Page 51

MAL

She twitches in her sleep like a puppy.

Fierce in reverse proportion to her size, the mouthy little she-devil in my bed is restless, moving her legs under the sheets and rolling her head on the pillow, every so often jerking with a small whine.

I know she’s having a bad dream. Even if I hadn’t studied her sleeping many times before, her distress would be obvious.

That she’s in pain is obvious, too. It’s all over her, in every move and expression. What’s less obvious is why I feel so compelled to ease that pain. Why do I care so much about this demon waif with the big mouth and bad dye job? Why am I having to force myself to stay seated in this chair when every instinct I have is screaming at me to run over to the bed and comfort her?

She did take a bullet for me. There’s that.

Me. The assassin. Friendless dispenser of death.

What she hasn’t done is beg me to release her. She hasn’t cried, either. Mostly, she’s just argued and sassed the fuck out of me.

I don’t understand this woman at all .

She looks as fragile as a bird, but when I broke into the safe house and threatened to snap her neck, instead of begging for her life, she growled like a bear and promised she’d come back as a ghost and haunt me forever.

I hate to admit how endearing that was.

From the first moment I saw her, I wanted to protect her. To keep her safe. I was drawn to her before I knew a single thing about her, and now she’s in my bed, suffering from a bullet wound that still might end her life, and I’m sitting in this chair across from her struggling with my feelings.

Feelings! What has she done to me?

Those sweet brown eyes might have something to do with it. So might that stubborn streak. That she looks like a mouse but stands her ground like a Rottweiler is oddly compelling.

And she thanks me for everything. She even thanked me for not killing her!

Most inexplicable of all… she’s attracted to me.

She responded when I kissed her at the safe house. Arched into me with a small moan of pleasure, dug her fingernails into my skin, and pressed her breasts against my chest. Then today, when I took my shirt off because it was covered in blood, her eyes bulged and her face turned red as she examined my body.

It was obvious that blush wasn’t from disgust.

And let’s not forget that when I asked her why she took a bullet for me, she replied, “Because I didn’t want you to die.”

There’s definitely something wrong with her head.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will ease the strange ache in my chest.

She emits a soft cry, yanking me from the chaos of my thoughts. I frown, studying her pale face in concern, until she suddenly jerks upright, screaming.

I’m across the room and pulling her into my arms before my brain registers what I’m doing. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Trembling, she clings to me and hides her face in my chest. I rock her and reassure her that I’ll never let any harm come to her. That I’ll always be watching over her, protecting her, even when she doesn’t know I’m there.

I say all that in Russian because it doesn’t make any sense that I should feel protective of someone who’s supposed to be my enemy. I wouldn’t know how to explain if she asked me why. But she needs some kind of reassurance to stop all this shaking and gasping, so I try to provide it. In English this time.

“Next time you have a nightmare, remind yourself that you’re dreaming. It’s not real. Then tell yourself to wake up.”

“That makes no sense,” she says crossly. “How can I tell myself anything if I’m asleep?”

I should have known she’d be argumentative. Riley loves nothing more than to challenge me, even straight out of a nightmare. That tongue of hers is honed as sharp as a knife.

It’s a good thing she’s not looking at my face or I’d have to hide this smile.

“Your subconscious will remember I told you. From now on, you’ll be able to wake yourself up from a bad dream. It won’t stop you from having them, but it will help.”

She’s quiet for a moment, no doubt thinking of some snappy comeback to take me down a notch. Before she can, I tell her I’m going to run a bath.

“Didn’t you just take a shower?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for you.” I pull away and smooth a hand over her tangled hair, forcing my face to remain expressionless so she won’t guess how badly I want to kiss her. Just to make sure that doesn’t happen, I add, “You stink.”

Her look could melt steel. “That is so not helpful. ”

“Helpful or not, it’s the truth.”

It isn’t, but I’m not telling her that I think she smells like what heaven must smell like because I’m being ridiculous enough as it is.

“Drink some water.”

