Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

WHAT NIKOLAI DOES

AURORA

Aleksandr didn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon.

I wasn’t sure if that was because I had bitten him or because I’d announced my intention to escape directly to his face.

Probably both.

Either way, I preferred the silence.

Mostly.

He sat at the desk with his laptop open while I occupied the couch with one of his English books.

I wasn’t reading.

I’d been staring at the same page for at least ten minutes.

My mind was somewhere else.

Outside.

The driveway.

The front gate.

The forest.

The kitchen door.

Every time I closed my eyes, I reconstructed the estate.

Aleksandr’s bedroom was upstairs.

Three floors, I thought.

The main staircase led into the foyer.

Security station to the right.

Front entrance directly ahead.

Kitchen down the western hallway.

Side delivery door inside the kitchen.

At least three guards downstairs during breakfast.

More outside.

Cameras near the stairs.

Camera facing the front door.

Probably cameras outside too.

The gate was approximately a quarter mile from the house.

Maybe less.

Dense forest beyond it.

Wolves.

Assuming Aleksandr hadn’t lied about that.

I didn’t think he had.

He lied by omission.

He refused answers.

He changed subjects.

But when Aleksandr gave a direct answer, I was beginning to realize he usually meant it.

That didn’t mean I trusted him.

It meant I was learning him.

There was a difference.

A very important difference.

I turned the page.

“What are you reading?”

I looked up.

Aleksandr was watching me.

“Nothing.”

His eyes dropped to the book.

“Obviously.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“You haven’t turned page in fifteen minutes.”

I stared at him.

“Are you timing me?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because you’ve been staring at same page since I answered email.”

I closed the book.

“Maybe it’s a really interesting page.”

“What happens?”

I looked down.

I didn’t even know what book I’d picked up.

The title was embossed across the cover.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

I looked back at him.

“Things.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Things?”

“Things I don’t want to tell you.”

His mouth moved.

Not quite a smile.

I had used his own answer against him.

Good.

I set the book beside me.

“Why do you have so many English books?”

“I read English.”

“I noticed.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because most of the books are Russian.”

“I read Russian too.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“So I’ve—”

“Don’t say it.”

His mouth closed.

I pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

For half a second, I thought he might laugh.

Instead his phone rang.

The change in him was immediate.

His eyes moved to the screen.

His entire face hardened.

I noticed.

Not because I was staring.

Although I was.

Because Aleksandr went very still.

The kind of stillness that didn’t mean calm.

It meant preparation.

He picked up the phone.

“Da.”

Russian.

I returned my attention to the book.

Or pretended to.

His voice stayed low.

The person on the other end spoke.

Aleksandr answered once.

Silence.

Then—

“When?”

English.

Another pause.

His jaw tightened.

“I thought you were gone until next week.”

My eyes lifted.

Nikolai.

I knew immediately.

Something cold moved through my stomach.

Aleksandr stood.

“No.”

A pause.

“No, she’s here.”

Me.

They were talking about me.

I set the book down.

Aleksandr looked toward me.

Our eyes met.

He turned away.

“She’s fine.”

Fine.

I almost corrected him just because I knew he hated when I used that word.

This wasn’t the time.

His voice changed.

“What?”

A long silence.

Then Russian.

Fast.

Hard.

Angry.

Aleksandr walked toward the window.

His back faced me.

One hand went to his hip.

His shoulders tightened.

I didn’t understand a word.

Except my name.

Aurora.

Then—

“Nikolai.”

Warning.

Aleksandr said something else.

Nikolai apparently answered.

Aleksandr went silent.

Completely silent.

Then the call ended.

He remained by the window.

I waited.

“He’s back.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

My stomach dropped.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

We had days.

A week.

Seven days.

I’d already been counting them.

“Why?”

Aleksandr put the phone into his pocket.

“Business finished early.”

I didn’t believe that.

“Does he want to see me?”

“No.”

Relief came so quickly my shoulders sagged.

Aleksandr noticed.

Of course he did.

“Then what does he want?”

“Me.”

Something about the way he said it made me uneasy.

“What for?”

He walked toward the dresser.

Opened it.

Removed his holster.

Checked the gun.

