Chapter 13
NALA
"There’s blood on you. What happened?"
I’m in front of Roman, panicking as I take in the dark red splatters on his jacket and along his neck. Did someone shoot him? That can’t be, he wouldn’t be standing if they had.
"Are you hurt?" I reach for him without thinking, my fingers brushing his hairline, skimming down his face.
“It’s not my blood,” he says quietly.
His eyes flicker and for the briefest moment, he leans into my touch.
"Whose is it? Are you sure none of it’s yours?”
"I'm sure."
I drop my hand, panic returning. “Oh no. Did your father find out about me? That you took me?”
“No. Nothing like that.” He takes a step back, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s the Albanian from your reading. Arben. I found him and his brother."
"You killed them?"
“Arben,” he says, his tone even, no emotion. “I took care of him. I had help with his brother and the others.”
“Others?” I frown. “Roman, what did you do?”
“We found the place you described. I didn’t have a lot of time.” His face hardens. “I had to slit his throat to keep him quiet. He would’ve warned the others my men were coming.”
My stomach twists at the image. This is my new world, I remind myself. I suck in a breath and touch the front of his jacket, whispering, “There’s so much blood.”
“I need to burn it,” he says, his gaze going toward the kitchen.
“I’ll get a bag.”
I hurry to the kitchen, hands shaking as I rummage under the sink until I find a large garbage bag.
When I come back, he’s already out of the jacket.
Roman watches me with one brow raised as I hold out the bag.
He drops the blood-stained jacket inside, takes it from me, ties it off and sets it near the door.
"Won't the police have questions about Arben and the others disappearing?”
"Why would they? What’s there to report? No bodies. No witnesses. No crime. Maybe Arben and his friends got tired of the cold and went home. Albania’s a warmer country. Wouldn’t blame them.”
"Roman, be serious. What if they investigate anyway?"
He shrugs. "Moscow doesn’t waste time on missing drug dealers. There’s nothing to investigate.”
"What about your father?" I whisper, almost afraid to say it out loud. "He has that alliance with them. Won't he be upset about the killings and suspect you again?"
Roman’s mouth curves, faint and amused. "Maybe.”
“You’re not worried?”
“No.” He doesn’t hesitate to add, “he’ll know this was me and I won’t deny it.
He won’t do a damn thing. He gave away Dimitri’s territory.
Fine, he gets away with that. But to go against me and three other bratki over these deaths.
He can’t. It would make him look weak, like the traitor he already is.
Even his own council wouldn’t back him.”
“We’re safe?"
"Yes."
His answer makes me feel better, but it doesn’t erase the image of him walking through that door covered in blood. It could’ve been different. That blood could’ve been his.
"Are you really okay?” I ask, my eyes scanning his face and neck, like maybe he missed something. “You're absolutely sure?”
"I'm sure,” he answers, inching closer. Ever so slowly, his hand rises, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek. The touch is so light, so brief I almost think I imagined it. "I’m going to shower. I'll be back."
“Okay,” I whisper, fighting the urge to reach for him.
He disappears into the bathroom. I sink onto the couch, letting out a loud breath.
I just helped him discard a jacket with a dead man’s blood.
I cover my mouth with my hands, letting the events soak in.
I’d known for years that my readings led to deaths.
I just never saw it up close. Actual blood, the proof of what my gift does.
It should bother me more than it does. The sickening nausea in my gut isn’t for the men who died.
It’s for Roman, seeing him like that, knowing the world he walks in.
That there are people who would love to seek revenge against him or just plain hurt him and one day he might not walk through that door. Or any door.
It destroys me.
Soon after, he comes back out, his hair damp and pushed back from his face. There’s no trace of the man who just murdered someone. He drops onto the couch next to me, so close our knees touch.
“You’re still worried.”
I try not to analyze this, that this is the closest he’s ever sat next to me.
“I know what you do,” I start,” my voice shaking with emotion.
“I saw it when I read that watch. I know this sounds awful, but I accept what you feel you have to do to keep your control and power. It’s just…
seeing you earlier, with the blood.” My throat feels tight and lumpy.
“It made me realize how dangerous all of this is. I keep thinking, what if it was your blood and someone did that to you.”
He’s quiet like I’ve caught him off guard. Maybe I have. Maybe I care too much about him when I’m not supposed to. It could be that Roman wouldn’t even care if something happened to me.
"I don’t want you upset because of this.
” He runs a hand along his jaw, slowing as if he’s struggling to find the right words.
“I know what this is. I know what can happen every time I go out. I don’t think about it.
I can’t. This is how I live; there’s no other way.
If I die, someone else will take my place. ”
“Roman…”
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “I know what I’m doing, Nala. I brought you here and I told you I’d make sure you’re safe. I didn’t forget. I can’t do that if I’m not careful. I’m always careful. Okay?”
I nod. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
He turns so we’re facing each other, his eyes searching mine. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he lets out a short breath. “You don't need to worry about me.”
Roman tilts his head to the side like he’s deciding something. His lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile and his thumb lifts my chin. “Moya pchyolka. I know I have to come back to you. I’m the only person you have.”
My breath stops. The world stops. I’m hyperaware of every movement, the sound of our breathing. His scent. His eyes on me. My skin feels like it’s on fire again.
