32. Wolff
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I force my attention back to the hallway beyond the cracked door, listening past the pounding in my own head. Voices echo somewhere deeper in the terminal. Radios crackling. No alarms yet, but that won’t last once someone finds those bodies.
We need to move.
We need to get on that fucking ship.
And all I can smell is her.
My grip tightens around the handle hard enough that the metal creaks.
Focus.
Routes. Cameras. Guards at customs. Passenger flow. Exit points.
Not her. Not the way she sounded when she came. And definitely not the fact that I nearly lost my fucking mind when I bit her.
I stare into the dark hallway, forcing air into my lungs.
I have never wanted to mark someone before. Never wanted to put my mouth on someone and keep it there.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I flex my hand, trying to bleed the tension out before I snap something in half. My eyes cut back to her before I can stop myself.
She’s still leaning against the wall, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, trying to steady her breathing while looking at me with something in her eyes I don’t have the fucking room for right now.
I crack the door open farther, scanning the corridor again.
Two guards pass the far intersection without looking our way.
The terminal is shifting toward boarding traffic.
More movement. More noise. Easier to disappear in if I can get us through the next checkpoint without someone recognizing a face or flagging the passports.
I reach back without looking and grab AJ’s arm, pulling her toward me.
“Stay close. And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t fucking know.
We move fast, slipping out of the utility closet and into the flow of travelers, keeping our heads low, blending with a group of people heading toward the main boarding hall.
AJ stays pressed against my side the entire time. Close enough, I should feel it. Should want space. Distance. Less fucking contact.
Instead, all I can feel is the ghost of her pulse against my mouth and the way she sounded when I covered her lips to keep her quiet.
My eyes keep moving, tracking every armed guard stationed along the terminal, every security checkpoint, every camera rotation sweeping across the crowds.
Customs is backed up now, lines spilling into the corridors as boarding calls echo overhead in Russian.
Good. More bodies. More confusion. Easier to disappear.
Unless those dead soldiers were enough to lock this place down.
My jaw tightens.
Too many variables.
I steer us toward the far side of the terminal where the smaller docks sit beyond the main passenger lanes. The big civilian ships are the obvious choice.
I need something forgettable.
A smaller boat will add days to the trip. The cabin will be tighter. More time trapped with her.
Still better than getting caught.
I pull us behind a support column near one of the side exits and stop just long enough to reassess the terminal layout in my head.
Three turns.
Two checkpoints.
One blind spot near the loading corridor where the cameras overlap. AJ shifts beside me, glancing up with flushed cheeks and swollen lips that drag my attention for half a second longer than they should.
“What are you doing?”
I ignore the question, watching a pair of guards rotate positions near the south gate.
One limping slightly.
“Wolff—”
I cut her a look sharp enough to shut her up instantly.
I don’t have the patience. My head already feels overloaded, thoughts coming too fast—routes, exits, timing, the fact I haven’t slept properly in days, the ache ripping through my side every time I breathe too deeply.
And underneath all of it—
Her.
The way she keeps looking at me. Like she thinks what happened in that closet meant something beyond survival and bad fucking decisions.
My molars grind together.
Focus.
The second the next shift rotation starts, I move.
My hand locks around her wrist, and I pull her back into the crowd, fast enough that she nearly stumbles trying to keep up. We cut through a service corridor flooded with dockworkers and truck drivers instead of tourists.
The officer at this checkpoint barely looks alive, let alone alert. His eyes flick lazily over the passports before scanning them through.
One second.
Two.
My muscles tighten—
Stamp.
He gives us a bored wave forward.
I take the passports back without slowing and keep moving, dragging AJ with me toward the ticket counters while boarding announcements crackle overhead through blown speakers.
Everything smells of seawater, oil, rust, and cigarettes.
The woman behind the counter barely glances up while I buy passage on a cargo vessel heading north. Cargo ships have smaller crews and fewer passengers compared to overnight ferry liners.
The Nightshades don’t own Northern Europe the way they own Russia. Their reach weakens the farther north we go.
AJ presses closer beside me as people crowd tighter toward the boarding ramps, her fingers brushing against my coat every few steps. I ignore it. Ignore how easy it’s becoming not to recoil from her touch.
That realization sits in the back of my skull like a fucking migraine.
The cargo ship groans against the dock outside, with massive steel walls streaked with rust under the floodlights. My grip closes around AJ’s hand again as I pull her onto the loading ramp as cold, stinging wind cuts across the dock.
Almost there.
Almost fucking out.
I don’t breathe properly until the cabin door shuts behind us.
Locking it immediately, I check the handle twice before scanning the small room—vents, exits, blind spots, anything useful if someone tries to come through that door.
The cabin is small, with a queen bed and a cramped attached bathroom.
Two days on the water before Finland.
Two more days trapped inside this mess before I can hand her back and end this goddamn nightmare for good.
I slept like garbage, and I don’t think Wolff slept at all.
He sat in the chair by the door all night.
The ship is loud, and the engine rumbles through the floor.
All I could think about last night was that in a few days…
I’m going to be home. It should feel like a relief.
It should feel like…I don’t know…not like this.
I roll over in bed, staring at his back. He’s sitting exactly where he was last night. Still fully dressed. His shoulders look tight, posture like stone. Even now, he’s watching the door like he expects someone to kick it down.
The mattress is hard, the sheets scratchy against my skin, but the worst part is not knowing how to act after what happened yesterday.
Heat creeps up my neck just thinking about it.
In a fucking closet.
After he killed two people.
And I didn’t even care. I just wanted him to fuck me harder.
God, I don’t even know where to begin unpacking that. I sit up slowly, running a hand over my messy hair. I haven’t looked in a mirror since we got on this damn boat, but I can already tell I look rough.
