I brush my lips against his, and the tears fall, their salty texture combining with the sweetness of paradise. Another reminder that our love would always feel like heaven but would call on hell.
He holds me to his chest, hard enough like he wants us to glue together. “Don’t cry. Please. It’s killing me.”
I blink them away, resolution filling me. “Take me to Paris.”
“As you wish.”
Oh, Mika, if only I had wished for the world.
But I wish for you.
And that will forever be impossible.
22
MIKAIL
Holding her in my arms feels like this is what I’ve always been meant to do. She fits in the crook of my body as if I’m designed to care for her.
I would rather skin myself to my bones, carve my chest open, bleed myself dry than stop loving her. Love her with every sinful fiber.
This week upended my entire life. In front of me, two roads bifurcate. The one without her will cause me to go mad. The one with her leads to my demise while simultaneously being my salvation.
I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop. Fact is, it’s impossible to return to building the walls back up between us. I am doomed either way. I practically claimed her in front of Demyan and Tristan. They caught me in my rawest state, but my feelings for her overrule common sense. I can’t do anything but accept that as the universal truth of my life.
She shifts in my lap, making herself even more comfortable by resting her cheek on my chest, and palming the spot where my heart beats—entirely for her.
This was not how I had planned our night to go. But as long as we linger in limbo, the highs and lows will remain a constant ripple of agony and ecstasy. The rolling waves—a clear sign of the tsunami that will most surely shatter everything in its wake.
Stroking along her back, I hear her breathing even.
I chuckle—this woman knows the monster and has never been afraid. She taunts and tantalizes him, calling him out to play—she can tame him like no one else. The slayer of my demons. The kiss of the sweetest death.
While she sleeps, I check my phone, which has been blowing up with texts. I open the first one from Demyan.
When you said pleasure, did that include fucking Dahlia Ferrara? Only a good fuck makes a woman glow like that. And you appear calmer. If I notice it, everyone else will. Well, war it is. Once word gets out, it will be mayhem. Things have been too peaceful around here, anyway.
No one is going to war.
I type back.
But inform those who would like to see me fall that I’d eradicate their entire bloodlines when they fail. I have things under control.
I am abso-fucking-lutely sure, Pakhan.
Such an impertinent asshole.
The next text is from Tristan.
Does Enzo know?
Fuck off.
I type, pressing the display so hard I may crack it. After sending the message to both of them, I shut off my phone, done with their asses.
Once we reach the jet, the driver opens the door, and I put my arms under her back and legs to carry her out.
Inside the cabin, I lay her on the small bed, tucking her in. Climbing next to her, she instinctively rolls over, cutting every inch of space, reminding me with her it’s only one way. To give in. Surrender.
