Chapter 31
Peighton
Gustav is gone by morning.
No note. No message. Nothing but an empty seat at breakfast and a hollow ache settling beneath my ribs.
He left St. Andrews sometime before dawn.
I wasn’t awake to see him go. I wasn’t awake to fix anything.
I wasn’t awake to apologize for the hundredth time about the phone or the lie or the way I said another man’s name while we made love…
I mean, I’m still unsure if that was good or bad in Gustav’s twisted mind.
I hope it was just a kink he wanted to play out.
And honestly, I loved it. Because it was him.
I shudder hard just thinking about how hard I’ve fallen for this complicated man.
Now he’s gone, and I can’t shake the dread that he left because of me.
Keira and the other bratva wives whisper their guesses in the courtyard. Meetings. Violence. Retaliation for Vlad. None of them mention madness, even though I saw it in his eyes last night. I saw it as clearly as breath fogging in cold air. They don’t see it as a flaw. They see it as power.
I see it as breaking.
I want to call him. Ask where he is. Ask if he’s safe. I don’t even have his number.
It feels pathetic to not know your own husband’s phone number.
My phone sits on the dresser. The guilt presses on my gut as I power it on. The screen floods with messages the moment it lights up.
Tyra
MERRY XMAS
Are u alive
Pei answer me now
Girl do I need to get on the next damn plane
And my dad.
Daddy
What did the Russian get u?
Sorry about hanging up
Text me when u can
My throat tightens.
I sit on the edge of the bed and type to Tyra first.
Me
I’m here. I’m married. I’m safe. But things with him are… complicated.
He’s nuts.
She responds instantly.
Tyra
Complicated how? Should I come? I can be there tomorrow.
I press a hand to my forehead.
Me
Not yet. I need to fix things with him first. I’ll call tonight.
Then a short message to my dad.
Me
It’s fine. Will call later.
I don’t mention anything else. He wouldn’t understand. Or he would understand too well. Neither option helps.
There is a knock on my door before I can spiral further. Micha and second guard appear with his coat buttoned. “Come on. Kidnapping class. Tactical day.”
If we were alone, I’d scream: Where the hell is Gustav.
But we’re not alone and I won’t appear weak around Sokolov enforcers if I can help it. Thus, I follow them to the training hall expecting another combat session disguised as self-defense. I nearly turn around when I see the walls lined with weapons. Guns. Knives. Staffs.
Bratva women are already stretching. I stand by Brutus. It’s weird after last night. He no idea I was picturing him in my… I suck in a sharp breath.
His warm brown eyes contrast sharply with everything else in this cold place. When he smiles in greeting, the expression is sincere.
“Peighton,” he whispers. “Ready for the new tests?”
“Oh boy. Sure am,” I say dryly, like an idiot.
He offers a respectful nod before handing me a knife. “We start with instinct.”
I barely have time to grip the handle before he attacks.
One sharp movement, fast and decisive. My knife is taken instantly. My back hits the mat. He pins my wrists above my head in a way that knocks the air from my lungs. The room blurs for a second.
My cheeks burn. Everyone is watching.
“This is your first knife lesson,” Brutus says in a steady tone, straddling me. The heat of his groin on my belly is unsettling. “Size doesn’t matter. Hesitation does.”
“Uh huh,” I whisper, jarred.
He releases me and rises, extending a hand to help me up. I take it. His grip is warm. His expression is kind.
“Sorry if that was too rough,” he says, as always.
A small smile touches his mouth. For a moment there is a flicker of warmth between us, bright and simple. A normal man showing normal kindness. It disorients me more than the takedown.
I straighten my shirt. “It’s okay. I needed the reminder.”
A reminder that I wish it was Gustav’s hand helping me up, his body heat that awakens my body. I beyond miss him.
Maybe I only notice things about Brutus because Gustav is wildly abnormal.
I shake off the thought and return to the line. The second round goes better. By the fourth, I manage to take Brutus to the mat. It surprises him. It surprises me even more.
I’m improving.
After class, Micha joins me for lunch in the cafeteria, quiet as always, sitting with a soldier’s posture that makes nearby wives straighten instinctively.
I push my food around on my plate. “Where did Gustav go?”
Micha doesn’t look up. “Home.”
“Why?”
“It is not for you to worry about.”
My stomach drops. “Is he coming back?”
“No.”
I stare at him, heart sinking. “Not at all?”
“He has business. You have training. These months will go quickly.”
“Months,” I echo. The word outrageous. “So he really isn’t coming back for months?”
Micha finally glances at me. His expression is blank. “I would tell my daughter concentrate on things she can control. Gustav is not one of them.”
The ache under my ribs deepens. I want to ask about our fall out, the rival boss, the dead men, the blood. I want to ask if the Council knows. If Gustav is in danger. If the world is about to collapse again.
I manage only one question. “Do they know he killed Vlad?”
“They suspect, but don’t have evidence.” Micha takes a sip of water. “It will be a problem when they do.”
A cold shiver crawls down my arms.
He rises to refill his drink. His phone sits unattended on the table. My pulse jumps. This is reckless. This is stupid. This is exactly what I shouldn’t do.
But I do it anyway.
I snatch the phone, open Gustav’s contact, and memorize the number in seconds. By the time Micha returns, the phone is in its rightful place and I’m chewing calmly like nothing happened.
Before my next class, I step into the hall, hand shaking slightly as I text the number I just memorized.
Me
I miss you.
I’m sorry about the phone.
The reply comes instantly.
Gustav
*Picture of a tombstone.*
Empty. Mocking. Threatening.
My eyes narrow. He could have killed me a dozen times already. He didn’t. He kissed me. Touched me. Covered me in blankets. Held me through the night like he feared the darkness inside him more than I did.
So I text him back.
Me
*Photo of me smiling sweetly.*
No response.
It makes irritation curl in my chest.
I exhale sharply. He is impossible. Dangerous and impossible and completely derailing my sanity and patience. Every time I feel closer to him, he slips from my fingers.
Before I can text again, Micha appears beside me. “Next class. Come with me.”
I slip my phone into my coat pocket, following him down the corridor while my mind lingers on only one thing.
What my volatile, unpredictable, terrifyingly magnetic husband is doing.
And whether he’s missing me too.