46. Wolff #2
I close my eyes and breathe her in like I’ve been starving for it.
Her scent clings to my skin, citrus and soft vanilla, settling in the back of my throat and somewhere deep between my ribs—something I’ve missed more than I want to admit.
I hate myself for being weak. But right now, with her in my arms, I can’t make myself care.
Her fingers drift lazily over my chest, tracing nothing patterns into my skin while her breathing finally evens out.
“I wasn’t actually going to do the Hunt,” she says after a while, reaching over me to grab the cheap wolf mask Graves handed me earlier.
She dangles it for a second, then tosses it onto the floor with a soft snort.
“I hate being scared like that. I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything for a few hours.”
“That’s your plan now? Blackout and hope for the best?”
“Something like that. It’s worked terribly so far, but now I’m committed.”
I huff out something that almost sounds like a laugh, and she glances up at me.
“There’s that thing you do.”
My eyes narrow. “What thing?”
“You make that face, like being around me is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, and then every once in a while, you accidentally act like a person.”
The words land somewhere I don’t let people reach. Her fingers keep tracing slow patterns against my skin, and I keep staring at the ceiling like that’ll stop me from noticing how good she feels curled against me.
“Do you ever think about Russia?” she asks quietly.
My heart stutters. “What kind of question is that?”
“A yes-or-no one.” She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with her hair spilling over one shoulder, mascara smudged under her eyes. She’s still drunk and high.
“Do you think about it?” she asks again. “About what happened? About us being there?”
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “Yeah,” I admit finally. “I think about it.”
“Every day?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
“I do too…” she whispers. “But not always the worst parts, which is probably fucked up. Just…stupid things.”
Stupid things.
I can’t imagine there being anything stupid worth remembering about Russia.
“Like what?” I can’t help but ask.
She traces the line of one of my scars with her fingertip. My skin tightens beneath the touch. “You getting pissed off every time I wouldn’t listen to you.”
“You were a pain in my ass the entire time.”
“I know. It’s one of my better qualities. I also think about how much you hated when I talked.”
“I still hate when you talk.”
“No, you don’t.” She smiles, completely unbothered. “And you got this look on your face every time I woke up and started asking questions.”
I did. I just didn’t realize she’d been paying attention.
“You asked too many questions.”
“I was trapped with a terrifying man who barely spoke. Of course I asked questions.”
I exhale sharply. “That’s what you remember about Russia?”
“Not the only thing.” Her hair falls over her eyes, and my fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. “I remember the way you smelled.”
I frown. “I smelled like shit most of the time.”
“No, you didn’t. You smelled like campfire and that pine soap in the safehouse.” Her voice gets softer. “And I think about the first time you held me…like you didn’t hate touching me.”
Something twists hard beneath my ribs. “You shouldn’t think about that shit.”
“Why not?” She sighs, her eyelids growing heavier as the alcohol settles in. “It’s the only thing I like thinking about.” Her fingertip lazily traces the outline of the Sovereign branding on my chest. “It helps me fall asleep.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. Instead of sleeping under my bed.”
“AJ. You still sleep under your bed?”
Her fingers still.
She doesn’t answer right away. “…Sometimes,” she admits quietly.
My chest tightens. “Sometimes?”
She nods against my shoulder, not meeting my eyes. “But…not when I’m next to you.” She bites her lip.
Damn. I want to kiss her.
She lets out a sleepy sigh, her head settling back against me. “David’s making me get my IUD removed.”
I go completely still. “What?”
“He wants kids. Soon.”
Rage barrels through my veins, a dark heat crawling up the back of my neck. “And you—”
“I don’t want kids, Wolff. Ever.”
I don’t want kids either…
I run my hand through her hair before I can stop myself, fingers catching in the strands at the nape of her neck.
I don’t say anything else, because what the fuck can I say?
She’s not mine. I never wanted her to be.
But the thought of her pregnant with David’s kid makes me want to put a bullet in his skull.
She shifts. “Why do you keep coming back?”
I don’t fucking know.
“Because I’m stupid.”
She shakes her head slightly. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Wolff.”
“What do you want me to say, AJ?”
“The truth.”
The truth is, I don’t sleep when I don’t know where you are.
The truth is, I can’t stop seeing you on that fucking stage.
The truth is, every time I decide I’m done with this, I end up right back here with my cock inside you.
“That is the truth.”
She studies me for a long moment, then lets herself melt back against my chest. As I run my hand through her hair again, a dull ache punches through my sternum.
I hate this. Hate her. Hate myself for not being able to stay away.
“You lied to me,” she mumbles into my skin. “About solnyshko. You told me it meant brat. But Graves told me what it really means.”
My lungs pull tight around the next breath. “Graves needs to learn to shut the fuck up.”
“Do you mean it…when you call me your sunshine?” Her head tilts up against me, eyes searching mine like she’s still looking for something worth saving.
Don’t look at me like that.
I fucking broke you.
I’m the reason you’re trying to kill yourself every fucking day. Every pill, every bottle, every bastard you let use you—that’s on me. I’m not your hero. I’m the monster who made sure you’d never be whole again.
I force myself to look away.
Her hand slides up to my jaw, gently turning my face back to hers. “Wolff.”
I can’t give her this. I can’t pretend there’s anything good left in me. I’m the reason good things rot.
“If we could be together…would you want to?”
I don’t answer. Because we can’t. And I can’t let myself want it.
I tighten my hold on her. “Get some sleep. I’ll take you home in a few hours.”
She sighs once more and rests her head back on my chest. I keep my eyes locked on the ceiling. Because if I look at her again, I might start wanting things…a future. A home. Her.
Things I can never fucking have.
You don’t chain the sun to someone like me.