Page 44 of Sweet Deception (Savage Vow #2)

––––––––

GLEB

The room stank of cigarette smoke and sweat, the air thick with the weight of men who’d kill for me, or die if I asked.

Eight of them sat around the table, my lieutenants, their scarred hands resting on maps and ledgers.

We were deep in Moscow’s underbelly, my office a fortress of concrete and steel, discussing the latest hit on our shipments.

The Italians were testing me again, and I wasn’t in the mood for games.

Anna was there, against my better judgment.

She’d insisted on sitting in, saying she wanted to understand my world.

Her world now. She perched on a chair near the wall, her sling gone but her shoulder still stiff, dressed in one of my black shirts and jeans that hugged her too well.

I’d told her to stay out of sight, but she’d smiled that soft, stubborn smile, and I’d caved.

Now I regretted it.

Dmitri was talking, my second-in-command, broad as a bear, with a face carved from stone. He leaned over the table, pointing at a route on the map, his voice a low growl. “We hit them here, boss. Cut their supply line before they regroup.”

I nodded, half-listening, my eyes flicking to Anna.

She was watching Dmitri, her head tilted, lips parted just enough to show curiosity.

Too much curiosity. Her gaze lingered on his hands, his shoulders, the way he moved with that brute confidence.

It wasn’t lust, not exactly, but it was something. Interest. And I didn’t like it.

My jaw tightened. I shifted in my chair, forcing my focus back to Dmitri. “Make it quick. No loose ends.”

He grunted agreement, and the others chimed in plans for blood and profit. But my attention was split. Anna shifted, crossing her legs, her eyes still on him as he cracked his knuckles, oblivious to her stare. She didn’t even glance my way.

Heat crawled up my neck. She was mine, mine to protect, mine to touch, mine to ruin if I wanted. Not his. Never his. I’d almost lost her once; I wasn’t losing her to some fleeting glance at a man who’d snap her in half without blinking.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, keeping it low under the table. My thumb moved fast, typing out the words burning in my skull. “Keep looking at him like that, and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t walk tomorrow.”

I hit send.

Her phone buzzed on her lap. She blinked, startled, then picked it up.

Her eyes scanned the screen, and color flooded her cheeks, pink at first, then red.

She snapped her head up, meeting my gaze across the room.

I didn’t smile, didn’t soften. I stared her down, letting her feel the weight of it, anger, want and promise.

She swallowed, shifting in her seat, her thighs pressing together. Good. She got it.

“Boss?” Dmitri’s voice cut through. “You with us?”

I didn’t break eye contact with her. “Yeah. Finish it.”

He shrugged, turning back to the map, and the meeting dragged on, details of ambushes, payoffs, revenge. Anna kept her eyes down now, fingers fidgeting with her phone, but I could see the flush still on her neck. She knew I wasn’t bluffing.

When it wrapped, I stood, barking orders. “Dmitri, you lead. Rest of you, move out tonight. No mistakes.”

They filed out, grunting affirmations, leaving the room empty except for her.

She stayed put, watching me as I crossed to her, slow, deliberate.

I stopped inches away, towering over her chair.then grabbed the bottom of it, wood scraping loud against the floor, and yanked it toward me.

She gasped, clutching the arms, her body jolting closer until her knees brushed my legs.

“Enjoy the show?” My voice was low, edged with something dark.

She looked up, eyes wide but defiant. “I was just... listening.”

“Bullshit.” I leaned down, one hand gripping the armrest, caging her in. “You were looking at him. What was it? His hands? His voice?”

Her breath hitched. “Gleb, I wasn’t...”

“Don’t lie to me.” I straightened, grabbing her wrist, not hard, but firm and pulled her up. She stumbled into me, her body soft against mine, and that contact alone set my blood on fire. “You don’t get to look at anyone else like that.”

She glared, but her voice trembled. “You’re jealous.”

“Damn right I am.” I backed her against the wall, my hands sliding to her hips, pinning her there. “You’re mine, Anna. Every look, every thought. Mine.”

Her lips parted, but before she could argue, I kissed her hard, punishing and claiming.

She gasped into it, her hands fisting my shirt, and I pressed myself against her, letting her feel how much I meant it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, probably Dmitri or Borris but I ignored it. The world could wait.

I pulled back, breathing ragged, and growled against her ear, “Upstairs. Now. Or I’ll make good on that text right here.”

