Page 115 of Savage Lies

That answer transforms something fundamental between us. For the first time since she walked into my life, Katya’s making a conscious choice to be here instead of being forced to stay by circumstances beyond her control.

“Good. Then we plan how to eliminate Viktor’s network before they eliminate us.”

“Any ideas?”

“Several. But first, you need rest and time to heal. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

As I help Katya toward the bedroom, I realize that she’s no longer my prisoner or my victim or my unwilling guest.

She’s my partner in this fucked-up situation we’ve created.

Now, we just have to survive it.

33

Katya

Katya

Pain meds blur my thoughts, but they don’t touch the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with Pavel’s bullet.

I’ve been lying in Dmitri’s bed for two hours, pretending to rest while my mind circles everything that’s happened.

The FSB wants me dead.

My partner tried to execute me.

The only person offering protection is the man who kidnapped me and erased my memories.

Dmitri appears in the doorway carrying water and another pill. He’s changed out of his blood-stained shirt into dark jeans and nothing else, and the sight of his bare chest makes my pulse skip despite everything.

“Time for your medication.”

“I’m fine,” I croak out.

“You’re not fine. You were shot six hours ago.” He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that I can smell his familiar scent, and it comforts me. “Take the pill.”

I swallow it without argument because fighting takes energy I don’t have. And then the room goes quiet, and the silence eats at us until he speaks again.

“How are you feeling? Really?”

I sputter my lips and reply, “Like my entire world just exploded for the second time in two months.”

Dmitri’s eyes drop to the floor. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“Which part? Kidnapping me, manipulating my memories, or being the only person willing to keep me alive?”

“All of it. None of it. I don’t know anymore.”

He lets out a sigh and drags his hands through his hair as his shoulders slump, and I have to look away from him, too.

This isn’t the arrogant, controlling man who orchestrated my psychological reconstruction. This is someone genuinely shaken by seeing me hurt.

Watching him struggle with guilt he can’t fix makes something twist in my chest.

For weeks, I was the one confused and clinging to him for stability. Now he’s the one unraveling, and I’m the one who knows what we need.

We’re about to go to war with people who have government resources and unlimited funding. We’ll be targets for the foreseeable future.