Chapter 2 #2
The girl I saved. The girl I gave a small chance to.
The girl who was supposed to die in that desert but refused.
Who survived because she's too fucking stubborn to do anything else.
And now she's here, in front of me, and more beautiful than I remembered.
More dangerous than I imagined. More everything.
I stand. I need to get out of here before I do something catastrophically stupid.
Like touch her, pull her into my arms and never let go, or tell her I know exactly who she is and I don't fucking care.
She stays seated. Smart. Every instinct is probably screaming at her to move. To run. To do something. But she stays still. Stays right where I can see her.
"You'll continue working at Lush." She cranes her neck back to look up at me.
Our size difference is almost comical and makes me think about other positions where she'd have to look up at me, things I have no business thinking.
"You'll be careful. You'll remember there are people who don't appreciate girls who speak without thinking about consequences.
" I pause, letting her absorb that and understand I'm protecting her even as I'm warning her.
"But you'll also remember that we take care of people who take care of us. "
I'll take care of you. The words hang unspoken between us. I'll take care of you whether you want me to or not.
"I understand," she says.
"I don't think you do." Quiet. Almost gentle. "But you will."
You'll understand you're mine. That I'm never letting you go. That I'd burn down the entire world before I let anyone hurt you again.
I force myself to walk away. I don't look back even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to turn around.
To look at her one more time. To memorize the way she looks with her spine straight and her eyes defiant.
But if I look back, I won't leave. And if I don't leave, I'll do something that can't be undone.
Something like claiming her right here in front of Aleksandr and his men.
Something like telling her that she belongs to me now.
I push through the exit, and the night air hits me like a slap. It doesn't help, nothing helps. She's in my blood now. In my bones. In every breath I take.
Outside, the city breathes around me, cars passing and people walking. Normal people living normal lives. Not understanding my entire world just shifted on its axis. That I just met the woman who's going to destroy me.
And I can’t wait.
I climb onto my bike and start the engine.
The rumble normally thrills me, but it isn’t enough tonight.
Nothing's enough anymore. Not when I know she exists.
Not when I know what she looks like when she's scared and trying not to show it.
I sit with the engine running, going nowhere, and thinking about the way she held herself.
The way she spoke. The way she looked at me with those haunting eyes that cut right through every defense I've ever built.
I've seen a lot of beautiful women, fucked more than I can count, but none of them mattered. None of them were her. She's different. She's been shattered and put back together with all the sharp edges facing out. A weapon disguised as a woman. My weapon. My woman.
Mine.
I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn't work.
She's lodged in my brain like a bullet I can't dig out.
The Pakhan doesn't pay me to sit in parking lots obsessing over dancers.
Doesn't pay me to feel anything at all. I'm supposed to be his right hand.
But I can't stop thinking about her. Can't stop imagining what it would be like to have her.
To own her. To keep her safe in a world that already tried to destroy her once.
I drive, not knowing where I'm going, just that I need to move, to do something with this energy burning through my veins. But no matter how fast I go, I can't outrun her. Can't escape the memory of her face. Can't stop seeing her every time I blink.
Later—hours later, though it feels like minutes—I'm in my penthouse alone, the way I'm always alone. Except I don't want to be anymore. I want her here, in my space. I want her scent on my sheets and her cries of pleasure in my ears.
The place is sparse. Functional. Nothing personal except for a single photograph on the mantel. My sister. Dead for fifteen years now , but the only person I ever cared about.
Until now.
The thought should scare me. It does scare me, but not enough to make it untrue.
I pour myself a neat vodka. Standing at the window looking out at the city lights below wondering if she's doing the same thing. Standing at a window, wondering if I recognized her. Wondering if she's safe.
She's not safe. Not from me. Not anymore.
Because I did recognize her.
The moment she looked up at me with those fucking eyes, the moment I saw the rage buried there, the moment she spoke—
I knew.
Yelena.
The Pakhan's daughter. The girl I left in the desert ten years ago. The girl who was supposed to die out there in the sand, heat, and endless nothing.
She chose to be a fighter, changing her name and her appearance. Now she’s back as someone else entirely. Someone harder, sharper. More beautiful than any woman has the right to be.
She came back as Sofiya. But most importantly, she came back as mine.
I drain my drink. Pour another. The vodka burns going down, but I barely feel it. I barely feel anything except the want clawing at my insides.
I should tell the Pakhan. That's my job.
My duty. My entire fucking purpose. To protect him.
To eliminate threats. To solve problems before they become catastrophes.
And Yelena—Sofiya—whatever the fuck she calls herself now, she's a threat.
The biggest threat I've ever encountered.
She's working at a club he owns. Getting close to his men.
Killing people just to gain more access through trust.
She's here for revenge. I can feel it.
And the worst part is I don't care.
I don't care that she wants to kill the Pakhan or that helping her means betraying everything I've built. Because I know I’m going to help her. Despite knowing this obsession is going to destroy me.
I just want her.
I want her safe, want her close. Want her looking at me the way she did tonight—wary and brave and so fucking beautiful it hurt to breathe.
I should have her eliminated. Clean. Efficient.
No loose ends. No complications. But I can't give the order that would end her.
Can't be the reason she stops existing. Can't lose her when I just found her.
Because ten years ago, I made a choice. I gave her a chance when I should've put a bullet in her head.
I pointed her toward survival instead of certain death, giving her a small chance. And she took it.
Why did I save her? Why did I disobey a direct order? Why did I risk everything for a fifteen-year-old girl who'd just watched her mother die?
Maybe I knew, even then. Maybe some part of me recognized that she was mine. That she was always going to be mine.
Does she know I’m the one who cut out her mother’s tongue?
That we made her mother suffer before the Pakhan made her watch her mother die?
When he ordered her tortured and killed by his men, Igor, Ivan, and Anatoly, I felt nothing.
They were three animals who enjoyed their work far too fucking much.
But when I arrived to find them playing with her, breaking her, taking everything that made her human and destroying it piece by piece, something inside of me broke.
I've done terrible things. Killed more people than I can count. Followed orders that haunt me. But what they did to her—I wanted to kill them. Should have killed them. Still might.
So, I sent them away, told them I'd finish it, and gave her hope when there was none. I never expected her to survive. The odds were impossible.
And now she's back, more beautiful than I thought possible. More dangerous than I imagined. More everything.
I finish my second drink and set the glass down. I have a decision to make.
I can tell the Pakhan and have her eliminated. Finish what should've been finished ten years ago.
Or I can keep her secret. Keep her safe. Keep her close.
Keep her.
The smart choice, the loyal choice, is obvious. The choice that keeps me alive and in the Pakhan's good graces.
But when I close my eyes, I see her. Fifteen years old, broken and bleeding in the desert, looking up at me with eyes that should've been dead but weren't. And I see her now, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure , looking at me like I'm the only thing standing between her and death.
She's come back for revenge. And the fucked-up part?
I want to help her. To watch her succeed. To be there when she takes down the Pakhan and everyone who hurt her.
I want to be hers the way she's already mine.
I go to bed that night with my phone in my hand, the Pakhan's number on the screen. One call, that's all it would take. One call and she's dead by morning.
I don't make the call.
Instead, I lie there in the dark thinking about a girl I saved once. Thinking about a woman I want now. Thinking about all the ways this is going to end badly and not caring even a little bit.
She's going to be the death of me.
And I can't fucking wait.