She shivered, eyes dark with heat, and nodded. I let her go, watching her walk unsteady, already half-wrecked, toward the stairs. I followed, every step a promise.

She wouldn’t be walking straight tomorrow. I’d make sure of it.

As we entered the spacious upstairs room, its tall glass windows casting reflections across the floor, I pinned her to the desk. My hand slid toward her waistband.

A sharp crack split the air.

Glass shattered.

Instinct kicked in. I lunged to shield her, but Anna, damn her, moved faster. She shoved me aside, her body twisting in front of mine as the shot rang out. She gasped, stumbling back against the desk a red stain blooming across her shoulder.

“Anna!” My voice broke as I caught her, my hands trembling. Blood soaked through her shirt, warm and slick under my fingers.

Another shot rang out, ricocheting off the walls. I pulled us both behind the desk, shielding her with my body as I scanned the shadows.

Footsteps thundered. Dimitri and Boris burst into the room, weapons drawn.

“Gleb!” Borris shouted, eyes wild. “Stay down!”

Dmittri crouched beside us, his gaze fixed on Anna, “She’s bleeding badly, boss.”

My hands pressed against her wound, desperate to staunch the flow. Panic clawed at my chest, stealing my breath. “Hold on, Anna. Please, hold on.”

Her eyes fluttered open, dazed but focused on mine. “Gleb... I’m okay...”

“No, you’re not,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Why the hell did you do that?”

She tried to smile, wincing. “Couldn’t... let you die.”

Those words shattered me. For twelve months, I’d kept her at arm’s length, hating her at first, blaming her for a war that wasn’t her fault, then guarding her from a fate I couldn’t control. But now, bleeding out in my arms, she’d chosen me over herself. And I’d almost lost her.

Borris fired into the dark, then yelled, “They’re gone! We need to move, now!”

I scooped Anna into my arms, her body limp against mine, and bolted down the stairs toward the car. In the back seat, I cradled her, pressing firmly on the wound to stanch the bleeding. Borris slid into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, flashing streetlights, the hum of tires on asphalt, Anna’s shallow breaths. I whispered fervent pleas, my voice trembling. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me.”

At the hospital, they pried her from my arms. I stood there, blood staining my hands, helpless as they wheeled her away. Borris gripped my shoulder, his voice low. “She’s tough. She’ll make it.”

Hours later, the doctor emerged. “She’s stable. The bullet missed anything vital. It’s a shoulder wound, clean through. She’ll recover with rest.”

Relief hit me like a tidal wave, but it didn’t erase the terror. I’d almost lost her. And for what? To keep her safe from my enemies, my family, my own damn restraint?

When they let me see her, she was awake, pale but smiling faintly. “You look awful,” she murmured.

I sank into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand. “You don’t get to scare me like that again.”

She squeezed my fingers. “Not planning to.”

That night, I didn’t sleep. I watched her breathe, every rise and fall of her chest a reminder of how close I’d come to an empty life.

She was mine, not just by marriage, not just to protect, but because I couldn’t survive without her.

I’d been a fool to think distance would keep her safe. It wouldn’t. Only I could.

Days later, we were back home. She was still weak, her arm in a sling, but alive. The garage was quiet as we stepped out of the car, her leaning on me, my arm around her waist. She glanced up, teasing, “You’re hovering.”

“Get used to it,” I muttered.

She laughed softly, and that sound, God, it undid me. I stopped, turning her to face me. Her eyes widened at the intensity in mine. “Gleb?”

I didn’t answer with words. I pressed her against the car, gently, mindful of her injury, but firm enough to feel her gasp.

My lips crashed into hers, desperate, hungry, pouring the last few hours of pent-up fear and longing into that kiss.

She froze for a heartbeat, then melted, her good hand clutching my shirt.

I pulled back, breathing hard, my forehead against hers. “I almost lost you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not enough.” My hands slid to her hips, careful but possessive. “Anna, you are my anchor. No one else gets to take you from me.”

Her breath hitched, eyes searching mine. “Then don’t let them.”

That was it, the breaking point. I kissed her again, deeper, my fingers finding the hem of her shirt. She shivered as I lifted it, my lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, avoiding her bandaged shoulder. I needed her, needed to feel her alive, warm, mine.

I lifted her onto the car hood, her legs parting instinctively. Her jeans were next, unzipped with shaking hands. She gasped, wide-eyed, but didn’t stop me. “Gleb...”

“Tell me to stop,” I rasped, giving her the out I knew I’d hate myself for offering.