I take the glass from the nightstand, hand it to her, and watch carefully as she gulps the water down. When the urge to pull her into my arms again gets too strong, I stand and go into the bathroom, where I take a moment to steady myself before turning on the faucets in the bathtub. I test the temperature until it’s just right, then plug the drain and return to the bedroom.

Riley is sitting where I left her in bed, but now she has her glasses on and is staring in dissatisfaction at the wall above my head. She points to it.

“Wasn’t there a moose there?”

“No.”

She blinks rapidly, looking confused and a little frightened, as if maybe she imagined it altogether, so I hurry to reassure her that she didn’t.

“It was an elk.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Why the hell does it have to be so adorable when she sasses me? It’s not enough that I feel protective of her, I have to actually enjoy it when she’s disrespectful? If it were anybody else, they’d already have a bullet in their skull!

But it’s not anybody else. It’s Riley Rose. The only person in the world who makes me feel things.

My voice unintentionally gruff because there’s a rock in my throat, I say, “I took it down.”

She considers that with her head cocked to one side. “You took the elk head off the wall after I went to sleep?”

“Yes. ”

“Why?”

I could be headed into a minefield, but I tell her the truth anyway. I don’t know when it happened, but lying to her is no longer a possibility. “Because you didn’t like it.”

Blinking, she lifts her brows and says archly, “So in addition to being able to walk through walls, you can read minds.”

“No, but I can read faces. Yours is unusually expressive.”

Like it is now, for instance, with the color rising in her cheeks and panic shining in her eyes. She’s worried how much she’s given away already.

She should be. Because I know she wants me. If I were another sort of man, I’d already have taken her, injured or not.

I cross to her, pull the covers off her legs, and pick her up in my arms. She weighs virtually nothing, which makes me deeply uneasy.

I need to feed her. I need to make sure she’s eating enough so she can get her strength back. Why haven’t I forced her to eat more?

She distracts me from being angry with myself by saying, “I’m supposed to be walking.”

As if I’d let you. “You will be. Let’s get you clean first.”

I carry her into the bathroom and set her on her feet. When I tug at the hem of the nightgown she’s wearing, she jerks back so hard, she loses her balance.

“Whoa! What’re you doing?”

I grip her upper arm to steady her and keep my voice gentle because it’s obvious she’s horrified at the thought of me seeing her naked. “You’re feeling shy. There’s no need to be. I’ve already seen all of you there is to see, inside and out.”

She stares at me in open-mouthed shock.

Looks like an explanation is in order.

“I stood at the head of your bed when they opened your stomach to get the bullet and your damaged organs out. I gave you sponge baths while you were drugged. I changed your clothes, changed your bedsheets, and helped the nurse change your catheter when it got plugged. There isn’t an inch of your body I’m not already familiar with.”

Her face is white. She might actually pass out.

She closes her eyes and whispers, “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“This has to be a dream. There’s no universe in which this can possibly be real.”

I need to take care of her, and she’s not letting me. Impatience makes my tone sharper than I intended. “Don’t be dramatic. Bodies are just meat.”

Again, it’s the wrong thing to say. She glares at me with the heat of a thousand burning suns.

I’m sick for thinking how cute it is.

“Excuse me for not being deadened to all sense of humanity, Mr. International Assassin, but my body is not meat to me .”

What am I missing here? She’s not afraid to jump in front of a bullet for me, but she doesn’t want me to see her naked? “Are you angry because you think I might have touched you inappropriately?”

“Jesus!”

“Because I didn’t. I would never take advantage like that. I’m a psychopath, not a pervert. I believe strongly in consent.”

Her face turns beet red. She snaps, “Well that’s tremendous news! I feel so much better now!”

Withering sarcasm aside, she’s genuinely embarrassed. I realize it’s not fear that I did something to her while she’s unconscious that’s driving this, it’s simple vanity.

Awake, asleep, or under anesthesia, she knows I wouldn’t harm her.

She trusts me.

A seismic shift occurs inside my body. Volcanoes erupt. Mountains crumble. The sky turns to ashes, and the earth shudders under my feet.

When the dust settles, all that’s left is her .

My voice thick and my body on fire, I say, “And there are many things I’d like to get your specific consent for, Riley Rose, but touching you while you’re unconscious isn’t one of them.”

