Chapter 2
Volk
SONG: LIKE A VILLAIN BY BAD OMENS
I arrive at Lush at midnight. The club is empty, lights blazing bright, harsh fluorescents that wash out everything.
A few men stand over a pool of blood that's already turning sticky at the edges.
At least they've cleared the body. One less thing for me to handle.
Aleksandr is here. Two of his men. Brad, the security guy, who actually has half a brain.
And her.
The world stops.
Just fucking stops.
She’s siting at a corner table, and I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare at her like I've been hit in the chest with a bullet.
Beautiful doesn't cover it. Beautiful is too small a word for what she is.
Dark hair falling around her shoulders. Eyes that could cut glass.
A face that belongs in museums or dreams, other places I'll never be allowed to go.
She's wearing jeans and a black sweater.
Simple. Forgettable. Except there's nothing forgettable about her.
She could be wearing a sack and I'd still be standing here like an idiot trying to remember how to function.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I don't react to women. Haven't in years. They're tools or distractions or complications I don't need. But this one …
This one makes me want to burn down the world just to see her smile.
Focus. I need to focus.
I force myself to move. Force my body to cooperate. One foot in front of the other. I don't announce myself. Never do. Just walk through the space and watch them straighten. Watch their hands move away from their weapons. Watch them remember who the fuck I am.
But I'm not watching them.
I'm watching her.
The way she holds herself. Spine straight. Shoulders back. Like she's preparing for a fight. Her makeup is heavy—too heavy for this time of night. Like she's hiding behind it .
Or someone.
The thought should make me suspicious. Should trigger every instinct I've honed over the years of survival. Instead, all I can think about is what she'd look like without all that makeup. What she'd look like spread out beneath me. What sounds she'd make if I… Christ!
I'm losing my fucking mind.
Aleksandr stands when I approach. His companions follow suit. All of them nervous and attempting to look harmless. Hands visible and no where near their weapons.
Smart boys.
But I barely register them. My entire world has narrowed to the girl in the corner. The girl who killed a man with a heel. The girl who's looking at me like she's not sure if I'm salvation or damnation.
Both, probably.
I don't shake hands. Just nod at Aleksandr and let my gaze slide to her. Lock on her like a missile finding its target.
"So, this is the girl ?" I say. My voice sounds rougher than usual. Like I've been drinking gravel.
"This is Sofiya." Pride bleeds through Aleksandr's voice. Like he owns her. Like she's his to show off. Something violent twists in my gut. " She saved my life. Killed a man with a heel. Practically a professional hit."
Practically.
I pull out a chair from another table and sit backward , needing something between us before I do something stupid , my arms resting on the back .
I lean close enough to see everything. The tremor in her hands she's trying to hide.
The way her breathing is controlled—too controlled.
The pulse in her throat beating just a fraction too fast. I want to put my mouth there.
Right where her pulse hammers. Want to feel her heartbeat against my lips.
She's scared.
Good.
But there's something else. Something harder underneath the fear. I can see it in her eyes. Eyes that should be soft but aren't. There's steel there. Rage buried so deep most men would miss it.
I don't miss shit.
And fuck me, that rage makes her even more beautiful.
"Walk me through it."
She tells me the story. Voice steady. Just nervous enough to seem genuine. She describes Volya's entrance. His anger. His accusation. The gun. The instinctive reaction. The kill.
I watch her mouth move. Watch the way her lips form words. Wonder what they'd taste like. Wonder if she'd bite if I kissed her? I hope she would.
She makes it sound like something she read about, something she saw in a movie, not something she's trained for.
But I know better.
I watch her, reading every micro-expression, every slight hesitation, and every tell Aleksandr and his idiots are too stupid to catch.
But I'm also cataloging other things. The curve of her jaw, the way her throat moves when she swallows , and the small scar on her collarbone her sweater doesn't quite hide.
I want to trace that scar with my tongue. I want to learn every mark on her body, and to add a few of my own.
