WHAT?! Where are you now?
I pause. How do I answer that? Because I have no idea where I am. I can guess I’m in Aleksei’s home, but there’s no confirmation. No details except the scent of his cologne.
Before I can reply, the door opens. And he’s there.
The air shifts the moment our eyes meet, some unseen current crackling between us and lighting something in my chest.
He steps in, gray sweatpants slung indecently low with no shirt on. My eyes catch on the tattoo stretched over his chest: a lion ripping apart a wolf, flames curling in every direction.
It’s brutal. Violent. Unapologetic. Just like him.
He’s carved from danger, every inch of him a warning. The kind of man who doesn’t just break rules, but builds his power from the ruins.
And yet, despite everything, I can’t imagine him crossing that line and taking advantage of me. Not even if he despises me.
“You’re awake.”
I close my messages and toss my phone on the bed.
“I—” My voice cracks. I try again. “Where am I?”
His brow furrows. “You’re at my house.”
Just as I assumed.
“Why am I in your shirt? What happened to my clothes? Did you…”
“No,” he says sharply, cutting me off. He strides to the edge of the bed and hands me a bottle of water and two white pills. “You threw up in my car. Your clothes were ruined. I took them off. In the dark. I didn’t look. I’m not that kind of man.”
Relief washes over me.
I take the pills with a shaky sip, hoping he’s telling the truth. He lowers himself onto the bed beside me with a kind of care that unsettles me. It’s like I’m something fragile he’s not sure how to hold without breaking. And I hate it.
Or maybe I don’t.
Because I don’t know what to do with this version of him. This quieter, almost nurturing presence. I’m used to the crazy, impossibly domineering Aleksei.
But this? This tender version? It throws me off-balance. And as much as I want to reject it, question it, pretend it’s not what I need, I can’t lie to myself.
Idolike it. Maybe too much.
His hand finds mine, fingers wrapping around it before he lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“How do you feel?” he asks, low and gentle.
“I…like I got hit by a truck,” I whisper. “I don’t really remember much. Just…the parking lot. I think. And you?”
Something sharp flickers in his expression. “You were drugged.”
I suck in a breath.
Oh God…
“But don’t worry,” he adds, a mischievous glint in his irises. “He won’t ever touch anyone again.”
My stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” His mouth curves. “Exactly what you think it means.”