Her lips part as she stares at me, but she’s not the only one surprised by the tone in my voice. I sounded like the besotted caveman I am.

Don’t just stand here like a fool. Do something!

I test the bathwater again. That seems reasonable. Like something a man in control of himself would do. Then I shut off the faucets and turn back to her, determined to act calm and rational and keep my shit together.

If I believed in any gods, this is when I’d start praying to them for help.

“You can’t get your sutures wet, so the water will only cover your legs. I’ll wash your hair first.” I point at the metal bucket at one end of the bathtub. “Tip your head over the edge of the tub.”

When I tug on her hem again, she makes a face and stops me.

“Mal, I can’t. I can’t get naked in front of you. If this wound doesn’t kill me, the embarrassment will.”

“Embarrassment over what?”

“You seeing me naked!”

“I’ve already seen you naked. I just explained that.” And all of you is beautiful, Riley Rose, inside and out, wounded or not.

“You haven’t seen me naked while I was awake!”

Don’t think about it. Don’t picture her sweet naked body underneath yours. Keep your game face on! Say something to convince her she needs this. “You want to smell like a pigpen, is that it?”

Insulted, she curls her lip and huffs. “No!”

If there were a contest for the most wrong things said in a single conversation, I would fucking win.

“Then let me give you a bath.”

“You say that like I’m the unreasonable one!”

You are. You’re not afraid of me, which is completely unreasonable. And I’m the fool trying desperately not to fall at your feet. “The faster you get over your useless modesty, the faster this will be done.”

“Mal—”

“I promise I won’t look at anything. How’s that?”

There’s that lip curl again. It’s becoming my new favorite thing.

“Right. You won’t look at anything while you’re busy washing my hair and all my naked parts. I’m sure that will be very easy for you.”

Why does she have to keep saying the word “naked”? Is she trying to kill me?

I manage to say calmly, “Easier than living with your stench.”

She sends me one of her signature glares and pronounces, “You know what? I just decided I hate you.”

That makes two of us. “Hate me all you want in the bathtub.”

We stand staring at each other in silence while I fight the urge to kiss her and she plots my murder and dismemberment, until finally she relents and switches tactics.

She says pleadingly, “Can’t you understand what this must be like for me?”

“Yes, I can. And I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But you’re not steady enough to get in and out of the tub by yourself or lift the pitcher to rinse your hair. I doubt you have the strength to lift a bar of soap.”

She narrows her eyes at me, calculating if I’m lying or telling the truth. I wait patiently, silently willing her to understand that this is for her, that it will make her feel good, and that along with protecting her, making her happy is now my sole purpose in life.

Holding her doubtful gaze, I say as gently as possible, “I won’t force you. It’s your choice. I just want to help you feel better. I think a bath will do that.”

“So I could ask you to take me back to bed, and you will?”

“Yes.”

A shade of hostility fades from her posture when she realizes I’m being truthful. Chewing her lip, she gazes longingly at the water in the tub. Impatience nettles me, but I keep my mouth shut and let her come to her own decision.

Finally she mutters, “Fuck it.” She turns back to me and commands, “But don’t make it weird!”

That train has already left the station, but I wisely choose silence again and turn my back to her.

After a moment, she says, “What are you doing?”

“Would you prefer I stare at you while you take off your nightgown?”

I knew that would do the trick. She heaves a beleaguered sigh and begins to undress. Shocked by the sheer force of will I have to exert over myself not to turn and help her, I listen to her small sounds of frustration as she struggles to get the nightgown over her head.

Finally, she murmurs, “Okay.”

I turn and pick her up, keeping my gaze averted so as not to make her feel insecure or embarrassed. Then I lower her carefully into the tub, kneeling and setting her down gently. She has her arms crossed over her chest and her head bowed, and I’ve never seen her look so fragile.

Tenderness seizes me. The emotion is so strong, it’s almost overpowering. My heart thuds against my rib cage, and my throat constricts. I’ve never felt anything like it.

I hope I never will again because I can hardly breathe.

