56. Lourdes
Lourdes
Istretch my back, tight from sitting in front of the computer for the last couple of hours. The cursor blinks as I stare at the email on my screen, rereading the last sentence I’ve typed:
I regret that I’m unavailable for in-person meetings at this time, but I would be happy to review all materials remotely.
I sigh, hit send, and immediately pull up the next message, already knowing how it will be another copy–paste reply before I even read the subject line: A request for a luncheon. A board introduction. A site visit.
All things I’m important enough to attend as Mrs. Ares Zervas. All things I can’t do because I’m Mrs. Ares Zervas with a sister who’s being hunted by the Bratva.
“I can’t leave this penthouse,” I mutter under my breath, the words tasting bitter and small in the elegant office Ares gave me.
My home now.
My prison. These same irritatingly familiar walls, marble floors, and rows of windows remind me I have not stepped outside for five days.
Ares asked me to work remotely for my protection. He and Daria have been tracking Kirill Volkov.
Five days of guards rotating through shifts.
Five days of trying not to think about the last seven guards lying dead on the floor while fireworks exploded overhead. Because of me. Because of Sandrine.
For five days, I’ve not seen my sister.
My fingers press harder into the keys than necessary as I begin typing another response, the rhythm sharp, almost punishing.
“I’m available to review—” My fingers stop and hover at the sound of the front door to the penthouse opening.
It cuts through the silence like a blade.
The sound of Ares’s footsteps heading to the office and the rhythm of his powerful gait make me put my head down. I resist getting up to greet him, running into his arms as I think he wants me to. Instead, I finish the email and hit send.
When I sense him in the doorway to the office, I close my eyes and shut the laptop. Not quickly. Not to make him think I’m stealing money again for another escape.
There’s nowhere to escape now.
Despite being trapped, my feelings for Ares are real. When I see him, excitement sizzles through me. I hate myself for how attracted I am to him.
“Hi,” I say and finally look at him, knowing I won’t stay mad at him. “What happened at the auction?”
His suit jacket is still on, tie knotted at his throat, he runs a hand through his hair. His expression is composed, as always, but his eyes are dark when they land on me. My chest tightens painfully with worry.
“It’s handled,” he mutters.
“What’s handled?”
“I have to get to Club Wicked early tonight.” He turns and leaves the office.
Oh no, you don’t…
I push away from the desk and chase after him.
He moves differently, arms not swinging as he walks. They’re almost pinned to his sides. His hands are balled into fists. This isn’t the confident swagger I’m used to seeing.
When I get into the bedroom, I’m filled with the familiar sensation that it always feels smaller when he’s in it, like the air moves differently around him.
He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair before disappearing into his closet.
I look at the jacket, tempted to bury my face in it and smell him. His cologne drives me insane.
I don’t. I step into his closet and watch him loosen his cufflinks, then drop them onto a tray.
Clink. Clink.
“That’s it?” I ask, my voice tighter now. “It’s handled?”
He doesn’t look at me at first. He moves with deliberate calm, sliding open drawers, selecting a new tie, then unknotting the one around his neck with steady fingers. “Yes.”
“Just like that?” I step further into his domain. “Kirill Volkov killed your guards, you ambushed him at an auction, and all you have to tell me is it’s handled? I’ve been worried sick!”
His gaze lifts immediately.
“Kirill understands it’s pointless to go against me,” he says evenly. “As well as the consequences of doing so.”
“And you think that he’s just going to walk away?” I demand, my voice rising despite myself.
Ares faces me fully, a new shirt hanging open, the planes of his abs on display. “You’re safe. And Sandrine is too. I called her detail myself once when I left Kirill and again before I got here. There’s no sign of him.”
“And what about me?” I splay my hands out. “I’ve been locked up here. Sending emails to all the people you elevated me to. Declining invites and making excuses to them.”
Tone measured and controlled again, he says, “You can resume your schedule. With your guards.”
I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “So, nothing really changes.”
“I gave you guards before we knew of the Volkov threat. You need protection because of me. Not him!” His sharp tone is the only warning I get before he sweeps his arm across his dresser, and everything goes flying.
Triggered, I step back, knocking into the back of the door. “Ouch.”
Ares looks up and sees me rubbing my head. Immediately, he knows what happened.
“Lourdes, little storm. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
I try so hard to see all of this from his side. He didn’t ask for this. I come with this complication. Sandrine isn’t just a disabled sister who needs care. She’s Kirill Volkov’s missing fiancée.
“I’m fine,” I say quietly and then move toward him.
He stands still, his arms pinned to his side.
I slip my arms around his waist and hug him. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome.” He releases me and bends to pick up the mess he made.
I want to help him, but that’s not how Ares operates. And I’m too tired to argue with the God of War. This is my life now. Decisions made around me. For me.
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, and he adjusts a new cufflink. “You should go see your sister tomorrow.”
The change of subject catches me off guard. “Really, I can?”
“It’s safe,” he says. “Kirill doesn’t know where she is. And I made it clear I won’t give her up to him.” His gaze holds mine. “You can visit her.”
The breath leaves me in a rush. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place. You stubborn man.” I grab a belt and snap it across his backside.
Fire burns in his eyes. “Woman, that will get you pushed up against the wall and fucked.”
I squeeze the belt, the leather warm in my hand as he watches me for a second longer.
Move Lourdes. Do something.
When I do nothing, disappointment passes through his expression, and then, he turns away and reaches for his jacket.
“I’ll be home late,” he says with the same drawl he does most nights. Work doesn’t stop. War doesn’t stop. Nothing stops.
He slides into his jacket, smooth and composed once more, the man the world sees snapping back into place like armor.
I stand there, watching him, feeling the distance settle between us again despite everything that’s been said. All he’s done for me.
God, what is wrong with me?
He moves toward the door, and my heart drops. That he’s just going to leave me here again.
Don’t go. Stay home with me. I… I need you.
The words form in my mind like an echo. I jog to the living room and watch him near the front door, his new guards already lined up and ready to follow him.
“Ares, don’t you dare leave this penthouse,” I call out before I can talk myself out of it.
He stops and turns back to me. His gaze drags over me slowly, deliberately, like he’s seeing me again for the first time. Like that night at Winterhall.
“Stay home tonight. With me,” I say.
“Why, little storm? Use your words.”
“We haven’t made love since the night of our wedding.” I look down and realize I’m still holding the belt. Fisting it, I add, “I miss you. That way.”
“All right.” He unbuttons his coat and stalks toward me, his eyes trailing down my body. “Give me that belt. Get in our bedroom and take off your dress.”