10. Wolff
“What was all the commotion?” Savva asks as I step into the kitchen.
Of course he heard. The whole damn cabin heard.
I grab a glass, filling it from the tap. My fingers lock tight around the rim. I don’t look at him, but I feel his stare searing into my spine anyway.
“Why did the Sovereign really send you on this mission? Surely, they have assassins less—”
“Less what?” I lift the glass and glare at him over the rim.
“Less you.”
I take a slow drink, swallowing the urge to crush the glass in my fist and open his throat with the shards.
“I was in the area.”
“Bullshit. You’re never just in the area. Not in this frozen shithole. So why the fuck would they send you on a rescue?”
“None of your fucking business.” Tension grips my shoulders as I set the glass down. “Christ, Savva. Do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“I’ve known you ten years, da.” His accent thickens. “That should earn me something.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“I know you’re a cold motherfucker, K9.” He snorts. “I know your brain is fucked. Not normal.”
Knife block. Eight inches to my right.
“Even now,” he says, nodding at my hand, “you’re standing there figuring out how fast you could put me down if I keep pissing you off.”
His Glock is tucked under that hoodie at an awkward angle. He’d need a second that he doesn’t have to clear the fabric. If he lunges, I’ll take the inside of his arm first. Sever the artery. Watch him bleed out on the floor while I step over him.
Six seconds. Maybe five if I’m mad enough.
“You’re always three steps ahead. Always hunting. That’s why rich bastards paid good money for you before the Sovereign got you.”
Down the hall, a floorboard creaks. My head snaps toward it before I can stop myself.
His eyes cut back to me.
Perfect. Exactly the reaction I didn’t want to give him.
My nerves are fucking shot. My mind is running through too many things at once—distance, weak points, weather shifts, fuel levels, the truck’s clearance in snow, Savva’s men I don’t fucking trust, how many hours of daylight we have left, how many bullets I have loaded.
A sound down the hall shouldn’t pull my focus more than a weapon in the room. And that pisses me off more than any of the dumb shit coming out of his mouth.
Savva shakes his head. “I just hope you know what the fuck you’re doing. Because you? You’re not built for saving.” He reaches for a cigarette.
“Get the truck. We leave tonight. Have your guys watch the perimeter. Anyone lingering longer than five minutes gets a bullet in the fucking skull.”
His smirk fades a fraction. “See? Fucked.”
“Do your goddamn job.”
He mutters in Russian as he walks to the door, yanking on his coat and disappearing outside. The cold sweeps into the cabin, the fire doing little to fight it. Snow has started falling again. We need to leave soon if we want to beat the next storm.
I turn when I hear her in the hall.
She stops in the doorway, barefoot, arms crossed tight over her small chest. One eye is already darkening, purple spreading beneath the skin. Dried blood colors the corner of her mouth.
Her hair is uneven where she hacked at it, jagged and too black for her skin tone. It drains what little color she has left, making her look closer to death than she already is.
“You’re a fucking prick,” she spits.
I take another sip of water.
“You could’ve warned me.” Eyes searing into mine, she steps closer. “You could’ve explained. But no. You just punch me in the face like a goddamn psychopath. Who the hell does that?”
Her fists shake at her sides.
I step around her and walk into the bedroom, starting to pack what matters. Weapons first. Then the rest.
“Did that make you feel big?” she presses behind me. “Hitting me?”
I slide another gun into the duffel. Spare magazines. A knife.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.” She reaches for my shoulder. My entire body locks up the second her fingers brush me.
I whirl on her so fast that she stumbles back. “You should be thanking me.” As I step closer, her chin tilts up, trying to hold my stare. “You’ll have a better shot at surviving now.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
Maybe.
I sling the bag over my shoulder. “Pack your shit. We leave in a few hours.”
She laughs. “Pack what? I don’t have anything. I don’t even know where we are. You won’t let me call anyone.”
I move past her. The thought of a long drive in close quarters with her already has my nerves on edge. Hours trapped in a truck with her breathing, her questions, her fucking presence. I’m already dreading it.