I cup my hand around the back of her head and slowly lean her back. She has her eyes squeezed shut now. I ask if she wants a towel to support her neck. Cheeks burning, she timidly says yes.

I quickly roll up a hand towel and place it under her neck, then take the pitcher from the floor and dip it into the bathwater, still keeping my gaze averted from her body. Then I wet her hair, grab a bottle of shampoo, squeeze a dollop into my hand, and start to clean her hair.

The moment I press my fingers into her scalp, she relaxes and exhales a soft sigh.

I’ve never heard a sound so sweet. Just when I thought I had myself together, that little sigh of pleasure unravels me all over again .

Her arms slide off her chest, exposing her breasts. She’s relaxed now, her embarrassment gone. I concentrate on gently massaging her head and neck, hoping she won’t notice how my hands tremble.

All these years, I was dead inside. Sleepwalking through life. Now, because of her, I’m awake again.

“I can’t say this in your language, little bird, because I’m still trying to work out what it all means. But I’ve never met anyone like you. Before you, my life made sense. I knew my purpose. I knew my place, which was alone. I liked it that way. My days and nights had a predictable rhythm. Nothing upset that rhythm. I didn’t think anything could.”

I rinse the shampoo from her hair, then wet a washcloth and start to gently wash her body. She’s slack and pliant, allowing me to tend to her as I continue to speak softly in Russian.

“Then I saw you, and everything changed. I can’t explain why. Something… woke up inside of me. It feels like being possessed. My mind is consumed by thoughts of you. It’s as if time has split into halves: before you and after you. The time where nothing much mattered and the time where all that matters is a smidgeon of a girl with a smile like an angel’s and the personality of a hellhound.

“You wouldn’t think that’s a compliment, but it is. Here’s another one: you make me crazy. I don’t know what to do with myself, I’m so crazy. I’ve never felt so lost. It’s awful, if I’m being honest. What’s even worse is that I’ve had you here with me for only a short while now, and already, I can’t imagine not having you here. How is that possible?

“I’m not a man who ever thought of the future because I assumed I wouldn’t have one. Or at least, a different one. Day in, day out, it was kill or be killed. And I’m very good at my job, little bird. The best, actually. But now, when I think about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that… you’re here with me. Talk about insane. Men like me don’t get happily ever afters. We don’t ride off into the sunset and live to old age. And women like you shouldn’t be anywhere near me .

“But… I’d give anything to keep you. Anything. Not only is that stupid of me, but it’s dangerous, too. For both of us, but mostly for you. This life I lead is ugly, but it’s what I chose. I know the risks. I couldn’t live with myself if I were selfish enough to force you to stay here. You’d hate me for it, anyway. In the end, you’d hate me. I don’t think I could stand that. You took a bullet for me, after all. You saved my life. I don’t understand why, but you did.”

Her expression is one of bliss and pure trust, and the tenderness I feel as I wash her sweet face is huge and painful. I’ve endured multiple stab wounds less agonizing than this.

In English, I say, “Open your eyes, little bird.”

Her lashes flutter, then her lids lift. Examining my face, she frowns. “Are you okay?”

Her voice is faint, but the concern in it flattens me. She’s the one who’s injured, but it’s me she’s worried about.

I shake my head, but don’t answer because I can’t trust what might come out of my mouth. I swallow it down, all the burning bright longing and feverish need, then tell her I’m going to lift her out of the tub.

“Do you think you can stand up?”

Eyes hazy, she considers it for a moment, then nods. “Not for long, though.”

I lift her, set her onto her feet, and gently towel dry her skin. Then I wrap the towel around her body, lift her in my arms, and carry her back to my bed. She rests her head on my shoulder and snuggles into me, and I know that no matter what happens, I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life.

I lay her on the mattress and move the towel around so I can change the dressing on her wound without exposing her breasts or the panties she kept on in the tub. As I work, I’m aware of her curious gaze on me, but I ignore it and concentrate on cleaning her sutures.

“Mal? ”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

That feels like a kick to the gut.

I stalked her. I kidnapped her. I took her away from everything she’s ever known, and still she’s grateful? She should be punching me in the face!

