Page 108 of Beneath the Light of the Moon

No, not until I get whatIwant.

“Besides, I’ve encountered people worse than you and made it out. I won’t be intimidated in my own home.”

Running his hands over the top of his head, forgetting his hair was protected by the balaclava, he tugged futilely on the fabric in frustration. “Intimidation isnotthe word I think of when I think of this.” His hands motioned between them and the distance he purposefully put there.

Anika smiled, words full of venom to hide her underlying emotions. “At least this time I know you’ll go home and have a great time with your hand…”

“That’s low, even for you.”

“Get out.”

He gathered his things and slung the duffel bag over his back. “When you decide to play nice,malyshka,you know where to find me.”

Her blood ignited farther. “Says the stalker.”

“Takes one to know one, little moon,” he started, a humorless smirk evident in his words, “but I believe our business here is finished. For now.”

Backing away, he looked at her one more time, the intensity in his gaze crippling. “I trust you can weasel your way out,” he said, nodding to her restraints.

“Wait—” she squirmed, trying to loosen the knots he’d created. She could, but it’d take her longer than she’d like.

“I’ll see you around.” With that he exited as quietly as he’d entered, leaving her too stunned to move. Glancing over to her table, she saw he’d left her gun there.

How generous,she inwardly scoffed.

The sound of the rain died down in his absence, leaving Anika feeling empty, anxious, and guilty. All emotions she hated more than anything else.

31

Lens

Mikko

Have I pushed too far? Crossed too many boundaries?

Mikko found himself not caring. Breaking into her house while she was there was risky—an idea that may come back and bite him—but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

And theirkiss…

He could still smell her on his balaclava; he could still feel her soft lips pressed against his. Shivering, he remembered the way her warm skin seared through his street clothes, making all his reasonable thoughts scatter. His dick had been too hard the whole way home, and even though he could relieve some of the pressure with his hands, it’d never fully work.

With a sigh, Mikko unlocked the door to his penthouse, eager to disappear and have a moment to think. His mind needed a quiet place to gather his disarrayed thoughts. Even though she’d told him she had nothing to do with Ivan, he didn’t believe a single word that came out of her mouth. Even though hereallywanted to.

“And if that’s exactly what I’m doing, what then? How far would you go for revenge?”

Her words haunted him. All this time, while he’d been trying to protect his own business and friends, maybe she was also doing the same? The unopened manila folder with her background, her true background and not the fake one she put up, sat untouched on his kitchen island. After everything, doubt had crept in. Stopping by the office on the way home had been easy, carrying it with him in the elevator had been easy, but now as it stared at him…

He suddenly didn’t want to know. Mikko had a sinking feeling that whatever he was about to find would shatter the illusion he formed around himself. Anika would no longer be an escape but a threat. She’d be someone he needed to eliminate.

The mere thought had anxiety crawling up the back of his throat. His mind pored over other avenues they could take that didn’t involve bloodshed—that didn’t involve Mikko becoming like Alek. His father had no problem eliminating threats, barely needed any information to come to a decision. Violence had always been the answer for him.

But for Mikko…

Her skin had been oh, so warm and soft against his, her compliance admirable even when he could see how much fire was in her eyes, but it was also alarming. She was too wild to not go without a fight, so what angle was she working tonight?

Why let me win? Why let me kiss her?

He didn’t regret it. If anything he was disappointed that he hadn’t continued. It’d taken everything in him not to rip the binds from her wrists and ankles and lay her out on her own kitchen floor, fingers and tongue eager to memorize the planes of her skin—