“You don’t get to make every decision, Wolff. You don’t get to control everything.” She shouts behind me.
I stop at the door, hand on the frame.
“You’re alive because of my decisions.”
She inhales sharply. “I want to call my brother. I want to hear his voice. I want—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”
Her mouth falls open. “You can’t just—”
“You don’t get phone calls. You don’t get coddled. And you sure as hell don’t get to run your fucking mouth like you didn’t just beg a stranger to rape you and then try to kill yourself in a blizzard.”
Her face drains, then burns red. “You’re such a bastard. You are not a—”
“I am not your fucking hero.” I step into her space. “I’m not your knight. I’m not here to make you feel safe. I don’t give a shit about your feelings. I’m here to keep you alive.”
She looks like she wants to throw something. Or cry. Or both.
Stepping back, I turn and walk out. “Shut your fucking mouth and stop wasting my damn time.”
I don’t care what she thinks. I don’t care if she hates me. I’m not built for being liked. I’m built for survival. And she’s still breathing. That’s enough.
Tears burn behind my eyes as I yank a heavy coat off the hook by the door and stomp outside. I need to get away from him. From everything. I slide down the wall of the porch, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth.
The sun is setting, casting long, jagged shadows over the snow. I sit there, welcoming the numbness of the cold. If I stay out here long enough, maybe I won’t feel anything at all.
A small scuffle and a whimper break the silence.
I glance down to find one of the puppies pawing at my coat, his big brown eyes locked onto mine.
“Hi there.”
His tail wags, and when I reach out, he licks my fingers. I scoop him up, pressing his tiny body against my chest. He’s trembling and cold, just like me.
I carry him inside, settling in front of the fire, my fingers stroking through his matted fur. He curls into my lap, his small body warm and fragile. I need this. I need something good, something pure, something that isn’t pain and emptiness.
Wolff enters the room and sits at a table covered in weapons. I don’t look at him.
“Put that thing outside and eat.”
I tighten my arms around the puppy. “No. He’s not going back out there. He needs a home.” I stand, barely steady. “He’s coming with us.”
Metal clicks as Wolff sets down the gun he’s cleaning. When I finally look at him, his expression is unreadable. His green eyes flick to mine for half a second before dropping again.
“No.”
“Please. I can’t leave him out there. He’ll die.”
“Puppies draw attention. Attention gets us killed.”
The puppy whines into my shirt, proving his point.
“Please,” I whisper. I hate how it sounds. “I need him. Just… I need something…good.”
He ignores me, picking up his gun like the conversation is over.
“You’re such an asshole. It wouldn’t kill you to be kind for once.”
He wipes the barrel down. Doesn’t bother to look at me.
“I’ll run.” My mind scrambles with grief, rage, and shame. “If you make me leave him, I’ll run. I’ll fucking run and—”
He doesn’t look up.
Not at first.
When he finally does, it’s a slow lift of his eyes.
“No. You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
He sets the gun down again and rises this time, closing the distance between us. He stops close enough that I feel the heat coming off his jacket.
“You won’t make it twenty feet. Your legs shake when you stand. You get dizzy walking across the room. You think you’re outrunning me?”
I swallow past a lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to pretend to be fucking patient anymore.”
“You can’t—”
“I can do whatever the hell I want. I’m the only reason you’re not dead. Or worse. Don’t forget that. You run? Fine. I’ll drag you back by whatever I get my hands on. And trust me, it’ll be a lot fucking worse than a few punches to the face.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be terrified.”
The puppy scrambles from my arms and scratches at the door, whining to get out. Clearly smarter than me.
“And for the record?” he says, turning away. “If you run because of a fucking dog, you deserve what happens when I catch you.”
The words gut me.
I stand there, my hands shaking, my body buzzing with rage and hurt. My vision blurs, hot tears spilling down my cheeks before I can stop them.
I storm down the hall, slamming the door behind me.
Sliding to the floor, I press my back against the wall, burying my face in my hands. The puppy’s cries grow faint as the front door is opened and closed.