Glowering, I look into her eyes. “Don’t thank me.”

Innocent as a lamb, she says, “Why not?”

“You were shot because of me.”

“I’m alive because of you.”

Her sweet brown eyes are soft, and I have to close my own eyes for a moment because the guilt is too fucking much.

I realize then, in those few beats of silence, that what I’m feeling has a name. All these powerful, confusing emotions so mercilessly battering my body and soul can be distilled down into one simple four-letter word fools like me have been struck down by since the dawn of the human race.

Love.

I’ve fallen in love with a girl who’s related to my worst enemy. A girl who’s better than me in every conceivable way. A girl who doesn’t come from my world, who’d never fit into it, and who deserves so much more than what this monster could possibly give.

A girl, in short, who I can never call my own.

In a life full of bad moments, this one is the absolute worst.

I open my eyes and glower at her. “No,” I say, my voice hard. “ I’m alive because of you . Because you took a bullet meant for me. Don’t get it confused in your head. And don’t thank me.”

I turn my attention back to her sutures, my heart filled with the tortured song of a thousand howling wolves.

But Riley, stubborn smartass that she is, doesn’t let my glower intimidate her.

In a voice both innocent and tart, she says, “Am I allowed to thank you for taking away the big scary moose? ”

I’ve met hardened killers less confident than this. And definitely less annoying.

Whatever she sees on my face when I glance up at her makes her smile.

“I mean elk.”

“Be. Quiet.”

Eyes dancing with mischief, she whispers, “Because I really hated that thing.”

In Russian, I tell her she’s a giant pain in my ass, then tape a fresh bandage to her stomach. Finished with that, I go to the closet to get her something to wear. Without asking myself why, I choose a shirt identical to the one I’m wearing, then help her sit up and put it on.

It’s enormous on her, like a tent. She doesn’t seem to mind, because she’s too busy sniffing the sleeve and looking heartbreakingly happy about something.

That expression is instantaneously seared onto my mind’s eye. I know I’ll come back to it again and again after she’s gone, taking comfort in the memory.

That alone will be able to sustain me to the end of my days.

“Lie back.”

Miraculously, she does as I command without argument, then watches me in silence as I pull the shirt down over her hips. I pull the towel out from beneath her, hesitating only briefly before asking, “Panties on or off?”

She answers by lifting her hips.

I reach under the hem of the shirt and gently pull her wet panties down her legs, then go into the bathroom with them and the wet towel and lay both over the edge of the tub.

Then I brace my arms against the sink, bow my head, and struggle to get my breathing under control.

I’m in love with her. I’d burn down entire cities for her. I’ll follow her to the ends of the earth and kill anyone who dares to upset her and spend the rest of my life with her ghost inside my head .

And I can never let her know any of it.

Inhaling slowly, I raise my head and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes stare back at me, and though I expected them to be empty as they usually are, now I see an odd, unnerving glint.

It takes a moment for me to realize what the glint is. When I do, I’m afraid for the first time I can remember.

That strange spark reflected back at me is something maybe even more powerful than love. Something that makes people do even more foolish things, take even greater risks, keep fighting when all is lost and oblivion is not only possible, it’s inevitable.

Hope.

When Riley took a bullet meant for me, she also set something else into motion. Something I’ve only heard about in fairy tales or storybooks, a thing only prophets or sorcerers can do.

She resurrected me from the dead.

Not only that, but she also gave me a reason to live.

Dazed, I return to the bedroom. My little resurrectionist is yawning, so I kiss her on the forehead and tuck the blankets around her body, making sure she’s snug. Then I retreat to a safe space—the chair in the corner—sit down, and close my eyes.

Just when I think she’s drifted off, she murmurs my name.

“What?”

“Were you really going to kill me?”

Never. Never, malyutka. I’ve been yours since the very beginning.

I don’t say that. I simply wait until her breathing deepens and she’s asleep, then I pace the floors until dawn breaks, understanding that this fight inside me is one I can’t win.

I can’t keep her here. No matter how much I want it, she can’t be mine.

The only problem is that I know myself well…

And can’t s have never stopped Malek Antonov from getting what he wants.