“Better than Miss. Brake-At-The-Last-Second.”
I snort, biting back a laugh, but I can’t hide the small smile tugging at my mouth.
We finally get onto a straight stretch of road, the car humming instead of choking.
* * *
Getting back home still alive—which I’m taking as a victory—sparks a weird feeling in my chest. I’m still adjusting to the thought thatthisis home, but I’m getting used to it.
The house sits on the edge of a cliff, all glass and pale stone that catches the sunset. Big, clean lines. No guards at the gate. No gold-plated bullshit like back in Anova.
It’s a nice place—five bedrooms, a pool that reflects the sky, a movie room I’ve claimed, and a training center that Nikolai built after I “accidentally” punched a hole in one of the guest room walls.
Technically, we could’ve bought the whole island. Between his money and the inheritance I pretended not to care about, it wouldn’t have even made a dent. But we wanted something smaller. Something that felt… ours.
Well—ours, Ivan’s and Maksim’s.
They live out back in the pool house. It sounds glamorous, but really it’s just their man cave with guns in the kitchen drawers and protein shakes where normal people keep milk.
When Nikolai’s away on business—which happens more often than I like—I usually eat with them. I said once that I didn’t care for eating alone; now, every night at seven, they’re there without fail. Ivan always burns whatever he’s cooking, and Maksim pretends to care about table manners.
It feels oddly comforting.
Nikolai says it’s peaceful here, and when I fall asleep with the windows open, the ocean breeze spilling into the room, not worried about my safety or my need to please anyone else, I almost start to believe him.
We don’t even make it out of the car. The second I get it into park, Nikolai’s mouth is on mine—urgent, rough, and too familiar to be gentle.
When we finally make it out, my back hits the car door with a dull thud, the metal still warm from the sun. His hands find my hips, pulling me closer, his grip desperate.
Every step toward the house is chaos—kisses that miss their mark, laughter tangled with gasps, the two of us tripping over each other because neither one wants to break away long enough to breathe.
By the time we reach the front door, my pulse is a drumbeat in my throat. I pull back, just far enough to smirk against his mouth.
“Whose turn is it to be in control tonight?”
He pauses, long enough to make me feel the power shift between us. Then he smiles.
“Yours.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers curling enough to make my breath catch. He pushes the door open with his other hand, guiding me inside, step by step, until my shoulders meet the wall.
And then—
A cough.
“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice calls from the kitchen.
Nikolai doesn’t move for a heartbeat, then lets out the slowest, most murderous sigh I’ve ever heard.
I look up at him and can’t help it—I laugh. The sound slips out, messy and real.
He mutters something in Russian I can’t exactly make out, but when his forehead rests against mine, his breath uneven, I can guess.
When I glance toward the kitchen, Adrian’s standing with ease.
“Adrian!”
I wriggle out of Nikolai’s hold and launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
