Chapter 18 – Niko #2
Silence swells in the space he leaves. Noelle’s eyes are on me, wide, unsettled, searching for answers I don’t have yet. I drag a hand down my face, then turn toward the wardrobe. My jacket comes off, tossed aside, and I start pulling on darker clothes—clothes I wear when I’m not coming home clean.
Behind me, I hear her footsteps. Soft. Hesitant.
“Where are you going?” Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through me sharper than any blade.
I don’t look at her right away. I button the shirt, slide my gun holster into place. “You heard Demyan,” I say evenly. “Anton wants the shipment. I won’t sit here while he arms himself to burn us down.”
There’s a pause. Then her voice, thinner, breaking at the edges. “Niko…don’t go. Please.”
That makes me stop. My hands freeze at my cuffs, and I finally turn. She’s standing there, barefoot in the oversized shirt she slept in, eyes wet and shining. Fragile in a way that makes my chest ache.
Her plea isn’t just fear of Anton—it’s fear of losing me. And God help me, it almost makes me want to stay.
“I have to go.” My voice is final, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t back down.
“No, you don’t,” she insists, stepping closer. Her fingers clutch at my arm, desperate. “Let someone else handle it, Niko. You’ve got Demyan, Lev, Adrian—you don’t have to throw yourself into every fire Anton lights!”
Her words hit something raw in me, but I force steel into my tone. “This isn’t up for debate, Noelle.”
Her grip tightens, her voice rising. “I’m begging you—don’t walk out that door. Not this time. If he’s trying to bait you, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”
Something in me snaps, sharp and hot. I spin on her, my words cutting harsher than I intend.
“I’m doing this for you!”
The silence that follows is brutal.
Her face crumples, lips parting in shock, eyes shimmering like I’ve just gutted her. My chest heaves, regret flooding fast, but it’s too late—the damage is done.
Her hands slip from my arm, falling uselessly at her sides. And for the first time, I see her retreat from me—not with her feet, but with her heart.
“No,” I growl, moving before she can step away. I catch her wrist, tugging her back, and press her to the wall. My chest crushes against hers, my palms flat beside her head. Her breath shudders, eyes wide and wet, but I don’t let her look away.
“Listen to me,” I rasp, my voice raw. “I will come back. Alive. For you.”
Her chin trembles, but I cage her tighter, forcing her to hear me. “This is what I do, Noelle. I kill people. I kill the ones who think they can touch what’s mine. And if Anton or anyone else dares lay a hand on my wife—on the woman I love—” my voice breaks into a growl, “—I’ll bury them all.”
Her breath hitches, tears spilling down her cheeks, but I see the flicker in her eyes—the way my words cut through her fear even as they shatter her. I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, holding her like she’s the only anchor keeping me sane.
“You are it for me,” I whisper, softer now but no less fierce. “So let me do this. Let me fight for you.”
For a heartbeat, silence swallows us whole. My confession hangs in the air, jagged and raw, like something torn out of my chest.
Her eyes widen, glistening. Her lips part, trembling, but not with fear. With truth.
“I love you too,” she whispers, the words tumbling out like a secret she’s been choking on.
My world stutters. Then it roars back to life.
I crush my mouth to hers, fierce and hungry, a kiss that tastes of desperation and salt.
She clings to me, her fingers tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer like she’d crawl inside my skin if she could.
I press her harder against the wall, devouring her lips, her breath, her everything, because the thought of leaving her after this nearly kills me.
Her sob turns into a gasp against my mouth, and I swallow it down, kissing her deeper, pouring every vow, every promise into her. My hands grip her hips, her waist, her jaw, frantic in the need to remind her, remind myself, that this is real—that she is mine and I am hers.
When I finally break for air, my forehead rests against hers, both of us panting, our lips swollen and damp. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” I whisper, voice hoarse, my thumb brushing her cheek where her tears shine. “But I’ll come back to you. Always.”
I kiss her again. My mouth drags down her throat, her pulse hammering against my lips, and her moan is the softest, sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
My hands are everywhere—sliding up beneath her shirt, gripping her thighs, hoisting her against me until her legs wrap around my waist like she was made for this, for me.
Her fingers claw into my shoulders, into my hair, urging me closer, deeper, until I’m grinding into her, the heat between us scorching, unstoppable.
She’s gasping my name, whispering I love you into my mouth, and I want nothing more than to take her here, now, against this wall until the whole damn world forgets we exist.
But I can’t. Not like this. Not when the blood on my hands is still fresh and more will spill before the day is done.
I tear my mouth from hers, breath ragged, pressing my forehead to hers as she clings to me. For a moment, I just hold her there, my heart thundering like a war drum, my body aching with restraint.
Her eyes search mine, glassy and desperate, and I kiss her again—slower this time, softer, a promise instead of a claim. My hands cradle her face as I lower her feet back to the floor, though every muscle in my body screams against it.
“I want you so badly,” I rasp, voice thick with need, “but not like this. Not with me about to walk out that door.”
She holds onto my shirt, refusing to let go, but I gently pry her hands free and kiss her knuckles. “When I come back…” I whisper, pressing one last kiss to her lips, lingering, “we’ll finish this.”
I break away from her and head to the door. My hand is already on the door when her voice catches me.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
The words crash through me, louder than gunfire, sharper than any blade.
For a heartbeat, I don’t breathe. I don’t move.
Every instinct in me wants to turn back, to demand answers, to let the weight of what she just said drag me to my knees.
But I can’t—not now. Not with Anton circling like a vulture and blood already staining the ground.
So I force myself to stillness.
I step back, cross the space between us, and cup her face in my palms. I lower my lips to her forehead, lingering there longer than I should, burning the memory of her into me before I walk into the fire.
“I’ll be back very soon,” I tell her, my voice low, steady, betraying nothing of the storm she’s just unleashed inside me.
Then I let her go.
I walk out without looking back, because if I do, I won’t be able to leave at all.