“I’m hungry. Is there room service or something?” I push off the bed.
“The galley serves breakfast for the crew and passengers. Get dressed.”
I pull on my clothes and boots, smooth my hair, and follow him out, keeping close. The hallway is narrow, the metal walls making everything echo. Doors line both sides, but the only sound is the distant hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the ship shifting in the water.
When we get to the galley, it’s already packed. Passengers and crew, all grabbing coffee and plates of food. The smell hits me first—fried potatoes, eggs, toast.
My stomach growls.
We grab trays, moving through the line in silence. Wolff pours some coffee and chooses some kind of egg dish. I pile my plate with anything that looks like it might taste good.
I look up, watching him from the corner of my eye. His hair hangs loosely around his face. He stabs an egg with his fork and chews without really tasting it, eyes still scanning the room. Every once in a while, someone glances our way—a couple, some crew members—but no one stares for too long.
“Stop looking at me,” he mutters, not even glancing in my direction.
“Pretty sure I’m allowed to look at my husband.” I shove another bite into my mouth. “It’s what good wives do.”
He huffs quietly but doesn’t say anything. The couple at the next table talks loudly about the weather, something about a storm rolling in later. I don’t really listen. My mind keeps circling back to the same thoughts.
What happens when we get to Finland?
What happens when I go home?
Will he leave right away? I hadn’t thought about it before now. All I cared about was getting out of Russia. But with the end in sight, it’s starting to feel too real.
“Finish your food.” His voice pulls me back. “We’re going back to the cabin after this.”
I look down at my plate, suddenly not hungry anymore, before lifting my gaze to him. “What happens when we get to Finland?”
His fork pauses mid-air. “We get off the ship. You go home.”
“You’ll just…drop me off?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” I stab a potato, not sure why I feel so disappointed. “And then you’ll just go back to whatever you do. Sovereign stuff.”
He nods.
I bite my lip, trying to read his expression, but he’s giving me nothing. Just the same cold, unreadable face he always wears.
“Will I…uh…” I reluctantly shove another forkful into my mouth to stall. “Will…I ever see you again?”
Not even a twitch of his jaw. “Stop talking and eat.”
I sit there for a second, staring at my food, feeling something stupid and hollow open up in my chest. I didn’t expect a yes, but I thought maybe… I force the rest of my food down, trying not to let it show how much that answer stung.
Back in the room, steam billows under the bathroom door as Wolff showers. I sit on the bed, the gold wedding band catching the dull light, still feeling it wrapped around my finger.
I keep twisting it, rubbing my thumb over the metal.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It’s fake. I know that. But after everything—after the way he’s protected me, looked at me, touched me—it’s hard not to wonder if there’s more to it.
If he’s even capable of more.
A violent crack of thunder jolts me awake, the cabin shuddering hard enough that the walls creak around us. Rain lashes the small porthole beside the bed, water streaking across the glass in heavy sheets while the ship pitches beneath us, metal groaning somewhere deep below deck.
I sit up fast, heart hammering, damp hair sticking to my neck. The storm must’ve rolled in sometime after midnight. I don’t even remember falling asleep. My eyes immediately go to the chair by the door.
Empty.
My stomach sinks.
“Wolff?”
Something shifts beside me, and I snap my head toward the sound.
He’s sitting on the other side of the bed, back against the headboard, one knee bent, phone glowing faint blue in his hand. The light shines across the sharp angles of his face, catching the scar through his eyebrow while thunder rumbles again outside.
“Jesus.” I press a hand to my chest. “You scared me.”
His eyes flick toward me briefly before dropping back to the screen. I slowly lie back down, rolling onto my side so I can face him.
“What are you doing?” Not even a glance this time. My chest tightens a little more. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”
I study him anyway, trying not to stare and failing completely. One hand grips the phone while the other rests against his thigh, fingers flexing every few seconds like he’s trying to keep himself still.
He’s been weird since breakfast. Quieter than usual, somehow, which shouldn’t even be possible.
“Are you checking the news?”
Outside, thunder shakes the ship again. Somewhere down the hall, something crashes loudly enough to make me flinch.
“Wolff…talk to me. Please.”
I shift closer, craving warmth, attention—something. He still doesn’t look at me.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
A long sigh leaves him. “The weather’s slowing us down. We won’t reach Finland on schedule.”
“How much longer?”
“Day and a half.”
Another day and a half trapped in this tiny cabin. Another day and a half pretending this thing between us isn’t becoming real in my head.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, hating the stupid warmth that spreads through my chest every time he looks at me too long or lets me touch him without pulling away.
It’s pathetic. He’s protecting me because it’s his job.
That’s all this is. I’m the idiot turning scraps into something bigger because I’m so fucking desperate to matter to someone.
“Wolff…”
“What.”
I twist the blanket tighter between my fingers, suddenly wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Are we really not going to see each other after this?”
His thumb stills against the screen.
“I just…” I swallow hard, staring at the ceiling because I can’t look at him anymore. “I don’t know. I thought maybe…”
Maybe what?
That he’d stay?
That a man like Wolff would actually want someone like me once this was over? My throat burns. I’m so fucking stupid.
Men like him don’t want someone like me…a broken Servant who spreads her legs and begs for it even when she knows she’s nothing but a warm, used-up hole.
“You’ll go home. I’ll go back to my life.”
I blink hard against the sudden burn in my eyes. “Yeah.”
What did I honestly expect?
He protected me. Saved me. Held me through panic attacks. Let me touch him. But maybe I made the mistake of thinking any of it mattered outside of survival.
I roll onto my side and face the wall before he can see the tears gathering in my eyes. The rain keeps hammering the glass and the ship rocks harder.
But all I can think about is how fucking humiliating it is to want someone who was never going to keep me in the first place.