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“Touchy.” Alexi raises his hands, but that knowing look remains. “Just remember that Katarina Lebedevna is not some toy to break. She's brilliant at what she does. Would be a shame to damage that mind just because you can't keep it in your pants.”

My fist twitches. The urge to wipe that smirk off his face burns through me.

I snap. In two strides, I have Alexi pinned against the concrete wall, my forearm pressed against his throat. My blood roars in my ears, every muscle coiled tight.

“What part of 'not now' didn't you understand?” I press harder, but Alexi just grins.

“See? This is exactly what I mean.” He wheezes out a laugh despite the pressure on his windpipe. “The Erik I know would never lose control like this. She's in your head, brother.”

I lean in closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Keep pushing and see what happens.”

“Ooh, scary.” Alexi wiggles his eyebrows. “But we both know you won't actually hurt me. You love your baby brother too much.”

The worst part is he's right. Even with rage coursing through my veins, I'd never seriously harm him. Alexi knows this, which is why he keeps prodding at my weak spots with that insufferable grin.

“Besides,” he continues, “someone has to keep you honest. And watching you squirm over Katarina is the most entertainment I've had in weeks.”

My grip tightens for a moment before I release him, stepping back. Without another word, I turn and walk toward the door, leaving him rubbing his throat.

“Ice that shoulder, big brother,” Alexi calls after me. “You'll need to be in top form for guard duty tomorrow!”

I don't respond, allowing the heavy gym door to slam behind me.

7

KATARINA

Istare at the wall, counting the tiny imperfections in the paint for the hundredth time. My wrists still bear the faint marks from the zip ties, a reminder of how badly I underestimated Erik's control.

The sound of his steady breathing fills the room as he maintains his position by the door. I shift on the bed, deliberately keeping my back to him while pretending to read one of the paperbacks they left me.

A page turns. Another breath. The tick of the clock on the wall.

My skin prickles with awareness of his presence, but I force myself to remain still. No provocative stretches. No lingering looks. No games.

Erik's boot scuffs against the floor—a rare break in his usual silent stance. I bite back a smile, keeping my eyes fixed on the words I'm not actually reading.

“Your food's getting cold.” His voice comes out rougher than usual.

I shrug one shoulder, not bothering to look up. “Not hungry.”

Another scuff of his boot. The leather of his holster creaks as he shifts position.

The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight. After last night's disaster, my pride won't let me engage first.

“You need to eat.” The words come out clipped, almost angry.

“I'll eat when I'm hungry.” I turn another page, still not looking at him.

A sharp exhale. More leather creaking. The tension in the room ratchets up another notch.

I risk a glance from the corner of my eye. Erik's jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His hands flex repeatedly at his sides. Gone is the statue-still soldier from before—now he practically vibrates with contained energy.

Interesting. Apparently, my indifference bothers him more than my previous attempts at seduction. I hide my face behind my book to conceal my satisfaction. Good to know.

I slide off the bed, careful to maintain distance from Erik as I gather my clothes. His dark eyes track my every movement, but I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The worn cotton of my shirt bunches in my grip as I cross to the bathroom. My heart pounds against my ribs, but I force my steps to remain steady. Measured. The last thing I need is for him to sense my unease.