Page 48 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

My offer hangs in the space between us, heavy and almost unwanted.

But fuck if I wouldn’t turn my back on everything I know for this girl: my family, my organization, my friends…

my vows. The Bratva is in my blood; my father’s always been right about that part.

There was never a future in which I worked a regular civilian job. Crime, the killing—it’s inside me.

But I’d give it all up to be with Katya. That’s an undebatable fact.

She glances at my chest, where beneath my shirt is a tattoo of a cross, etched there when I was officially inducted into the organization the year prior to meeting Katya. It signals that I’m a thief for life, active in the lifestyle of the Bratva.

Very few ever leave the Bratva, because doing so is to break those vows.

With our oaths, we promise to serve our Pakhan until death.

I willingly made those vows to Vanessa in front of Ursin’s Elite, and had every intention of keeping them.

Leaving means being branded as a traitor—or, in many cases, death.

A death penalty many would want Vanessa to uphold, because letting someone go is essentially stating one’s vows can be broken with little consequence. To solidify her strength as Pakhan, she’d be expected to punish me.

Katya has no idea of the severity of my offer but does understand the meaning behind the cross on my chest. She moves her hand over my heart, hovering but not quite touching. There’s an assumption in her expression, that the Bratva owns that part of me, but they don’t.

She does.

“You can’t. Vanessa needs you. Leaving isn’t the answer. You’d be miserable.”

“It’s an answer.” Gripping her neck, I press my thumbs to the underside of her chin. “Name your price, and I’ll happily pay it.”

Her head shake is restricted to the space I grant her. “That’s not the answer. We’re from two different worlds. Realize that. Accept it.”

“You’re running again.”

“For us ! Why don’t you understand that?

You’ve spent ten years following me and hunting those men, which means you’ve lived so much of your life based on that night.

You never got better! You need to…for me, okay?

That’s my price. You didn’t let that night go.

It’s haunted you, followed you, and it’s unhealthy. ”

“Nothing about you is unhealthy, Katya. There is no cure required.”

“Then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still relive what happened.” Her chin lifts, this time unassisted by me.

“Irrelevant.” Of course, I do, no matter how much I’ve tried to use murder to erase it.

“That’s my point. You don’t know if you can get over it, because you’ve never tried . So much of the past decade, you’ve been living for me… Now you need to live for you . For me, Dimitri, live for yourself.”

How can I live without her? This request is the cruellest she’s ever asked of me. Cruellest, and impossible.

Her eyes squeeze shut. “Our story isn’t meant to be happy.”

“You’re looking for every excuse to have an out, because you’re scared to let yourself be happy.

If you want to psychoanalyze me with that degree of yours, moya dusha , then I’ll do the same to you.

You forget, I’ve watched you thrive for ten years—through the good and the bad.

You refuse to see your own strengths, instead protecting yourself from every single good thing in the world because you’re scared of having it ripped away.

” My breaths seethe, and while spewing all this wasn’t in my initial plan, the oncoming storm can’t be prevented from ravaging our situation.

“You get close to so few people, both during university and now at your job. You continue therapy because you’re scared of what it’ll mean to not have someone to catch you if you fall.

You attend self-defence training to never feel weak.

You think because you needed distance to fix yourself, I do as well, but I don’t.

Every time I took one of their lives, that was my therapy.

Our story can be happy if you allow it to be.

Those men stole so much of your power, and I’m trying to give it back.

My twenty-four hours aren’t up yet, and you’ve promised not to lie.

So tell me the truth. Do you, even the tiniest bit, still love me? ”

“Dimitri…”

“That’s not an answer.” I arch her head back, the grip I have on her as fragile as the one I have on my control. “Do. You. Still. Love. Me?”

Her hesitation says more than any verbal response she could give.

I sweep down, taking her mouth, one hand in her hair keeping her steady, and the other on her hip, pulling her body into mine. Unless she denies me and ends this, I won’t be. I’ve done everything else to make her realize. This is all I have left.

The woman who kissed me in the prison isn’t the one in my arms. There are two halves of her. One side being what she desires, and the other what she’s fearing, and I’m the centre of both halves.

She pulls her mouth away. “Dimitri…”

I kiss down her neck, reaching the collar of her shirt. With an annoyed growl, I peel it over her head and toss it to the side, baring her.

“Mhm?” I murmur into her skin, breathing in the scent I used to wake up recalling in the middle of the night. “Stop me, if you don’t want this, Katya. Until I hear that word, I’m going to show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.”

I continue down her body, pausing at her arms that display a mixture of red and white scars. Every mark feels like she’s lashed me as well, and I’m fucking pissed …but not at her. Not at how she managed to survive that night.

I spend extra time kissing every one of her scars before shifting to the opposite arm and repeating the action. By her wrist, I murmur, “I hate knowing you hurt yourself. That you had no other option.”

“It used to be a razor,” she whispers, gutting me. “Therapy helped. Now, it’s only my nails, and not nearly as often.”

I stroke the scars again, lingering around a particularly long one. “They keep you in the present.” It’s not a question, but she answers regardless.

“Yeah.”

“ Krasivyy .” She snorts, and I pull back to look her in the eye, repeating with absolute certainty, “They’re beautiful, as are you. These”—I press my thumb onto one—“are beautiful because they kept you here. They kept you alive. For that, I will fucking cherish every single one.”

Before she falls deeper inside her head, I continue heading for her stomach. There will be plenty of time later to worship her survivor’s marks. The rest of our lives, in fact.

I grip her hips to steady her and pause by the strip of skin above her jeans, my tongue sweeping over her until she shudders. There’s no plea for me to end this, so I unbutton her jeans and tug them off.

Then I do what I’ve dreamed of for so long and regard her wholly. Ten years is entirely too long to go without the woman who gives me life. But now, every second apart has become worth it for this moment right here, right now.

“We shouldn’t. It’ll complicate things.”

“Everything is denial with you. You’re so deep in your head about what you shouldn’t want, you’re forgetting what you do. Besides, in your mind, it’s already complicated, so why not enjoy it?”

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and inch them down her thighs. If she were going to end this, she’d do it now, but she doesn’t. I drop them to the floor and am greeted with a sight I’ve really missed.

Her perfect slit, already damp with desire. That’s how I know. No matter what she says, her body knows what it craves.

I thumb her clit, watching her expression as a sense of wonder crosses it. Wonder, and something else. I don’t watch her long enough to deconstruct it, instead hooking her left knee over my shoulder and opening her up to my mouth.

“You have a body to be worshipped, moya dusha. Allow me to worship it.”

With my thumbs holding her open, I eat for the first time in a decade.