His hand cups my cheek, caressing it while murmuring something in Russian I don’t understand. Still, the way he says it sounds and feels tender. I imagine it’s something sweet he’s telling me.
Then I hear my name. “Nala. Pchyolka.”
I don’t know who leans in first. All I know is, his lips crash against mine, warm and firm, commanding like he’s claiming what belongs to him.
He pulls back to look at me. My lips tingle.
I trace them with my finger, still feeling him there.
He dips back in, kissing me again, deeper this time before stopping again, studying my face like he’s in awe of whatever he sees.
My heart races so fast I feel lightheaded. I stare up at him, my eyes wide and I know he can see it written all over my face, how much I like this. How badly I want more. I want everything.
His blue eyes darken. His jaw tightens and his hand on my chin grips me harder.
He’s kissing me again and it’s more intense. I follow his lead, trying to match his movements, learn the rhythm and pressure of his mouth on mine.
His tongue glides slowly along my bottom lip. Then his mouth leaves mine, traveling down my jaw, my throat and my neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there.
Pleasure hits me instantly, dizzying and shooting straight between my legs. I didn't know kissing could do this. Or make my body ache like this.
In one smooth motion, he pulls me onto his lap. My legs fall open, spreading wide around his thighs, my body pressed against his. His arms lock around my hips, holding me there, so close I can feel his hardness between us.
His cock.
It’s hard and thick, pushing against his pants and pressing insistently against me. Without thinking, I rock my hips into him, the feeling unbelievable.
Roman tightens his grip, helping me to grind up and down on him.
Each stroke of friction makes the ache inside my pussy build, hotter and more desperate.
A rough sound rips from his throat. He growls as one hand leaves my hips to close over my breast through my shirt.
My head falls back as I grind harder, feeling him getting bigger.
Every time I rock my pussy against him, his cock presses more against me.
Sparks of pleasure shoot through my body.
“Roman, “I moan, not even sure what I’m asking for, only that I need him to know how good this feels.
He mutters something harsh in Russian, low and guttural, the tone making my skin burn.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Rub your little cunt on me.”
My body understands immediately. I grind down harder, rubbing myself against that rigid length beneath me. The friction sends white hot heat flooding through me, wetness soaks my panties, and my leggings, making everything slick, hot and sensitive.
I want more, so desperate for relief from this unbearable ache.
"Take this off,” he orders, fingers brushing the hem of my shirt.
I don’t hesitate, pulling it over my head, letting it fall to the floor somewhere behind me. He reaches behind, unhooking my bra, peeling it away until my breasts spill free—heavy and full, swaying as I rub my pussy on him.
My nipples ache, hard and sensitive. Roman goes still. I look down and find his gaze locked on my chest. He looks up at me slowly, then drags his finger over one nipple. “So beautiful,” he groans. “I’ve been dying to see them like this."
He cups both breasts, his palms rough as he squeezes them, rolling my nipples between his fingers. I cry out, clutching his shoulders as he lowers his head and closes his mouth around one nipple.
“Oh God.”
My body shudders violently. I can’t think. I didn’t know this was possible, that this kind of pleasure existed. I lace my fingers through his hair, moaning and writhing on his lap while he sucks my breast.
"Don't stop,” I plead. “Please don't stop. Please."
He doesn't.
His mouth works my nipple, sucking so hard it borders on pain. Roman bites gently, then soothes it with his tongue. I rock desperately against him, moaning and whimpering, making sounds I've never made before.
He moves to my other breast, giving it the same attention. His tongue circles my nipple before he pulls it into his mouth and sucks. I hold his head there with both hands, my hips frantic now, out of control.
His hand slides down between us, cupping me through my leggings, right where I'm soaking wet and aching. He presses hard and I nearly scream, my whole body jerking against his hand.
"You’re soaked," he rasps against my breast. “Lie back, Nala. I need to see how wet this pussy actually is.”
He pushes me back onto the couch, his mouth leaving my breast and his hands going to my leggings.
He hooks two fingers into my waistband, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my stomach.
He starts pulling them down over my hips and down my thighs.
I lift my hips to help him, wanting them off, wanting him to see how much I want him and how badly I want whatever he’s about to do with me.
He gets them halfway down. Then his movements slow, stopping altogether.
I look at his face and my stomach fills with dread.
He no longer has that wild hungry look in his eyes.
His jaw is clenched and his body rigid. He mutters something in Russian, harsh and angry, not sweet like before.
I don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe he saw something, a scar, one of the many faint lines from Grigori’s belt buckle.
I thought most of them faded enough to not be so obvious. I hate this.
“Roman?” I whisper. “Is it the sc—”
"This isn't happening," he snaps, tearing his hand away from me. My mind blanks as he jerks back, no longer touching me. I search his face, my chest hurting and my stomach dropping. What did I do wrong? Why won’t he tell me?
“I don’t understand.”
He won’t look at me. He shoves a hand through his hair, turning away from my naked breasts, avoiding even looking at my face.
“Roman, wait.”
He shakes his head already moving to the door like he can’t get away fast enough. "I have to go."
He opens the door, leaving without even letting me know if he’d be back.