Attached it to his waist.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

He glanced at me.

“Maybe.”

There it was again.

I stood.

“Why are you taking a gun to see your brother?”

“I always carry.”

“Inside your own house?”

“Not my house.”

I hadn’t realized that.

“Nikolai’s?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed his phone.

Then keys.

I watched him.

Something wasn’t right.

He was too controlled.

Too deliberate.

“Aleksandr.”

He stopped at the door.

“What?”

“Is this about me?”

His expression gave nothing away.

My stomach tightened.

“It is.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He reached for the lock.

“Did someone tell him I ran?”

Silence.

“Oh God.”

Of course.

There had been guards outside.

Security cameras.

The entire estate probably knew I’d tried to escape before Aleksandr carried—dragged—me back inside.

“What is he going to do?”

“Nothing to you.”

That wasn’t what I had asked.

“What is he going to do to you?”

Aleksandr’s eyes met mine.

“Stay here.”

“Aleksandr.”

“Door locks behind me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Don’t open for anyone.”

I crossed my arms.

“Who would I open it for?”

“No one.”

“Exactly.”

His hand closed around the knob.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

Something in my chest tightened.

I didn’t like that.

Not because I wanted him here.

I didn’t.

But Sergei and Pavel had gotten through the previous lock.

Roman had looked at me in the kitchen like—

No.

I didn’t want to think about that.

“Is Elena downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Can she come up?”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be alone.”

The words were out before I could stop them.

Embarrassment burned through me.

I looked away.

Aleksandr stared for a second.

Then took out his phone.

He sent a message.

“She’ll come.”

I looked back.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Then left.

The lock clicked behind him.

I stood staring at the door.

Something heavy settled in my stomach.

I didn’t know why.

Elena arrived ten minutes later.

She knocked three times.

“Aurora? Is Elena.”

I checked anyway.

I couldn’t see through the door.

There was no peephole.

“Say something only you would know.”

Silence.

Then—

“Aleksandr has terrible manners.”

I smiled despite myself.

“That’s not exactly a secret.”

She laughed.

“Yesterday you drank coffee after he told you tea.”

Good enough.

I opened the deadbolt.

The electronic lock had already been released remotely.

Elena entered carrying folded clothes.

She looked at me.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

I caught myself.

“I’m nervous.”

Her expression softened.

“Better answer.”

I stared.

“Does everybody in this house have a problem with the word fine?”

“Only when not true.”

She put the clothes on the bed.

Jeans.

Shirts.

Sweaters.

Underwear.

Bras.

Socks.

Actual pajamas.

I almost cried over pajamas.

“These are for me?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

I touched the sweater on top.

Soft.

Cream.

Normal.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for clothes.”

“That’s what Aleksandr says.”

Her eyes moved toward the door.

“Where is he?”

“Nikolai called him.”

Elena stopped.

It was small.

Barely noticeable.

But I saw.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar too.”

Her lips pressed together.

“I don’t lie.”

“You just did.”

She busied herself arranging the clothes.

“Elena.”

She looked at me.

“What happens when Nikolai calls Aleksandr like that?”

Her expression closed.

“Brothers argue.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It is what I answer.”

I studied her.

She knew.

Whatever I had felt before became heavier.

“Is Nikolai violent with him?”

Elena’s eyes sharpened.

“Why ask?”

“Because Aleksandr acted strange before he left.”

“Aleksandr always strange.”

“Not like that.”

She sighed.

“Aurora.”

“Please.”

She sat on the edge of the bed.

For several seconds she said nothing.

Then—

“They are brothers.”

“I know.”

“They have complicated history.”

“That’s not an answer either.”

“No.”

I waited.

She looked at her hands.

“Nikolai does not like disobedience.”

My stomach tightened.

“Aleksandr disobeys him.”

“Often.”

“Why doesn’t Nikolai just—”

I stopped.

Kill him.

The words felt horrible.

But these were mafia men.

Brothers or not.

Elena understood.

“Because Aleksandr is useful.”

Useful.

I hated that word.

“Does Nikolai hurt him?”

Elena looked at me.

“Sometimes men hurt each other and call it family.”

My throat tightened.

That was answer enough.

I thought about Nikolai.

