Chapter 21 #2
Finally, Ollie gives in. "There's no evidence he’s here," he says with palpable reluctance. "But I'm not taking any chances."
"Shocker," I mutter under my breath, making Polina smile, though it fades quickly as Ollie's eyes snap to mine. Even now, with all the uncertainty swirling around us—about who I am, who he is—there's a dangerous edge to his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine.
Oh, Ollie.
"Why don't you and Renata go back up to the guest-room," Ekaterina suggests gently. "I promise that Polina and I will stay right here in the house until you give us further instructions."
His jaw clenches, teeth grinding. I can only pity anyone foolish enough to confront him now. He's wound so tight he’s like a spring just about to break.
“Fine." He exhales sharply. "Aleks—"
"I'm constantly monitoring biometric feedback in the house,” Aleks interjects, his tone clinical. "All of you need rest, food, and water."
Ollie hesitates, then reaches for my hand. I pretend not to see it, stepping ahead of him instead. I don't want to be petty, but I don't want to touch him right now.
I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I love him—all of him. The darkness, the brutality, the cold, calculating killer. But how do you reconcile love with fear?
The thought of being alone with him now, facing the coldness in his eyes and the violence I know he's capable of, is too much.
I walk away. He lets me.
"Where are you going?" he demands in a harsh whisper.
"Where you tell me," I snap back, anger flaring. “Do I have any choice in the matter?”
“No, that’s not up for discussion. You're staying with me."
"And if I don't want to?" I challenge, watching hurt briefly flicker in his eyes before it's replaced with anger. "Dammit, Renata. Can't you see I'm trying to keep you safe?" His voice lowers to a rough whisper, his frustration obvious. "Why can't you see that?"
"I can, but I'm under no illusion that I'm safe from you, Ollie.
" The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging in the air like a death knell.
He recoils as if struck. Maybe I have finally struck a chord in him because for the first time ever I see pain in his eyes, buried beneath layers of anger and cold calculation.
"I don’t want to stay here," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Not with you like this."
"Like what?" he asks, his voice a dangerous edge of darkness.
I don’t answer.
We walk in silence, and I wonder if he's too far gone—too deeply entrenched in his role as the cold commander to ever turn back.
When we reach the room, he opens the door, steps inside, and yanks me in after him. He slams it shut and presses me against it, capturing my lips in a fierce, desperate kiss. My body betrays me, going boneless as I melt under the heat of his touch, and I hate myself for it.
He kisses me like today is the only day we have to live, like there's no promise of tomorrow. He kisses me as if he's begging for forgiveness for being who he is. He kisses me as if he loves me, and it shatters my heart in two.
"Just because we haven't found any fucking sign of Carlos doesn't mean we're safe," he murmurs against my lips, his voice strained.
"Will we ever be?" I ask, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
"Of course we will," he says, but I hear the lie beneath the bravado even though I don’t want to.
No, we’ll never be safe. There will always be something threatening us. We’ll always have to be on alert, and I hate it. I want to run. I want to get away from here. And if I didn’t think that was the weakest possible response, I would have.
"Renata," he says, his tone softening, becoming tender again. I don’t want him to be this way—it’s so much harder to resist when he is like this.
Why do I even try to resist him?
I’ve spent my life protecting myself from vulnerability. I’ve had to. I would never have gotten this far if I didn’t. I don’t know how to manage this.
"Talk to me.”
“I don’t know, Ollie. I’m afraid. And it’s not just Carlos."
He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "I don’t know a way forward. I don’t know how to show you not to fear me.” He shakes his head. “I can’t fucking help who I am.”
“I know!" I cry, my voice breaking. "Don’t you understand that I know that? But I can’t just wave a magic wand and become somebody else."
"Neither can I!" he snaps back.
It’s a fair point, and I know it. I try to draw back, to lean into being an adult instead of a headstrong child. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Finally, he blows out a breath. "Aleks said you all needed food, water, and rest."
"So do you."
"I can’t sleep, knowing he’s out there, knowing he’s coming after you!"
I shake my head. "You’ll have to. What are you going to do—run on fumes for five days? Ten days? A month, whatever it takes?"
He groans, blowing out another breath in frustration. He walks over to a small refrigerator in the corner of the room that I hadn’t noticed before. "We have emergency food reserves in here. Eat."
“Only if you do.” If I have to adult, so does he.
He opens it, takes out a meal replacement bar and a bottle of water, and hands them to me, then gets one of each for himself. I’m no fool, so I eat the bar, even though it tastes like sweetened chalk, and I drink the entire bottle of water.
I walk to the bathroom and splash water on my face.
I don’t know how I can feel as if my insides have been stirred around with a spoon and baked, yet I still look totally fine.
If anything, the scar on my face seems more pronounced than before, but that’s probably because I need some sleep.
The scar feels weirdly like a symbol of our broken relationship.
Ollie is talking on the phone in rapid Russian, probably going over whatever he and his brothers have found.
"How is Isabella? Any update on her?"
He looks at me. "She’s all right," he says. "She’s still there. She’s asking for you."
"Me?"
He shakes his head. "She says there’s something she needs to tell you, but she won’t say what."
I frown. What would she need to tell me?
"So? Are we going there?" I ask, even though I know that’s impossible. "How is she supposed to tell me what I need to know?"
“Of course not. You’ll talk on the phone.”
Right. If we’re sitting ducks, it makes no sense to bring the pregnant one here.
I take the phone and answer the call. “Isabella? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Isabella replies, her voice steady but with a hint of weariness. "I had a scare, but nothing serious. Apparently, this can happen sometimes. Lucky me."
"Why are you bleeding? What happened?" I ask, anxiety tightening in my chest.
"They told me the cramping and bleeding are unrelated. Some women just have a heightened sensitivity, which can cause light or even heavy bleeding. They mentioned something about a pregnancy hemorrhage—it’s where blood collects between the uterus or something.
It sounds terrifying, but they assured me it often resolves on its own and doesn't harm the baby. As for the cramping, it’s just dehydration.
They gave me fluids through an IV, and I’ll be able to come home soon. "
Ollie watches me closely, with that intense expression he gets sometimes—his eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed, green eyes blazing with intensity.
"I'm so glad to hear that," I say, exhaling with relief. There are so few people I truly care about in this world and knowing at least one of them is safe brings me some measure of comfort. She needs to carry this pregnancy to term safely.