Chapter 31 #2
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad, I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking, it just slipped out because I’m a jealous mess and you were edging me and my brain short-circuited— Vik, please, say something, I can’t take the silence, I feel like I ruined everything, I’m so fucking sorry—”
“He touched you.” Viktor’s voice cuts through my frantic babbling.
I freeze completely, staring up at him with wide eyes, the words slowly sinking in.
What?
My mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out. All the jealousy, all the stupid questions, everything suddenly feels small and distant compared to what he just admitted — not in words, but in that quiet, loaded statement.
I stare up at Viktor, frowning hard, my brain slowly piecing together every little fragment — the smile at New Year’s, Damian’s curse, the timing of the attack, the Russians, the way Viktor left the hospital that night, the complete lack of grief.
My fingers start shaking where they’re still pinned above my head, overwhelmed and trembling against his grip.
No.
No. Viktor didn’t. He wouldn’t. No.
The realization crashes over me like a bad hit into the boards, knocking the air out of my lungs. My chest tightens, panic spiking sharp and ugly in a completely different direction now. Not because I crossed a line by asking — but because the answer might actually be yes.
Did I fall in love with a murderer?
Did Vik actually kill his father?
What?
No. This isn’t possible. I’m having a nightmare.
It’s not real. None of this is real. The room feels too bright, too loud, even though it’s completely silent except for our breathing.
My heart is hammering so hard it hurts. I can feel myself spiraling, thoughts fracturing and spinning faster and faster.
“Vik…” My voice comes out small and cracked, barely above a whisper.
“Tell me you didn’t. Please. Tell me it’s not— you didn’t actually— I can’t— this isn’t— fuck, I’m losing it, this can’t be real, you’re not— you’re not a— please say something, please tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m just being paranoid again, tell me it was really just vodka, please—”
I’m panicking harder now, breath coming too fast, eyes wide and glassy as I stare up at him.
He’s still buried deep inside me, thick and overwhelming, but the sex feels distant now, drowned out by the roaring in my head.
My fingers keep shaking in his grip. The man I love — the man who holds me like I’m something precious, who puts my piercing back in after every game, who looks at me like I hung the moon — might have killed his own father.
“Cole,” Viktor tries, but I can’t hear him over the roaring in my head.
I start pulling myself from under him, scooting up the bed in a frantic scramble, kicking my legs weakly until he slips out of me with a wet sound that would be obscene any other time.
The sudden emptiness makes me whimper, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop. My back hits the headboard and I curl in on myself, arms wrapped around my knees, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
“No… No… You didn’t. Please. Viktor please!
Tell me you did not!” I shout, voice cracking and rising into something broken and terrified.
Tears are suddenly pouring down my face, hot and messy, and I can’t stop them.
“You didn’t kill him, right? You couldn’t have— you’re not— you’re my Viktor, you’re the one who holds me when I’m hurt and puts my piercing back in and makes me mac and cheese when I’m spiraling, you’re not a— not a murderer, please tell me I’m wrong, tell me it was really just the vodka, tell me I’m being crazy, please, Vik, please—”
Viktor moves toward me slowly, careful, like I’m a wounded animal ready to bolt. “Soroka, breathe. Look at me. I’m right here.”
But I can’t. The panic is spiraling harder, words tumbling out faster and louder between sobs.
“He touched me and then he was dead and you left the hospital and you smiled— I saw you smile when the news came on, and Damian cursed like he knew, and the timing, oh god the timing— you did it for me, didn’t you?
You killed your own father because of me?
What the fuck, Vik, what the fuck— I made you a murderer, I did this, I—”
My voice breaks into ugly, heaving sobs.
I’m rocking slightly, arms tight around my knees, tears streaming down my face as the weight of it all crashes down.
The man I love — the man I would die for — might have killed for me.
And instead of horror or fear, part of me feels grateful and that makes it so much worse.
Viktor reaches for me again soothingly. “Cole. Breathe with me. In and out. You are safe. I am here. Nothing is going to change that.”
But I shake my head hard, crying harder.