The first two days.

The things I tried not to remember.

The way he could smile before causing pain.

The way his anger didn’t need shouting.

The calm was worse.

I knew what he could do.

I knew how bad it could get.

And Aleksandr had stepped between Nikolai and me yesterday.

He’d challenged him over the doctor.

He’d called me a person when Nikolai called me property.

He’d allowed me outside.

I’d run.

Someone had told Nikolai.

My stomach twisted.

“He’s hurting him because of me.”

Elena immediately shook her head.

“No.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Whatever happens between those brothers started long before you.”

“But I ran.”

“Yes.”

“Aleksandr was supposed to keep me from escaping.”

“He did.”

“After I got outside.”

“You didn’t escape property.”

“That probably doesn’t matter to Nikolai.”

Elena didn’t answer.

Exactly.

I walked toward the window.

Darkness had begun creeping over the mountains.

The glass reflected the room behind me.

Elena.

The bed.

The couch.

Me.

No Aleksandr.

I hated that I noticed his absence.

“He’ll come back,” Elena said.

I turned.

“I didn’t ask.”

“No.”

Heat touched my face.

“I’m not worried about him.”

“Okay.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That sounded like him.”

She smiled.

I looked back outside.

“I’m worried about what happens if he doesn’t come back.”

That was partly true.

Maybe completely.

I wasn’t sure.

And I didn’t want to examine it too closely.

Two hours passed.

Then three.

Elena stayed.

She brought dinner.

I barely ate.

She didn’t comment.

At some point Katya came upstairs with tea.

She didn’t enter.

Elena took the tray at the door.

I watched every time the lock moved.

Every sound in the hallway made me look up.

This was ridiculous.

Aleksandr could handle himself.

He was the Brute.

He had killed people.

He had scars covering his back.

He was probably the most dangerous man in this entire house besides Nikolai.

Maybe more dangerous.

He didn’t need me worrying.

I wasn’t worrying.

I was—

Listening.

That was all.

At nearly eleven, Elena stood.

“I should go.”

My heart jumped.

“Why?”

She looked at me.

I hated how quickly I’d asked.

“I come back tomorrow.”

“What if Aleksandr doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“You don’t know that.”

She touched my shoulder.

I flinched.

She immediately removed her hand.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. I should ask.”

I nodded.

She looked toward the door.

“You lock after me.”

I did.

Then I was alone.

The room felt different.

Too quiet.

I sat on the couch.

Turned on the television.

Everything was Russian.

Of course.

I found an English movie.

Didn’t follow a second of it.

Midnight.

One.

One-thirty.

I fell asleep sitting upright.

Then—

the lock clicked.

My eyes flew open.

I grabbed the razor from beneath the pillow.

The bedroom door opened.

A man stepped inside.

I raised the razor.

Then froze.

“Aleksandr?”

He closed the door.

Locked it.

My hand slowly lowered.

Something was wrong.

He didn’t turn around immediately.

One hand remained braced against the door.

His head hung slightly.

His long black hair had come loose from its tie.

Then he faced me.

My stomach dropped.

“Oh my God.”

Blood covered the left side of his face.

Not all fresh.

Some had dried near his temple.

His lower lip was split.

One cheek was swelling.

There was blood on the collar of his black shirt.

He looked at the razor in my hand.

Then at me.

“Planning murder?”

His voice sounded rough.

I didn’t laugh.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

I stood.

“That’s not nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

I stared.

Then—

despite everything—

I almost laughed.

His eyebrow lifted.

“What?”

“You said fine.”

“So?”

“You hate when I say fine.”

“Different.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He walked toward the dresser.

Or tried to.

Halfway there, his body stiffened.

His hand moved toward his side.

Quickly.

Like he didn’t want me to notice.

I noticed.

“What happened to your ribs?”

“Nothing.”

“Aleksandr.”

He pulled open a drawer.

“Go sleep.”

“No.”

He looked over.

I surprised myself too.

His face hardened.

“Aurora.”

“What?”

“Sleep.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I can walk.”

“Badly.”

His eyes narrowed.

I crossed my arms.

He looked terrifying.

Blood.

Bruises.

Size.

Anger.

