Page 28

KIRILL

“G ive up already.”

Sasha growls deep in her throat as she lunges at me. This time, I provoked her so thoroughly that she doesn’t stop and think about strategy.

She’s mindless, brimming with adrenaline and an unhealthy dose of rage.

Sweat trickles down her temples and throat and slips under her sports bra right between her tits. Am I annoyed at sweat for taking the place that’s rightfully mine? Possibly.

I step out of the way when she tries to high -kick me, then I push her in the opposite direction. She falls on the grass, but it’s not hard enough to cause permanent damage.

Or any damage, really.

She’s always asked me to take her seriously and go all in, but that’s impossible. I’ll only hurt her, and I’d rather cut off my arms than do that.

I know she gets off on practicing and violence. She’s a true product of the military life and has unknowingly turned into one of those soldiers who can’t survive without physical stimuli.

And while I relate to the feeling to an extent, I don’t make it my entire personality like some of my men. And Sasha.

We’ve been at the cabin for two and a half weeks, and whenever I’m not fucking her brains out, she demands a match. These morning duels have become a routine that she looks forward to every time. She even dresses for the occasion.

Now, I would like to point out that the tight sports bra and these tiny shorts hugging her toned legs are a huge distraction. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was doing it on purpose to scatter my attention.

“Are you done being beaten up for sport?” I cross my arms and stare down at her position on all fours and lower my voice. “We can move on to a more entertaining activity.”

She glares up at me, jumps up, then holds her hands up in guard. “I’m not done.”

A battle cry echoes in the air before she goes in with a punch. I engulf her fist in my palm. “Stop being stubborn. If I decide you won’t get a hit in, you won’t.”

“Ugh.” She pushes with all her strength. “I’m not giving up.”

“In that case, we might have to stay here all day.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, I do. I prefer other pleasurable physical activities.”

“Dream on, asshole.” She ducks and tries again.

I grab her by the waist while holding her hand so that her back is against my chest. Then I lower my head and whisper in her ear, “I promise you’ll enjoy what I have in mind more than this. In fact, it’ll help reduce that anger.”

“You’re making me angrier right now with your stupid nonchalance.”

“I can also fix you some herbal tea to purge the strain.” I nibble on the shell of her ear.

“Kirill!” she grunts, obviously on the verge of exploding.

“Yes?”

“Fight me seriously and stop playing around.”

“I refuse.”

“But why?” She narrows her eyes. “You think so little of me?”

“No. I’m just not a fan of the idea of hurting you.”

“Really?” She elbows me and slips out of my hold. “You did that just fine when you announced your engagement to Kristina while I was standing right there.”

“You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I won’t. I might consider it if you take me seriously.”

“You’re the one who asked for this, so don’t come crying to me when you can’t walk.”

She grins and doesn’t waste any time. Sasha comes at me with all her might. I push her to the ground, enjoying the feeling of having her trapped underneath me a bit too much.

After a few moments, she manages to escape and tries to high-kick me. I circle her ankle and yank. She loses her balance and hits the ground again.

Usually, she’d jump right back up, but she remains unmoving.

I didn’t put power behind the pull, so she should be fine.

Right?

“Ow,” she grunts, balling into a fetal position and holding her stomach.

“Fuck.” I run to her side. “Are you okay?”

Her face is contorted, eyes half closed and sweat beading on her upper lip.

Fucking fuck.

I reach a hand toward her. “I told you not to fucking fight me! Where does it hurt? Can you move—”

In a fraction of a second, she rolls onto her back and kicks me in the face, then jumps away while wearing a shit-eating grin. “Got you!”

I touch the throbbing spot in my cheek with the back of my hand. The little fucking—

Without a word, I turn around and head toward the cabin. My tendons nearly snap with tension and my head feels like it’s at the point of exploding.

Sasha soon falls in step beside me and pushes my shoulder with hers. “Don’t be a sore loser. Let’s continue.”

I say nothing.

“Oh, come on. You throw me down all the time. You don’t see me acting butthurt.”

She does—all the time, whining and grumbling like a fucking baby. Sasha seems to have the memory of a goldfish about some things but has no problem recalling all the grudges she holds against me.

“Is it so wrong for me to win even once?”

No reply.

“Are you seriously pulling the silent treatment on me because I kicked you?”

