Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Matvei swallows. “Worse. There’s surveillance footage. Luka and the nanny walking. Timestamps after our last sweep.”
I’m on my feet.
The air changes.
“They’re watching Luka,” I whisper. “They’re fucking watching Luka.”
“I’ll leave you to it. Let me know what you want from me.”
Matvei knows better than to argue, and he leaves.
The door clicks shut.
Silence swells between us, thick and brutal.
Ruthie runs her hands through her hair. “We need to pull everyone into a secure location. Lockdown. Total sweep. No movement unless—”
“No.”
She blinks. “No?”
I shake my head at her. “You want to turn my son’s life into a prison because you’re afraid?”
“No,” she snaps. “Because I’m not a fucking idiot, Vadka. Because he’s a kid. Because they’ve got his face on a list—”
“They won’t touch him.”
Her laugh is sharp and bitter. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because I’m going to end this before it gets to him.”
She throws her arms in the air. “You don’t get to gamble his life to prove how powerful you are.”
I glare at her. “And you don’t get to dictate tactics because you’re scared of losing again. We can’t hide like sitting fucking ducks. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide with a child?”
We stare at each other like enemies. Like lovers. Like two creatures who can’t decide whether to tear each other apart or protect the other with our last breath.
She swallows hard. “Then use me,” she says suddenly.
I feel my body go deadly still.
She goes on, even as she looks afraid. “I’m on the list. Let me draw them out. Use me as bait.”
“No.”
“It’s the cleanest way—”
My voice slices through the air. “You’re not bait. You’re mine. And I don’t trade what’s mine.”
“Vadka.” Her voice cracks. “You’d rather die protecting your fucking pride than live with your family safe.”
“No. God, Ruthie, no.” My voice is low, lethal. “You still don’t get it. This isn’t about fear. This is war.”
I move toward her.
She stands her ground.
“They killed my wife. I won’t let them hurt my son or you.” My voice breaks. “I can’t. I won’t. Not again.”
I reach for her and kiss her hard, bruising, a punishment we both crave. I pull back and press my forehead to hers. “Don’t you understand? If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have hid with Mariah. I wouldn’t have taken her and run. I would’ve come earlier and taken bigger fucking guns with me. I would have slaughtered every motherfucker who even thought about touching her.” I kiss her temple. “Just like I would for you, Ruthie.”
I want her, right here, right now. In my bed. Under my protection. Tethered to me in a way that can’t be undone.
I bite her lip, and she groans. “Tonight, baby,” I whisper. “Come back tonight. Come back every night. I want you in my bed. I want you to be mine. For now, we need to go back to the bar to set up a surveillance sweep.”
Chapter 18
RUTHIE
“Agreed.” I realize that might’ve sounded like I was agreeing to everything. “To the surveillance sweep,” I clarify.
He only growls at me, low and unnerving, as he gestures for us to head out.
After the surveillance sweep, the bar feels hollow. No music. No crowd.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit.
“Do what?”
“Live on the edge, watching.”
He walks up behind me.
Doesn’t touch.
Just breathes.
“No one will hurt you,” he says. “Not while I’m breathing.”
“But what if you stop breathing, Vadka?” I turn to face him. “What then?”
It feels like we don’t have the promise of tomorrow, that we can’t hold onto any future together, and all we have is right here, right now.
“Ruthie,” he whispers, shaking his head.
No build-up.
No sweetness.
Just collision.
His mouth crashes to mine. Teeth, tongue, heat. My shirt tears—literally rips under his fingers. I claw at his belt. His hands are rough, greedy, sliding up under my bra, down my spine, grabbing like he needs to feel me to believe I’m still here.
We stumble back into the dark corner behind the bar. No time. No care.
I shove bottles off the counter. They crash to the floor. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, slams me against the wood, and kisses me so hard it bruises.
“You want this?” he grits.
“Always.”
He grinds against me, and I’m already soaked, already shaking.
“This isn’t gentle.”
“Good,” I pant. “I don’t want gentle. I want real.”
He groans. Fingers on zippers, fabric aside, skin on skin, and I groan.
Then he’s inside me.
No ceremony. No softness. Just need.
It’s brutal. It’s broken. It’s two people trying to survive each other.
I meet him thrust for thrust. Bite his shoulder, dig my nails into his back like I’m marking him.
We don’t whisper promises.
We don’t say I love you.
We just burn.
And when I come, it’s not a moan—it’s a sob. It rips out of me, loud and raw and real.
He follows seconds later, forehead against mine, breath shattered.