And yet—

for the first time since meeting him, I wasn’t afraid enough to retreat.

Maybe because I’d seen Nikolai’s work before.

I knew what it looked like.

“Take your shirt off.”

Silence.

Aleksandr stared at me.

My face immediately heated.

“Not like that.”

His eyebrow rose.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I hated that he had used my own line.

“I need to see your ribs.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re ribs.”

“Brilliant.”

I walked toward the bathroom.

He watched.

I opened the cabinet.

Medical kit.

Exactly where I’d seen it.

I grabbed it.

Wet a clean cloth.

Then returned.

Aleksandr was still standing beside the dresser.

“Sit.”

“No.”

I stared.

“Do you enjoy being difficult?”

“Yes.”

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He looked at me.

I pointed.

“You made me say it.”

His mouth twitched.

Then he winced.

The movement pulled his split lip.

“Sit.”

This time he did.

Not because I ordered him.

Probably because standing hurt.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.

I stopped several feet away.

The fear came back.

Not as strong.

But there.

He was still Aleksandr.

Still the man who’d dragged me by my hair.

Still the man who could overpower me.

Still my captor.

He noticed my hesitation.

“Leave kit.”

I looked at the cloth in my hand.

Then his face.

“No.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

I stepped closer.

Slowly.

My heart accelerated.

One step.

Two.

I stopped directly in front of him.

Sitting, he was less intimidating.

Barely.

He looked up.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning the blood.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s all over your face.”

“I have mirror.”

“Congratulations.”

“Aurora.”

“Hold still.”

I lifted the cloth.

My hand trembled.

His eyes dropped to it.

Embarrassment burned through me.

“I can do it,” he said.

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

I paused.

Why was I?

Because Elena had told me brothers hurt each other and called it family?

Because Aleksandr had stopped the doctor?

Because he’d given me five minutes outside?

Because he’d been beaten after I ran?

No.

Not exactly.

I knew something else.

Something simpler.

I knew Nikolai.

Maybe not the way Aleksandr did.

But enough.

I knew the look in his eyes before pain.

I knew the way he could hurt someone while staying perfectly calm.

I knew what it felt like afterward.

I swallowed.

“Because I know how bad things can get with Nikolai.”

Aleksandr went completely still.

Our eyes met.

For once, he had no immediate answer.

I lifted the cloth.

Touched his temple.

He flinched.

I stopped.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

I almost smiled.

“Right.”

I dabbed the blood away.

Slowly.

Carefully.

There was a cut near his hairline.

Not deep.

His cheek was bruised.

His lip worse.

“What did he hit you with?”

No answer.

“Aleksandr.”

“Fist.”

I cleaned the blood near his eyebrow.

“All of this?”

“No.”

My hand stopped.

“What else?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if I’m trying to clean it.”

His eyes remained on mine.

“Ring.”

I looked at the cut.

Nikolai wore rings.

I remembered.

“That’s why this split.”

“Yes.”

I moved lower.

His lip.

I hesitated.

“That’s going to hurt.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“I noticed.”

He looked at me.

I nodded toward his scars.

“Yesterday.”

Understanding crossed his face.

“You saw.”

“You changed your shirt in front of me.”

“My room.”

I rolled my eyes.

“There are scars all over your back.”

“Yes.”

“Nikolai?”

His expression closed.

I knew immediately I’d gone too far.

I returned to cleaning.

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

Silence.

I dabbed his lip.

His breath moved across my fingers.

My hand froze.

Too close.

Suddenly I became aware of everything.

His knees on either side of where I stood.

His face inches from mine.

His eyes.

Dark.

Watching me.

My own breathing.

I stepped back.

“Shirt.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“What?”

“Your ribs.”

“No.”

“You were holding them.”

“Bruised.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you already look nervous.”

“I am nervous.”

The admission came easily now.

Maybe because there was no point pretending with him.

“I’m still afraid of you.”

His face gave nothing away.

“I know.”

“But I’m not going to let you sit there bleeding everywhere.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Probably.”

“Take it off.”

He stared.

Then reached behind his neck and pulled the shirt over his head.

My breath stopped.

Not because of his body.

Not exactly.

The bruises.