When she finishes, I let the silence stretch. Let it get uncomfortable. Let her wonder if she fucked up somewhere. Let myself imagine what it would be like to have her looking at me like this every day. Waiting for my judgment. Waiting for my approval.
Waiting for me.
"You've been trained?"
"Foster care." She sticks to her script. "Group homes. You learn to take care of yourself or you don't survive. I took a self-defense class once. It came in handy."
"Mm." Bullshit. Complete bullshit. But I don't call her on it. Not yet. Because calling her on it means this conversation ends. Means she leaves, and I stop getting to look at her.
And I'm not ready for that.
Not even fucking close.
I look at Aleksandr, forcing myself to look away from her even though it physically hurts. "Is she useful?"
"Yes." Immediate. Good dog. "The men trust her. She's careful, professional. She's one of our highest earners. And clearly she's capable of handling herself in dangerous situations."
The men trust her. Something dark and possessive coils in my chest. I don't want the men looking at her. Don't want them anywhere near her.
She's mine.
The thought should terrify me, send up every red flag I've ever learned to recognize. Instead, it settles into my bones like it was always meant to be there.
Mine.
My eyes move back to her. I can't help it, it’s like fighting gravity. "You understand the situation you're in."
She nods. "I know I may have caused problems. I know I should have let Aleksandr handle it."
"You killed a man without authorization." Flat. No inflection. "That's the kind of thing that gets people executed. That's the kind of thing that ends lives."
I'm trying to scare her. But all I can think about is that if she dies, I'll never see her again. Never hear her voice. Never get to find out what makes her laugh or what makes her scream.
Her voice stays steady when she nods. "I know."
Brave. Fuck, she's brave. And that just makes me want her more.
I reach behind me and pull out the envelope I prepared earlier. I drop it on the table between us like it's nothing , like I'm not using it as an excuse to be connected to her, to make her further tied to the Bratva. To tie her to me in whatever small way I can.
"Five thousand dollars. Consider it a bonus. You saved Aleksandr's life. Aleksandr brings value to the organization." I pause, letting it sink in, letting her understand I'm protecting her. "Therefore, you do too."
She doesn't reach for it, just stares at it. I watch her process, calculate. Watch her beautiful, dangerous mind work through all the angles.
I could watch her think for hours. Days. Forever.
"However…" I let the word hang there. "You're going to keep your mouth shut about what happened.
You're not going to tell anyone about this conversation.
You're not going to speculate about who Volya was or what his relationship to the organization was.
You're not going to talk about me, about this investigation, about any of it.
Clear?" I want her thinking about me, my name in her mouth.
I want her obsessing over this meeting the way I know I'm going to obsess over her.
"Crystal," she says.
I lean back, studying her like she's a puzzle I'm taking apart piece by piece, a work of art I'm trying to memorize, or the only thing in this godforsaken world worth looking at.
"You have the look of someone who knows what it means to be broken and then put back together. Most people, if you break them, they stay broken."
She doesn't say anything. Smart girl. Beautiful, deadly, smart girl.
"But sometimes people get broken and come back as something else. Something harder. Something that shouldn't exist in nature but does anyway."
I search her eyes looking for confirmation of what I already know. Looking for any excuse to keep staring at her.
"Have you ever been broken?"
Her heart hammers. I can see it in the pulse at her throat and almost hear it in the silence of this empty club.
I want to press my hand there and feel it beat against my palm.
This is the moment. The moment she either gives herself away or she doesn't. The moment I find out if this obsession consuming me is pointless.
"Everyone gets broken at some point," she says carefully.
Something twists in my chest. Recognition. Confirmation. The ghost of a memory I've carried for ten years. But underneath that, something else. Something that feels like possession. Like fate. Like inevitability.
She's mine. Was always meant to be mine.
"True." There's regret in my voice, and I fucking hate it. But I hate it more that she's been broken. I did what I could, but it wasn’t enough. "Most people your age haven't learned that yet."
"Most people my age haven't had to," she says.
I nod slowly. She's just confirmed everything I suspected. Everything I already knew from the moment I saw her sitting in that corner.
Yelena.