Page 9

Katya

I wake up, and it’s still dark. My ankle hurts a little less, and the dull throb has eased just enough for me to notice. But I’m not out of the woods yet. That much I know.

He moves around the cabin like he’s been here before, his steps too sure, his actions too deliberate for a place that’s supposed to be abandoned. The fire he lit before has gone out, but he doesn’t leave me in the cold for long. He crouches by the fireplace, striking a match and tossing it into the new logs he’s arranged with practiced ease.

The flames catch quickly and rise, licking at the air. Causing shadows to flicker over his face, perfecting his features into something I can’t seem to take my eyes off.

I’ve always thought his features are a cruel kind of flawless, and they make my pulse stutter in ways I don’t want to admit.

He’s preparing dinner, using those rough hands and working with a precision that sets something restless under my skin. I imagine those hands on me, those calloused fingers digging into my hips, pinning me down, unraveling me with that same fierce focus.

I almost moan as I watch the muscles in his forearms flex, the way his shirt pulls tightly across his back. I wonder how it would feel to have that strength coiled around me, his whole weight pressing me into the floor, his mouth claiming every inch of me he wants.

Damn it. Why is he so good-looking without trying? This isn’t a man used to comfort or routine. Everything about him screams harsh edges and brutal efficiency. Yet the way he moves now makes it seem like he’s the gentlest person who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

I don’t mean to speak, but the sentences leave my mouth anyway. “You know your way around here. Too well.”

He doesn’t answer, and his eyes stay fixed on whatever he’s cutting. Quiet stretches between us, and for a moment, I find myself nervous.

“So, you’ve been here before,” I press, irritation lacing my voice, though it’s more at myself—how I’m aching to know him, to feel him. “Is this some kind of a safehouse? Or do you just haunt random cabins for kicks?”

He still doesn’t glance at me. “Wasn’t random.”

“Then whose is it?”

He slams the knife down harder than necessary, the thud echoing through the room. “It used to belong to someone else. Not anymore. What’s with all the questions?”

“Just trying to know my new roommate better.” I don’t drop it. “Was this someone important?”

His mouth twists like he’s bitten into something sour. “My old boss.”

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “What happened to him?”

“He died.” His eyes lift, so cold and flat. “Someone stabbed him far too many times than needed.”

A chill seeps into my bones, colder than the air around me. Because I know that already. I felt the recoil and saw the blood bloom. But I bury it, nodding like I’m just curious, and not drowning in the weight of what I’ve done. I don’t say anything. I just nod, playing the part of someone only mildly curious instead of someone trapped in a nightmare of her own making. “He must have meant a lot to you.”

“Dmitri Sokolov,” he says, the name dropping like a stone. “He found me when I was a kid. Trained me. Raised me. Everything I am, he made me.”

I bite down on the urge to ask him more. To dig through the cracks he just revealed. Instead, I file it away, knowing this conversation could kill me if it veers the wrong way.

“And now I know too much,” I say, keeping it light, teasing. “Is that going to be my undoing?”

He doesn’t blink. “You were already screwed the moment you followed me, Katya. Whatever you learn about my business from here on is just digging the hole deeper.”

“So, what? I’m just supposed to play by your rules and not step out of line? Until when?”

“Until I decide I’m done with you.” His words are clipped. “And if you try to run, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

I ignore the fear prickling at the edges of my mind. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

“Who said anything about forever?” His smile is all teeth, all threat. “We leave as soon as this blizzard clears. After that if I deem we still have business, you make yourself accessible. You try to leave, and you won’t be doing it alive.”

A shiver runs through me, but it is not all fear. There’s heat there, molten and unwelcome. I imagine him chasing me, catching me with his rough hands, so merciless as he drags me back. And punishes me in ways that leave me quivering with desire.

He finishes whatever he’s making and slides a plate toward me. I don’t touch it.

“You should eat,” he says and casually begins to change out of the same clothes he has been wearing since yesterday. “I have to wash up a little bit.”

My eyes are locked on him as he peels off his shirt, the fabric sliding over skin etched with scars and stories carved into flesh I’ll never know. His chest is broad, his shoulders taut with power, a brutal masterpiece that makes my mouth dry. I picture those scars under my fingertips.

“Like what you see, Katya?” His voice is a gravelly purr, dipping low and suggestive. “Bet you’re imagining all the nasty things I could do to you. Like bending you over this table, perhaps?”

I force myself to scoff. “You’re not my type.”

“Really?” He steps closer, crowding my space until his heat seeps into me. “So if I do this, you feel nothing.” His hands slide up my legs, fingers pressing into my thighs, and God, it’s electric, a current that makes me clench.

“Well, I call bullshit. It is so clear how bad you want me, Nikolai. Don’t think I forgot how you ate me up that night when you entered my apartment. ”

This plan is stupid. I know it. Maybe it’s the worst idea I’ve ever had. Flirting with him to make him trust me enough to tell me all that he knows about Irina. But it’s the best idea I have. And I need to show him that he cannot overpower me. Not anymore.

But his touch muddies it, makes me wonder how those hands would feel tearing my clothes off, how his voice would sound growling my name as he fucks me.

“I see that you’re still thinking about it,” he teases me.

“Hardly,” I lie, shifting to ease the ache in my ankle, my tone dripping with want as Nikolai stands shirtless by the basin, water sluicing down his tattooed chest, his muscles flexing, making my pussy wet despite the pain, despite him being Bratva. “Just wondering if those tattoos mark where you’ve fucked up, Nikolai, or where you’d fuck me.”

He turns, eyes blazing, water dripping to his jeans, cock outlined hard against the denim. “Fuck you, Katya? I’d spread your pussy wide, lick you till you scream, but you’d have to beg first, malyshka.”

I laugh, leaning forward, my shirt slipping to flash my tits, nipples stiff. “Beg? I’d have you eating my pussy raw before you blink, volchok. Tell me about Irina—what’s your Bratva scum hiding?”

He steps closer, heat rolling off him, his bulge inches from my face. “Greedy for my tongue already? Give me a taste of that pussy first, then maybe I’ll talk—why’s Irina worth your sweet little ass?”

I tilt my head, licking my lips, pussy dripping now. “Sweet? It’s wet and tight, Nikolai, but you’ll spill about her first, or I’ll ride your face and leave you dry.”