“Oh my God.”

His entire left side was darkening.

Purple.

Red.

One mark looked almost black near his lower ribs.

I forgot my nervousness.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing broken.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No.”

“Did he kick you?”

Silence.

My stomach turned.

“He did.”

Aleksandr looked away.

Anger moved through me.

Unexpected.

Sharp.

“Because I ran?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“It wasn’t only that.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t answer.

I put the cloth down.

“Aleksandr.”

His eyes lifted.

“What?”

“What happened?”

He looked toward the window.

“Nikolai heard about doctor.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

“And guards.”

“Sergei and Pavel?”

“Yes.”

“And me running.”

“Yes.”

My throat tightened.

“Was he angry because you stopped the doctor?”

“Partly.”

“Because you let me outside?”

“Yes.”

“Because those men got into your room?”

“He blamed me.”

“Why?”

“Because they got close to you.”

I stared.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Nikolai doesn’t need make sense.”

No.

He didn’t.

I knew that.

“What else?”

Aleksandr looked at me.

“He asked why.”

“Why what?”

“Why I keep interfering.”

My heart changed rhythm.

“What did you say?”

“That he’s careless.”

I blinked.

“You called Nikolai careless?”

“Yes.”

“To his face?”

“Obviously.”

“Are you insane?”

“Probably.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped me.

Aleksandr looked at me.

It disappeared.

I grabbed a small ice pack from the kit.

Cracked it.

Wrapped it in a towel.

“Here.”

He took it.

Our fingers touched.

Barely.

I jerked my hand back.

Aleksandr noticed.

His expression changed.

I hated myself for reacting.

But fear didn’t disappear because someone got hurt.

He pressed the ice against his ribs.

I picked up the cloth again.

“There is blood near your neck.”

“Leave it.”

“No.”

“Aurora.”

“Hold still.”

I stepped between his knees again.

This time he didn’t argue.

I cleaned the blood near his jaw.

Then his neck.

My hand was steadier now.

Neither of us spoke.

The room became too quiet.

I could hear the faint wind against the windows.

The clock beside his bed.

His breathing.

Mine.

When I finished, I lowered the cloth.

“There.”

Aleksandr didn’t move.

Neither did I.

I should have stepped away.

I knew that.

But our eyes met.

And held.

His face was different this close.

I had noticed the scar through his eyebrow before.

The crooked nose.

Dark stubble.

Hard jaw.

But there were smaller details I’d never let myself notice.

A faint scar beneath his lower lip.

Tiny lines at the corners of his eyes.

A thin white mark near his temple.

His eyes weren’t black.

Not really.

Dark brown.

So dark they only looked black from a distance.

I swallowed.

His gaze moved over my face.

Not my body.

My face.

I should move.

I didn’t.

Something shifted.

Not trust.

Definitely not trust.

Not attraction.

I didn’t know what it was.

Recognition maybe.

Two people who knew what Nikolai could do.

That was all.

Aleksandr slowly lifted his hand.

I saw it.

My body stiffened.

He stopped.

His hand remained suspended between us.

He could see the fear.

I knew he could.

Then his fingertips touched my cheek.

Softly.

So softly I almost wondered if I imagined it.

My breath hitched.

The sound was tiny.

But in the quiet room, it felt enormous.

Aleksandr’s thumb moved once.

A gentle stroke across my cheek.

Warm skin.

Rough fingertip.

My entire body went still.

No man had ever touched me like that.

Not like this.

Not slowly.

Not intimately.

Not because he was forcing me somewhere.

Not because he was examining an injury.

Not because I needed help standing.

Just—

touching me.

My heart slammed.

Aleksandr saw it.

Something changed in his eyes.

Then he immediately pulled his hand away.

The moment broke.

I stepped backward.

He looked away.

Neither of us spoke.

I touched my cheek.

The place where his thumb had been felt warm.

Too warm.

“What was that?”

My voice came out quieter than I intended.

Aleksandr stared at the floor.

“I don’t know.”

That answer frightened me.

Because I didn’t know either.

I moved farther away.

“I don’t—”

I stopped.

I didn’t know what I wanted to say.

Don’t do that again?

Maybe.

Except the words wouldn’t come.

