Crave The Enemy

NICOCHAPTER 2: BABYSITTER FROM HELLNICOThe worst part about riding in a car with Sasha is not the silence.It's the fact that he makes the silence feel like a knife, scraping my skin and baring my soul. The guy is not even moving. And I already feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I close the video on my phone. Half because I’m bored and half because I’ve been waiting for him to crack and the subtle tightening of his jaw tells me he’s getting close.“That was… disturbing,” he mutters, eyes on the road.I smirk. “What? A little vintage leather and chains offend your delicate sensibilities?”He doesn’t bite, not exactly—just lets his gaze flick to mine in the rearview for a fraction of a second. Enough to make my pulse quicken and my grin widen. The man could gut me with a glance… or do something considerably more enjoyable. And I don't know why that excites me more than it terrifies me. “Try something less… grotesque next time,” he says, voice as flat as a blade.“So you do look for

ALEKSANDERSome people start their mornings with coffee, or a motivational song to prep them for the tasks ahead. Not me, though, the universe has decided that I will start my morning with a nuisance that smiles. And oh, he goes by the name, Domenico.He's like a song I hate that’s stuck on repeat, loud and annoying and stuck in my fucking head. I’ve met assassins with less commitment than he has to being under my skin. He's been going at it for the past four days, and I'm this close, this close to saying fuck all and snapping his neck. For the plot. It's not anything obvious at first, not a single moment I can point to and say, That’s when I lost it. It's smaller things, stacked on top of the other until all I can see is crimson. It's how he talks too much, even in places where silence is supposed to be the rule. The way he watches me like he's making a mental note of every bone in my body, like he's undressing me. And he's not in any way subtle about it. There's no sense of se

NICOI jolt awake, my heart pounding in my chest. Everywhere is fuzzy and I'm disoriented. It's the same nightmare, same eyes, same voice, same place and the same person. The same dream I've had a million times since I was fifteen. You'd think I would have gotten used to it by now, but I'm not. Every night, it's the same dream, each one worse than the last. But I'm not there, and I've moved on. Right?I lay there, staring at the ceiling, sweat sticking to my shirt. My brain replays the event like it’s currently happening. I squeeze my eyes shut to chase it all away, but that doesn't work. With a sigh, I get up and enter the bathroom.I splash cold water on my face; it works for now. I can't have these stupid nightmares hinder my purpose of being here. I head downstairs to get coffee. I would have gone for scotch; hell, I still might. At the bottom of the stairs, the sound of music from the gym greets me. Sasha. Of course. I wonder how long he's been awake. He's always in the gym

NICOWhen I said “make me” I didn't know what to expect. Hell, I didn't think Sasha would actually do it. Because why would he?The fact that he told me to get on my knees is still unbelievable. But I may or may not have confused his reasons. But I knew it would happen at some point; it was a matter of when. Now I can play with his carefully crafted resolve. I’ve wanted to hear him crack like this since the moment I saw him. The great Aleksander Morozov, the Bratva’s golden boy, snapping, again. Because of me.It did take putting my life on the line to achieve it, but it's all worth it. I should be scared. His hand is still on my throat, his eyes burning with something between rage and hunger, but all it does is make me grin. It's safe to say that I'm f****d up in the head. His jaw clenches. He's still trying to fight it, but he's already lost. He's not in control anymore, and he hates it. He brings his hand to the back of my neck and shoves me down. The back of my knees hit the f

SASHAThe lights are on when I get home from the meeting, and I don't have to guess who turned them on. Nico.I had to do damage control for his mouthing off a few days ago. The stink of vodka and cigar still clings to me. The house is quiet, the way it used to be before Nico entered it. When I step into the living room, the silence fractures. Not with sound, with him. He's sprawled across the sofa like he owns the place, one arm hanging off the edge, chest rising and falling in a lazy rhythm. His face looks softer, and I must admit, more handsome. It's almost unrecognisable from the sharp-tongued bastard I’ve been avoiding for days. Yes, avoiding. I, Aleksander Mikhailov, am ignoring someone. Unbelievable, I know. Normally I wouldn't care. I'd let it slide off me, bury it with the rest of the meaningless shit I never think about twice. Because that's who I am. And yet, here I am, staring at the man who has turned my world upside down. I've tried to shake it with women, but tha