“We’re going back,” she says quietly, “to what we were. Boss and employee.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s what makes sense.”
She opens the door, and a damp breeze rushes in, sending goosebumps up my forearms.
I’ve gutted men for less than what I feel right now—this hollow, burning, losing sensation.
I don’t say another word. Neither does she.
She steps outside and, for the first time in a very long, dangerous life, I’m left standing alone andfeelingit. Wonderingif taking what I wanted all those years ago was putting the nail in my own coffin.
Chapter 11
Roxy
On the drive to Cambridge, I almost got into an accident…or two.
First, a deer steps lazily out onto the two-lane road and turns its large unblinking eyes to my car. My brain lags for a second before I pound on the brake, cursing quietly, dragging into the opposite lane.
In the rearview mirror, a deer’s tail flaps, then it is gone; it’s not dawn yet, and I can barely see through the early-morning darkness.
When I called out of work sick, Lauren didn’t question it.There’s no way she knows, right?
About what happened in the cabin.
About how I let Makari Medvedev, Bratva leader and ruthless criminal, put his hands on me and make me come like I haven’t in years.
You liked it.
I push the thought away, shaking my head. Four more hours and I’ll be at Kat’s house, hugging my little girl. A few days ago I got the news that my offer on the little riverside house in Bar Harbor was accepted.
That was before I gave in to the undeniable attraction I'd been fighting for weeks.
How did I not realize it was him?
The Bear.
The mask.
But how could I have known? That night in the bank we didn’t exchange names or numbers. We were strangers to each other, lost in one another.
The interstate stretches out in a gray blur, trees flashing past like the ribs of some giant creature swallowing me whole. Rainwater still clings to my hairline, tucked under the collar of my jacket, but most of the storm is inside me now.
A storm named Makari Medvedev.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and try—again—to breathe normally.
It doesn’t work.
Every time I blink, I feel his hands again. His mouth. The way he’d kissed me—like he already owned every breath I’d ever taken.
My cheeks heat. God. Get a grip.
But my body remembers him far too well.Allof him. He’s the nightmare that’s been pursuing me for years, the one I’ve prayed would eventually catch up—and now he has. My skin is a traitor, humming at the memory of the way he pressed me against the cabin wall, his breath rough, his voice low and ruined in a way I’d never heard before.
I squeeze my thighs together. That doesn’t help either.
