out. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, pinning me down.
“You wanted me to ruin you,” he growls against my ear. “Then take it.”
I feel the blunt heat of him at my entrance—thick, hard, merciless. My body is still pulsing from orgasm when he thrusts inside me in one brutal stroke.
I scream into the pillow, every nerve in my body lighting up at once. He doesn’t give me a chance to adjust. He pounds into me, hard and deep, the bed frame groaning with every violent snap of his hips.
My fingers claw at the sheets, at nothing, desperate for something to hold on to. Each thrust drives me further into the mattress, his weight and strength making me feel small, helpless, utterly possessed.
He grabs my hair, yanking my head back, forcing my spine to arch. His mouth crashes against my ear, his breath ragged. “Mine,” he snarls, every thrust punctuating the word. “You hear me? Mine.”
The pain melts into a savage kind of pleasure, overwhelming, addictive.
My cries turn into broken and shameless moans.
Another orgasm slams into me without warning, ripping through me so hard I nearly collapse, but he doesn’t slow down.
He fucks me through it, chasing his own release, owning every inch of me.
When he finally groans my name and spills inside me, it feels like he’s branded me, marked me from the inside out.
I collapse against the sheets, shaking, spent, completely undone.
And still, he doesn’t let me go. His arm wraps around my waist, keeping me pinned to him, his breath hot on my neck. Like he’s not finished. Like this is only the beginning.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. It feels dangerous to break the quiet. But the question gnaws at me, tearing holes inside my ribs.
“What does Anton really want?” I whisper.
Niko stiffens, his arm tightening around me. For the first time since I’ve known him, I feel hesitation in his silence, like he’s debating whether to let me in or keep me in the dark.
Finally, his voice rumbles against my temple. Low and controlled..
“He’s not after me.”
I freeze. My fingers curl into his chest. “Then…who?”
Niko’s hand slides up to cradle the back of my head, almost gentle. But his words slice the air clean in two.
“He’s after you, Noelle.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised, because I knew he’d come. I’ve always known. But still, the words settle like ice in my veins, making it harder to breathe.
Before I can reply, there’s a knock on the door. Niko moves instantly, wrapping his body around mine, his warmth caging me in. His voice is sharp when he calls, “Come in.”
My cheeks burn, and before I can stop myself, I press my face into his chest to hide the flush. It’s ridiculous, after everything, but I feel…safe. Safer than I should.
The door opens. Demyan steps inside, his expression grim.
“We found the man,” he says, his voice flat. “But before we could get anything out of him, he swiped a knife from one of my men and slit his own throat. Died instantly.”
The room goes still. My stomach lurches.
Dead. Just like that.
No name. No answers. Only more shadows closing in.