Aleksandr stood.

Too quickly.

Pain crossed his face.

His hand went to his ribs.

I immediately moved toward him.

Then stopped myself.

He noticed.

“I’m fine.”

I looked at him.

He realized.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

For half a second, amusement touched his face.

“Bruised.”

“Better.”

He put the ice pack on the dresser.

I gathered the bloody cloths.

My hands needed something to do.

I walked toward the bathroom.

“Aurora.”

I stopped.

Didn’t turn.

“Thank you.”

The words were quiet.

I looked over my shoulder.

“For?”

His mouth almost moved.

He recognized his own question.

“For cleaning me.”

I nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

I went into the bathroom.

Closed the door.

Locked it.

Then stood with my back against it.

My heart was still racing.

I lifted my fingers.

Touched my cheek.

No.

Absolutely not.

He was Aleksandr Volkov.

The Brute.

A killer.

A captor.

A man who worked for Nikolai.

One gentle touch didn’t change that.

One vulnerable moment didn’t erase the basement.

It didn’t erase the chain.

It didn’t erase my hair in his fist.

It didn’t erase anything.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

“Don’t be stupid.”

My reflection stared back.

I washed the blood from the cloth.

Red disappeared down the drain.

Nikolai’s blood.

Aleksandr’s blood.

I didn’t know anymore.

Probably both.

I stayed in the bathroom longer than necessary.

When I finally came out, Aleksandr was lying on top of the bed.

Shirt back on.

One arm over his eyes.

The lamp beside him remained on.

I thought he was asleep.

I quietly walked toward the couch.

“Aurora.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Tomorrow you don’t leave room.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Nikolai is here.”

There it was.

Reality returning.

“What about breakfast?”

“Here.”

“Elena?”

“She can come.”

I looked toward the door.

“Does Nikolai want to see me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I pulled the blanket from the back of the couch.

“What if he changes his mind?”

Aleksandr lowered his arm.

His eyes found mine.

“Then I deal with it.”

My stomach tightened.

“You already dealt with enough tonight.”

His face hardened slightly.

“That’s my problem.”

I stared.

Then looked at his bruised ribs.

“No.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“It’s not just your problem when it happens because of me.”

“It didn’t.”

“Part of it did.”

“Aurora.”

“What?”

“You didn’t make Nikolai do anything.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

I went still.

Because I’d spent eight days blaming myself.

For going with Nikolai.

For believing him.

For not fighting harder.

For being drugged.

For getting caught when I tried to escape.

For everything.

Aleksandr looked away.

“Go sleep.”

For once, I didn’t argue.

I lay on the couch.

Pulled the blanket over myself.

The lamp stayed on.

Minutes passed.

Then—

“Aleksandr?”

“What?”

“Did you hit him back?”

Silence.

A long silence.

Then—

“Yes.”

My eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He hit harder.”

I covered my mouth.

A laugh escaped anyway.

I shouldn’t have laughed.

Nothing about tonight was funny.

But the answer was so perfectly him.

Across the room, Aleksandr laughed once too.

Then immediately winced.

“Don’t laugh,” I whispered.

“Your fault.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You asked.”

I smiled into the darkness.

Then caught myself.

The smile disappeared.

Because this was how dangerous things happened.

Not all at once.

Not with some dramatic moment.

Small things.

A joke.

A meal.

A wound cleaned.

A hand against a cheek.

A breath catching when it shouldn’t.

I turned onto my side.

Away from him.

I closed my eyes.

But sleep didn’t come.

My cheek still remembered his hand.

And that frightened me more than I wanted to admit.

Because I still hated Aleksandr Volkov.

At least I thought I did.

But tonight, for one moment, I had looked into his eyes and hadn’t seen the Brute.

I’d seen someone else.

Someone who knew exactly how bad things could get with Nikolai.

Someone who had walked back into this room bleeding because he’d stood between his brother and things he thought were wrong.

That didn’t make him good.

It didn’t make him safe.

And it definitely didn’t make him mine to save.

But when I heard him shift painfully on the bed, my eyes opened anyway.

I stared into the darkness.

Listening.

Making sure he was still breathing.

And hating myself a little for caring whether he was.