I face her so suddenly, she crashes into me before stepping back.

Her throat bobs with a swallow when her eyes meet mine. “Why…why do you look so scary?”

“I thought you were seriously hurt because of me. Don’t you ever, and I mean fucking ever , do that shit again. Do you hear me?”

Her throat works up a swallow. “I didn’t think…”

“You obviously didn’t. If you want to hit me so badly, I’ll just stand there and take it. Don’t do that fucking nonsense again.”

“It’s not that I want to hit you.” Her voice shakes and she clears her throat. “I don’t want to hurt you either, but you’re a provocative asshole who never takes me seriously.” She touches my hurt cheek. “Is it very painful?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Come on.” She pulls up on the corners of my lips with her forefingers. “I won’t do it again. Can you stop with the long face?”

I don’t even know why I’m so fucking enraged about this.

No. Actually, I’m well aware of the magnitude of these emotions.

When I thought Sasha had died, a part of me believed it was because of me, and that only made me spiral further out of control.

I hate that wayward version of myself that couldn’t stop my disintegration process.

So to be put in the same situation again—to think Sasha’s in pain because of me again — drew out those infuriating feelings from the depths of my black soul.

I step away from her. “I’m going to town for some shopping.”

She releases me, but her shoulders hunch. I was supposed to prepare her a surprise tonight, and I still am, but my mood for the occasion is nonexistent at the moment.

After I finish showering and changing clothes, I find Sasha waiting for me in front of the house, already showered and wearing her coat.

She stops kicking rocks upon seeing me. Her soft face lights up with a careful smile. “I’ll come along.”

I do want her to come along for my plan to work, but I didn’t think she’d volunteer.

Usually, we walk to town, but about a week ago, I asked Viktor to bring me a truck in case of an emergency.

I drive in silence and Sasha fiddles with the radio stations. She loves listening to music, singing along, and trying to make me join to no avail.

Today, however, she doesn’t seem to be in a singing mood. After a few minutes of changing stations, she turns off the radio and sighs.

“Are you really going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole.” She faces me in her seat, arms crossed. “I already said I won’t do it again. What got your panties in a twist?”

“Just stay quiet.”

“Fuck you.” Her voice trembles before she catches herself. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad at you for all the shit you’ve pulled. I won’t allow you to make me feel guilty for some trivial matter.”

Trivial.

Did she just call that fucking shit trivial ?

I tighten my hold on the wheel to stop myself from reaching out and choking the fuck out of her, which defies the whole purpose of not wanting to hurt her.

“If this is one of your manipulative, reverse psychology methods, then I’m sorry to inform you that it won’t work, you fucking bastard.”

“If you’re done, shut the fuck up. I mean it.”

She huffs, opens her mouth, probably to say something more infuriating, but she thankfully closes it again.

The town is the opposite of our mood. Considering today is Christmas Eve, everyone is doing last-minute shopping. Carols sound in the distance and kids sit on a bored Santa’s lap, reading their belated gift wish lists.

Colorful Christmas trees and decorations line the front of every shop and a general disgustingly joyful atmosphere lingers in the air.

I was never a fan of Christmas, or any holiday, for that matter. Those are for families, and I never really had one.

Roman was more interested in shaping me into his heir and thought the silly occasions would make me mellow. Yulia only celebrated holidays with Konstantin.

I used to wrap gifts for my siblings, but I soon quit that after my decision to put distance between us.

Now, it’s just an annoying time of the year where everything is colorful and disgustingly happy.

When we first came to this town in the lead-up to Christmas, Sasha said that she wanted to love it, but couldn’t.

Christmas reminds her of the day she witnessed her family die in front of her and, therefore, she prefers not to celebrate.

However, while I’ve turned into a grinch, she actually enjoys the town’s atmosphere. Even now, her eyes brighten whenever she hears the repetitive Christmas songs or sees a family going around the shops.

She sings along with the clownish lyrics, too, sometimes.

“Just because it was traumatizing for me, I guess I like to know it’s still a happy occasion for everyone else,” she told me the other day.

She’s always been compassionate with a pure heart—except when she holds grudges against me, of course.

And no, I won’t be shutting up about that anytime in the near future.

We buy a few groceries, and I glare at anyone who gets too close to her. She notices that, smiles, then shakes her head in resignation.