Chapter 9 Lena
LENA
Iwake to the smell of coffee and the sound of Sasha moving around the kitchen. My body aches in the best possible way, reminders of last night scattered across my skin like breadcrumbs leading back to every place his mouth touched, every spot his hands claimed.
I'd been so determined to keep distance between us.
After that first time, I'd told myself it was a mistake born of isolation and proximity.
But then yesterday, working side by side to reinforce the cabin, watching the competent way his hands moved over tools and wood, seeing the concentration on his face as he secured locks and checked sight lines…
something shifted. The careful walls I'd built crumbled like they were made of sugar, not stone.
I mean, why shouldn't I enjoy him? I haven't been with a man in years and I've been so very lonely. Plus, the man is an Adonis. He's almost too handsome to look at.
But do I regret it? My eyes scrunch as I think about it. No matter how hard I try, I can't muster up any regret.
Getting out of bed, I pull on thermal layers and jeans, catching my reflection in the small mirror above my dresser. My lips are slightly swollen, and there's a faint mark on my neck that my scarf will need to cover. Evidence of Sasha's possessiveness, the way he'd marked me like he had the right.
The scary part is how much I'd wanted him to.
When I emerge from the bedroom, he's at the stove flipping pancakes, shirtless despite the morning chill.
My eyes trace the muscles of his back, the way they shift under scarred skin, and the intricate dragon wings spreading across his shoulder blades.
I force myself to look away before he catches me staring.
"Morning," he says without turning around, and I wonder how he knew I was there.
"Morning." I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, watching him work. "You didn't have to make breakfast."
"I wanted to." He plates the pancakes and turns, his gold eyes finding mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. "You need to eat. We have a long day ahead."
"We?"
"The supplies are running low. You need to go into town." He sets the plate in front of me and crosses his arms over his bare chest. "I'm coming with you."
"That's not necessary."
"It's not negotiable."
I take a bite of pancake to buy myself time to think. The truth is, I don't want him to come. Town is where I'm most vulnerable, where someone might recognize me despite three years of careful invisibility. Adding Sasha to the equation multiplies the risk.
But I also know that stubborn set to his jaw. He's made up his mind.
"Fine," I say, trying to sound annoyed instead of secretly relieved. "But you follow my rules. We get in, get supplies, and get out. No lingering, no conversations, no drawing attention."
"Agreed." He grabs his own plate and sits across from me, his knee brushing mine under the small table. "Though you might want to cover that mark on your neck before we go."
Heat floods my cheeks. "You're an ass."
"You didn't complain last night when I was putting it there." His grin is pure male satisfaction, and I want to throw my coffee at him.
Instead, I kick his shin under the table.
"Ow." He's still grinning. "Worth it."
We finish breakfast in comfortable silence, the kind that comes from spending weeks in close quarters.
I catch him watching me when he thinks I'm not looking, his gaze lingering on the curve of my breasts under my thermal shirt, the way my jeans hug my hips.
The attention makes me feel beautiful and desired in a way I haven't felt in years. If ever.
It also makes me want to drag him back to bed, which is exactly why we need to get out of this cabin.
An hour later, we're in my truck heading down the mountain road.
Fresh snow from last night's light dusting makes the drive treacherous, but I've done this route hundreds of times.
Sasha sits in the passenger seat, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings, that tactical awareness I've noticed before on full display.
The town appears through the trees, a cluster of buildings that looks like it hasn't changed since the 1950s. Population maybe three hundred on a good day, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone and strangers are noticed immediately.
I've become more comfortable coming here and even have a few people I talk to when in town.
My stomach tightens as we roll down Main Street. This is the part I hate most, the exposure, the vulnerability of being seen. To the residents, I'm Maya, the reclusive woman who bought the old Henderson cabin.
But bringing Sasha changes everything. Now I'm not just the hermit woman. I'm the hermit woman with a mysterious man. People will talk. They'll speculate. I'll become gossip in this small town, which will draw too much attention to me.
And if someone is still looking for Lena Volkov, if the hit is still active after all this time, a change in pattern could be exactly what flags their attention.
I watch an elderly man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the hardware store. He glances up at my truck, his eyes tracking us as we pass. Does he notice anything different? Will he mention to his wife over dinner that Maya finally brought someone to town?
Every face in every window feels like a potential threat. I've survived this long by being invisible. Today, I'm anything but.
I park in front of the general store, my usual spot, and take a deep breath. "Remember the rules. In and out."
"Yes, ma'am."
Sasha's hand finds the small of my back as we walk toward the entrance, a possessive gesture that both comforts and concerns me.
The bell above the door chimes as we enter the general store. Mrs. Patterson is at the register, her gray hair in its usual tight bun. Two local ranchers browse the hardware section. And behind the counter, restocking shelves, is John Davis.
He looks up when we enter, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing despite his casual flannel shirt and worn jeans. I've seen him here before on my monthly supply runs, always polite but distant, the kind of man who watches more than he talks.
"Morning, Maya," Mrs. Patterson calls out, using my fake name with the familiarity of three years of monthly transactions. "Didn't expect to see you this week with the storm and all."
Especially since Pavel just came by with some supplies. But he'd only known about me. There's more to buy with Sasha in residence, and things that I ran out of or was low on that he didn't bring.
"Running low on essentials," I say, forcing my voice to stay casual. "Thought I'd better stock up before the next one hits."
Her eyes drift to Sasha with undisguised curiosity. "And who's this handsome fellow?"
"A friend." I grab a shopping basket and start moving down the aisles, hoping to discourage further questions. "He's visiting for a few weeks."
Sasha follows me, his presence at my back both reassuring and dangerous. I load the basket with canned goods, coffee, batteries, and other essentials. Sasha adds items without asking, his choices practical and efficient. Whoever he was before the amnesia, he knows how to prepare for emergencies.
I'm reaching for a bag of rice when I feel it. That prickle at the back of my neck that means someone is watching. I glance up and catch John Davis staring at Sasha. Not the casual curiosity of a small-town local seeing a stranger. Something sharper. More focused.
His eyes linger a moment too long before he catches himself and returns to restocking shelves. But I saw it. That flash of recognition, or maybe suspicion. The way his posture shifted, shoulders squaring slightly, weight balanced on both feet.
My pulse quickens. Is it real, or am I projecting? John's always been observant. Maybe that's just his nature. But the way he studied Sasha felt different. Calculated. Like he's trying to place a face he's seen before.
I catalog the exits out of habit. Front door behind us, back door through the stockroom, side emergency exit near the freezer section. My truck is fifteen feet from the entrance, keys in my pocket.
I'm planning an escape route from a grocery store. This is what my life has become.
"You're tense," Sasha murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles my ear.
"I'm always tense in town."
His hand finds my hip, steadying me as I reach for a high shelf. The gesture is intimate and claiming, and I see Mrs. Patterson's eyebrows rise with interest.
We finish shopping quickly. I pay cash, as always, and we carry the bags out to the truck. The cold air hits my face, and I breathe a little easier being outside, closer to escape.
Sasha loads the supplies into the truck bed while I unlock the cab. We're almost clear. Almost safe.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I freeze. That voice belongs to John Davis.
I turn slowly. John stands in the doorway of the general store, one hand braced against the frame, his expression unreadable as he looks at Sasha.
"Have we met before?"