Chapter 16
My Undoing
—Maksym—
The sun was already up when I stepped onto the balcony, hair still wet from the shower, steam curling off my coffee, cigarette smoldering between two fingers.
I stood barefoot, sweatpants low on my hips, hoodie unzipped over my bare chest, watching the street two stories down with the kind of strange calm that didn’t visit me often.
I felt… good.
Suspiciously fucking good.
For a minute, I just stood there trying to name it. This lightness in my chest. This raw, electric quiet that wasn’t rage or restlessness or violence brewing under the surface. Just peace. Foreign and uncomfortable, like wearing someone else’s skin.
And then I saw her in my mind again—soaking wet from the storm, eyes rimmed red, voice trembling when she asked me to kill Felix. The smug fuck who’d been handed everything and still needed to take more. Her shoulders had been shaking, but her voice… it was steel.
She had come to me. Asked me. Begged me.
And instead of doing the one thing she wanted, I gave her something else.
I gave in.
My grip tightened around the mug as I stared into nothing, my tongue dragging slowly across my upper lip while the memory slammed back into me.
Her skin—soft, warm, fucking made for my mouth.
I could have kissed her for hours. And that goddamn red lingerie…
it nearly knocked the air out of my lungs, like she somehow knew it would wreck me.
If only she had any idea how many nights I’d spent imagining burying my face between her thighs.
And still, none of those filthy fantasies came close to the real taste of her.
My cock hardened just thinking about it, remembering the way her body gave in around me, inch by inch, the sharp gasp she let out when I filled her completely and she felt it for the first time.
Then the worry hit and my dick went soft just as fast. I knew she wanted it. I knew she begged me to keep going, told me not to stop. Still, the thought kept clawing at my head—did I hurt her?
I didn’t want to. I fucking tried not to. But it’s not easy for me. It never was.
Since I lost my virginity at fifteen, I hadn’t touched a woman like that. Not with care. Not with hesitation. Not like it mattered. Every girl since had either wanted it rough, or didn’t care either way. And to be honest, I never gave a damn.
She flipped something inside me I never knew was there.
Turned me into a man who wanted to touch slow, kiss deep, bury himself in her like it was a privilege.
And now the memory won’t leave me alone — her wet heat, her pulsing tightness, the way we locked together.
Like I was made to fuck her. Like she was made to be filled by me.
Every time I tried to step back, she closed the distance like it insulted her.
And now she was under my skin, in my bloodstream, twisting around the places I thought were already dead.
I didn’t even know what the hell I was feeling.
It was pressure. Ache. Something close to dread but not quite.
Something hot and electric that made my hands twitch and my chest tighten.
I blew out a long stream of smoke, shook my head, muttered, “Fuck.”
If anyone could hear my thoughts, I’d lose my entire fucking reputation. The Reaper, brought to his knees by one girl. They’d rename me something stupid. Cuddle Reaper. Or worse.
Thank God I don’t have friends.
The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it in the ashtray, set down the empty mug, and picked up my phone. I opened the tracker app. A small blue dot pulsed near the university.
She was in class.
I stared at the screen. The rational part of me said I should leave her alone. Give her space. Not show up like some unhinged stalker with a death wish.
But the rest of me?
The rest of me was already thinking about the best entrance route and how to pull her out mid-lecture without turning the place into a crime scene.
I tapped the screen off and slipped the phone into my pocket.
Fuck it.
Who would question it? Her father’s man picking her up from school wasn’t exactly a scandal. And if anyone did grow the balls to tell Pakhan about it—then they could try their luck with me. See how long they lasted.
I was losing my goddamn mind over her.
Keys in hand, I got in the car and headed for her school. The city passed in a blur—streets I could drive blindfolded, faces I didn’t bother registering. My only focus was that pulsing blue dot.
I parked a block away and walked. Hoodie up, hands in my pockets. The campus was crawling with students, none of them ready for a man like me to step into their pristine little bubble.
People stared. Of course they did. Tattoos down my hands, the scowl that came standard with my face, and a build that made me look like I should be breaking kneecaps, not walking toward a fucking university lecture hall.
Can you imagine me—me—sitting in a lecture hall, nodding like some obedient little student, scribbling notes while a professor drones on about ethics or whatever the fuck they teach here?
The thought alone almost made me laugh. Me, behaving.
Me, pretending I belong in a room where people solve problems with textbooks instead of fists.
If I ever did drag my ass to school, though, it wouldn’t be for that useless bullshit.
Medicine, maybe. Yeah… that I could respect.
I already know how to take a body apart well enough.
Might be useful to learn how to stitch it back together too.
Imagine that—me in a lecture, learning how to sew flesh instead of tear it. Hell of a skill to have.
I followed the dot to the building and straight through the front doors, scanning until I found the right hall. No hesitation. No knocking. I pushed the door open mid-lecture, and the whole room fell into dead silence.
A few gasps. One girl actually dropped her pen.
The professor froze mid-sentence, blinking like he’d forgotten his own name.
I stepped fully inside, took a slow look around, and landed on her.
She was sitting near the middle. Face pale. Eyes rimmed dark, like she hadn’t slept. She didn’t look surprised. Just… tired. A little guarded. A little unsure.
She stood when she saw me, her bag already in hand. A faint smile flickered across her mouth, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Shit.
My pulse kicked.
What if I was wrong? What if yesterday had been too much for her? What if she regretted it?
My mind raced—every fucking possibility slicing into me like blades. Did I scare her? Did I hurt her? Did I fuck it up?
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said to the professor, keeping my voice calm, just polite enough. “Urgent family matter.”
The professor nodded too quickly, eyes full of fear. “Yes, of course. Miss—uh—yes.”
