Chapter 12 Walk to Me #2
She stood up then, fast, face flushed and wet. “Why not? You killed him. What—Felix is off-limits?”
I stepped toward her. “Malaya… be careful. You don’t get to walk in here and order a hit like it’s room service.”
Her mouth curled in rage. “Oh, but choking me with your dick—that was fine, right?”
My fists clenched at my sides. “I’m not your fucking soldier, Kira. You don’t own me.”
She slapped me. Hard.
And then again.
I didn’t move. Just stared at her as the sting bloomed across my jaw.
She shook with sobs and anger, tears running unchecked down her face as something fierce and overwhelming pulsed through her.
“What are you going to do, Maksym? Hit me back?”
“No.”
She stepped even closer, chin tipped up, head barely at my shoulder. Her eyes were blazing.
“You think you scare me? You don’t. But I think I scare you.”
My breath hissed between my teeth. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”
She didn’t flinch. “Then show me.”
I stepped in closer, voice low. “Did you forget already? You want me to handcuff you again and give you another lesson?”
Her voice was steady, but I saw the tremble in her hands.
“If that’s what you want—fine. Handcuff me.
Dominate me. Pretend you’re in control.” She swallowed.
“But I know better. You stalked me. You saved me. You killed for me. And now you’re acting like I’m the danger.
” Her breath hitched. “So what is this, Maksym? You trying to prove something? Or are you just scared of what this actually means?”
She was right. I’d been holding myself back for too long.
Something in me finally snapped and whatever thin thread kept me leashed broke.
My hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist and yanking her to me. Our mouths collided in a rough, furious kiss. I pushed her back against the nearest wall, kissing her hard, like I hadn’t touched oxygen in months.
Her hands moved across my bare torso, trailing over damp skin and lingering scars.
The towel was barely hanging on as she pressed her body to mine.
Her nails scraped up my stomach, and I groaned into her mouth, gripping her thighs and lifting her without effort.
She locked her legs around my waist, and the friction of her heat against me made my breath catch.
Every part of me screamed to sink into her, to lose myself until nothing else existed.
My mouth moved to her neck, biting down hard enough to make her gasp. Her back arched against the wall as her fingers slid into my hair and tugged, the pull urgent and hungry.
Damn, the taste of her was better than imagined. A thousand times better. Her scent filling my lungs, lips plush and warm, the little sounds she made when I sucked her bottom lip between my teeth— sent fire racing down my spine, hard and immediate.
I wanted to break her—push her until she gave in completely, until every inch of her body surrendered—then build her back up just so I could destroy her all over again.
But then—
Fuck.
My body was ready. My mind was begging. But the image of her that night—wide eyes, lips around me, trembling—and the knowledge that she’d never done any of this before… it gripped me like a vice.
I couldn’t touch her. I didn’t even know how to be gentle. Every instinct in me was forged in violence. I’d spent so long surviving through force, through rage, that the idea of softness—of careful hands and patience—felt foreign.
She needed something I wasn’t sure I could give. Gentleness. Care. Shit I’d never learned. Reach for her now and I’d probably terrify her—hurt her without meaning to. And that was the last thing I wanted for her.
I set her down, pulled back, and adjusted the towel around my waist, trying to breathe through the burn still coiled in my chest.
Her eyes snapped open, wide and confused. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
I stepped away like it physically hurt me. “I’m driving you back to school.”
“Why? What happened?”
I looked at her. “You know why.”
The words hung there for a moment.
I dragged a hand over my face and continued. “Look… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you deserve better. Way fucking better. Not me.”
She laughed. Bitter. Ugly. “Tell me, who should have me then? The narcissist from my school who’ll brag to his friends? Or the psycho who’ll fuck me bloody on my wedding night?”
“Malaya,” I said flatly, “I don’t take women on dates. I take lives. I’ve killed more men than you’ve ever met. I hurt people for money and I sleep just fine afterward. There is something deeply wrong with me. And if you’re smart, you’ll walk away now.”
She stared at me, tears shining again, but this time with something else.
“Maybe I am stupid. But at least I’m not blind.” She began walking toward me slowly as she spoke, one step after another, her voice steady even as her eyes shimmered.
“You’re the only person in my life who doesn’t pretend. I’d rather have one real moment with you than a lifetime of lies with them.”
She stopped right in front of my chest, looking up with those wide, desperate eyes.
I should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve protected her from myself. Instead, I took her face in my hands, thumb wiping the tear from her cheek like it belonged to me.
“We’ll both pay for this,” I murmured. “You know that, right?”
She nodded. “I’m willing to take the chance.”
And fuck me, I was already too far gone. Too addicted to her to do the right thing.
I kissed her.
This time it was slow. Deep. My hands cradled her jaw, her neck, drawing her closer like I needed the contact just to stay standing.
She melted into me, lips parting for more.
I lifted her gently, without the fury that had gripped me earlier. This time, it wasn’t about power. It wasn’t about dominance. It was something slower, heavier—something that threatened to unravel everything I thought I knew about control.
I carried her to my bedroom, never breaking the kiss, never loosening my grip.
She wanted the reaper. And the reaper wanted her just as fucking badly.