“No, no, no— don’t touch me right now, I can’t— I don’t know who you are anymore, I love you so much and you— you did that for me and I don’t know how to feel, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry I made you do that, please tell me I’m wrong, please, Vik, please—”
The panic keeps building, louder and uglier, until I’m gasping between sobs, the room blurring through my tears.
Viktor goes completely still.
I last three breaths before I break, reaching for him with my good hand and fisting it in his shirt. “Don’t leave. Just… make it stop.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “You want me to hold you?”
I nod.
His hand shoots out and grabs my ankle, yanking me back down the bed in one sharp, powerful pull.
I yelp as my back hits the mattress again, and suddenly he’s on top of me, pinning me down with his full weight, one big hand wrapping around both my wrists above my head, the other cupping my jaw hard enough to make me focus.
“Listen to me, little bird,” he growls. His eyes are dark, burning into mine with that terrifying intensity I both love and fear. “You did not make me anything other than madly in love with you. It really was vodka. Sort of.”
Before I can spiral again he crashes his mouth against mine — hard, demanding, almost punishing.
The kiss is violent in its possessiveness, tongue invading, teeth nipping at my lip, like he’s trying to kiss the panic right out of me.
I whimper into it, body arching under him, still shaking but starting to ground.
He pulls back just enough to speak against my lips, voice rough and commanding.
“Breathe. Stop. You are mine. I am yours. That is all that matters.” Another brutal kiss, deep and claiming, his hips are pressing me down into the mattress so I can feel every inch of him.
“He touched what was mine. He sent people to hurt you. I made sure he could never do it again. That is all you need to know.”
I’m still crying, tears slipping down my temples, but the panic is fracturing under the sheer force of him — his weight, his voice, his mouth. He kisses me again, fiercer this time, like he’s pouring every ounce of love and violence into it.
“You did not make me a monster, Cole. I already was one. You just gave me something worth protecting.” His hand tightens, thumb pressing into my cheek. “Now stop spiraling. You are safe. I am here. And I am never letting you go.”
He kisses me again, slower but no less fierce, grinding against me until my sobs start turning into shaky, overwhelmed moans.
But another thought crashes into me like a freight train, even more terrifying than the first.
The cops.
“No— no, the police, they’ll figure it out, they’ll come for you, they’ll take you away from me—” My voice cracks into a fresh wave of panic, louder and more desperate than before.
“I can’t lose you, Vik, I can’t— what if they investigate, what if someone saw, what if— please, I can’t do this without you, don’t let them take you, please—”
Words tumble out faster, sobs turning ugly and heaving. Viktor tries — god, he tries — murmuring more reassurances, kissing me, holding me tighter, but the fear is too big now. Losing him is worse than anything. Worse than him being a murderer. Worse than anything I can imagine.
When words stop working, Viktor makes a low, frustrated sound in his throat. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabs the lube, and coats himself quickly. Then he slams inside me in one brutal, perfect thrust.
I cry out sharply, the sudden stretch and burn punching the air out of my lungs. The overwhelming fullness shocks me into silence for half a second.
“Do you feel me, magpie?” Viktor growls as he pulls back and thrusts in again, hard enough to make the bed creak. “I am right the fuck here.”
Another punishing thrust. I whine loudly, tears streaming down my face so heavily I can barely see him anymore.
“Nobody is taking me from you.”
Thrust.
“I didn’t touch him.”
Thrust.
Each sentence is punctuated by a deep, claiming drive of his hips, fucking the panic right out of me. I’m crying so hard I’m shaking, sobs mixing with broken moans as he keeps moving. My hands scramble for purchase on his back, nails digging in as I cling to him like he might disappear.
A few more hard, punishing thrusts and I start to break — the panic fracturing under the overwhelming feeling of him inside me. I sniffle hard, tears still streaming but slower now.
Viktor’s thumb wipes gently at my wet cheeks, almost tender, while his other hand wraps around my throat to remind me who I belong to.
“Wait… how did you not touch him?” I suddenly frown, confusion cutting through the haze as another thrust makes me whimper.