Kira walked past the rows of wide-eyed students like she didn’t feel their stares. But I saw the way her hand trembled slightly on her bag strap. I saw everything.
She reached me, and I opened the door for her. Let her walk out first.
The door swung shut behind us, muffling the stunned silence inside.
Neither of us spoke as we walked down the hall. My hands itched to touch her. To pull her close and ask if she was okay. To kiss that flat expression off her face until it melted into something I recognized.
But I didn’t. Instead, I just followed her into the daylight, heart pounding like I’d just committed a crime. In a way, maybe I had.
She glanced sideways at me, voice flat. “Did my father really send you?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then what are you doing here?”
I looked at her, all that weight behind her question, and gave her the only answer I had. “I had to see you.”
We reached the car, and I opened the passenger door without a word. She slid in, silent. I walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
Before I could say a single thing, she moved—fast, desperate. Crawled over the console and straddled me in one fluid motion, her arms wrapping tight around my neck as she buried her face against the curve where my shoulder met my throat.
She broke.
I felt it the second her body sagged against mine, the sob breaking out of her like it had been trapped inside for too long. Her tears soaked into my skin, hot and desperate, and for a moment I just sat there, not knowing what the hell to do.
Then instinct kicked in. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her like I’d never let go, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other smoothing down her spine.
“Shhh,” I whispered, trying to calm her, trying to piece her back together even though I had no idea what had shattered.
“What happened?” I murmured into her hair. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”
She pulled back slowly, her hands still on my shoulders, her face a mess of tears and anguish. Her voice cracked as she said, “No. God, no. It’s... it’s my father. He sent my mom away. To an asylum. I’ll never see her again. I know he won’t let me.”
Her eyes searched mine, desperate. “I can’t believe he would do something like that.”
I just stared at her, stunned. I didn’t know what the fuck to say. There wasn’t a playbook for this.
She kept crying—shoulders shaking, hands clenched in my hoodie, her whole body trembling like she was about to fall apart and take me with her. Her grief wasn’t quiet. It was violent, primal, unrelenting. And all I could do was be the thing she clung to while it ripped her open.
My throat felt tight. My chest fucking ached.
“Hey. Look at me.” I said, brushing her hair back from her face. “We’ll figure this out, I swear. I’ll find out where she is and I’ll get you there. Just breathe, alright? Please.”
Her lower lip trembled. Then she looked up at me again, that raw hope flickering in her eyes. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah,” I said without pause. “Anything for you.”
She kissed me—grateful, heartbroken, desperate. Her lips trembled against mine, and I tasted the salt of her tears. It was the only thing I could give her right now. And fuck, I wanted to give her everything.
She pulled back a little, her breath unsteady. “He sent her away this morning… and still made me go to university. Like everything was normal. He saw me falling apart and didn’t care. He’s such a fucking monster.”
I stared at her, holding the anger down where it belonged. “I’m sorry you had such a terrible morning.”
She brought her hands up to my face, fingers threading through my hair, brushing it back. Her eyes held mine. “I know what he’s done to me. But what about the others? Does he hurt people, Maksym? People who don’t deserve it?”
I didn’t flinch. “Your father’s a terrible man. But so is everyone who works for him. Including me.”
“You’re not terrible,” she whispered.
“Not to you,” I said. “And even that’s probably only because I want to fuck you again.”
I bent and kissed her neck, just beneath her jaw. She let out a shaky giggle.
The sound did something to me. I smiled. Just a little. Just for her.
God, I wanted to fuck her again—right here, right now. The way she was straddling me, the warmth of her body pressed to mine, I was already getting hard. But she was still crying. Still broken. And I… I was there to hold her. Comfort her. Not hurt her.
She rested her head on my shoulder, her arms still looped around my neck like she couldn’t bear to let go. I shifted us slowly, lowering the seat until I was half-reclined, and she stretched out on top of me, her body molding to mine as we sank into silence.
I ran my fingers through her hair, slow and gentle, letting her breathe against my chest. Time blurred. The world outside the car ceased to matter. It was just her and me and this pocket of calm in the wreckage.
Eventually, she shifted, pulling back just enough to look at me.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For making this day better.”
I brushed her cheek with my knuckles. “Don’t thank me.”
“Why not?”
I exhaled hard. “Because I haven’t fixed a damn thing yet. I hate that you feel like this. In your own home.”
Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out the black pocket knife I always carried. I turned it over in my hand once, then offered it to her.
“If someone hurts you,” I said, “don’t hesitate to use it. I mean that. Go feral, Malaya. Go fucking feral. I’ll handle the cleanup and the alibi.”
She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, eyes flicking up to mine. “Wow,” she said quietly. “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever told me.”
She took it without blinking, her fingers brushing mine. “Thank you,” she said, eyes gleaming now. “You bet I’ll use it. I just have to decide who I kill first—Felix or my father.”
We both let out a quiet laugh—low and a little bitter, the kind that comes when everything feels a little too broken.
She stayed close for another moment, then sighed softly, reality settling back in. “I should go,” she said, regret threading through the words. “My father’s driver will come for me soon.”
I nodded, though every instinct in me resisted it. She leaned in anyway, kissing me once more, my hands slid to her ass, gripping her from both sides, squeezing hard as our mouths collided.
When we finally broke apart, I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing hard. “You’ve got ten seconds to get out,” I whispered against her mouth. “Or I’m flipping you over and fucking you senseless in the back seat.”
“Don’t say things like that,” she whispered with a faint smile. “I might actually stay.”
She slipped off me before I could change my mind, straightening her clothes, already slipping back into the armor she wore for the world. At the door, she glanced back once more, eyes dark and bright all at once.
Then she was gone.
I dropped my head back against the seat and scrubbed my hands over my face, exhaling hard. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered to myself. “What am I supposed to do with this hard-on?”