She didn’t. She pulled me closer instead.

And that was all I needed.

***

The house was quiet, save for the faint clatter of pans in the kitchen.

Anna was there. humming softly, a sound I’d never heard from her until these past few days.

Since the bullet, since the hospital, something had shifted.

She was still weak, her left arm in a sling, but she’d insisted on moving around today. Stubborn as hell.

I leaned against the doorway, watching her.

She stood at the counter, chopping herbs with her good hand, awkward but determined.

The smell hit me, borscht, my favorite, rich with beets and dill.

She’d remembered. After months of cold distance, then nearly losing her, that small act twisted something deep in my chest.

Her hair fell loose, brushing the nape of her neck, and her shirt, too big, one of mine, slipped off her uninjured shoulder. She didn’t notice me yet, lost in her task. Vulnerable. Alive. Mine.

I crossed the room in three strides, my boots heavy on the tile. She startled, turning halfway, a smile flickering. “Gleb, I didn’t...”

“Quiet,” I said, voice low, rougher than I meant. I stopped behind her, close enough to feel her warmth. My hands hovered, then settled on her hips, firm but careful. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking.” Her breath hitched as my fingers tightened. “Your favorite.”

I leaned in, lips grazing her ear. “I’ll taste you first.”

She froze, the knife clattering to the counter. “Gleb...”

I didn’t wait for more. My hands slid up, one cupping her waist, the other brushing the bare skin where her shirt had slipped. She shivered, and that sound, soft, unguarded lit a fire in me. For the past few momths, I’d held back, hated her, feared her, protected her. Now I couldn’t stop.

I turned her, slow, mindful of her sling, until she faced me.

Her eyes were wide, dark with something between nerves and want.

I didn’t give her time to think. My mouth crashed into hers, hard and claiming, swallowing her gasp.

She tasted like salt and heat, and when her good hand gripped my shirt, pulling me closer, I groaned.

“Gleb,” she whispered against my lips, shaky. “The food...”

“Forget it.” I lifted her onto the counter, her legs parting as I stepped between them.

Bowls clinked, a spoon hit the floor, I didn’t care.

My hands found her thighs, rucking up the shirt, exposing soft skin.

She wasn’t wearing much underneath, and that realization snapped what little control I had left.

Her breath came fast, chest rising against mine.

I kissed her again, deeper, my tongue sliding against hers as my fingers dug into her hips.

She arched, a small sound escaping her, and it drove me wild.

I pulled back just enough to yank the shirt higher, baring her stomach, her ribs, stopping short of her bandaged shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” I muttered, voice thick, almost angry. “Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t. Her good hand slid to my neck, pulling me back. “Don’t.”

That was it. I shoved her thighs wider, my mouth dropping to her throat, tasting the pulse hammering there. She squirmed, hips shifting, and I pressed myself against her, hard, insistent, letting her feel what she did to me. Her gasp was raw, unrestrained, and it broke me.

My hand slipped between her legs, finding her already wet, and I cursed under my breath. “You want this,” I growled, more to myself than her, as my fingers moved, rough but deliberate. She moaned, head tipping back, and I watched her unravel, innocent Anna, mine now, trembling under my touch.

I couldn’t wait. Not after everything. I fumbled with my belt, shoving my jeans down just enough, and pulled her closer by the hips.

Her eyes locked on mine, wide and trusting, and for a second, I hesitated, her shoulder, the blood, the fear of losing her flashing through me.

But then she whispered, “Please,” and I was gone.

I entered her in one sharp thrust, her cry echoing in the kitchen.

She was tight, hot, and I stilled, breathing hard, giving her a moment.

Her nails dug into my arm, her legs wrapping around me, and when she nodded, small, desperate, I moved.

Slow at first, then faster, deeper, the counter rattling beneath us.

Every sound she made, every shudder, fueled me.

I needed this, needed her more than air.

My hand gripped her thigh, the other braced beside her, careful of her sling.

Sweat beaded on her skin, her lips parted, and when she clenched around me, I lost it.

“Anna,” I rasped, burying my face in her neck as I drove harder, chasing that edge.

She came first, a broken moan spilling out, and it pulled me over with her, raw, messy, overwhelming.

I stayed there, panting against her, our breaths mingling. Her good hand slid into my hair, weak but steady, and I felt her heartbeat under my palm. Alive. Mine.

The borscht simmered on the stove, forgotten