Her honesty disarms me more than anger would. Something in my chest tightens in ways I don't want to examine.
"You're more than a weapon to me."
"Am I?" Challenge in her voice now. "What am I then?"
Everything. Nothing. The reason I'm betraying fifteen years of loyalty and the reason I might finally have a reason to die that means something. But I don't say that. Not when we're both heading for the same bloody end.
"You're the girl who came back and made me remember what it feels like to want something besides violence and blind obedience."
Her breath hitches, a small, barely noticeable sound. But I notice everything about her.
"Where are we going?"
"My place. You can't go back to Lush tonight. You can't go anywhere Anatoly might look." I take a turn that leads away from anywhere she'd normally be. "Anatoly's will be calling the Pakhan, if he hasn’t already."
"He'll put it together eventually."
"I know."
"And then we're both dead."
"Probably."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing, accepting. Coming to terms with the timeline accelerating whether we're ready or not.
"How long do we have?"
"Days. Maybe a week if we're lucky and Anatoly's brain is as pickled as I think it is." I pull into the parking garage beneath my building with security I control. Cameras that show what I want them to show. "But we need to finish this before he finishes us."
The garage is empty as I kill the engine and turn to face her. The dim lighting carves her face into sharp angles, making her look harder, like something carved from the same stone they used to build everyone who lives this life for too long.
"I'm sorry," I say. Words I haven't spoken in years. Maybe ever. "For what they did to you. For not stopping it. For leaving you in the desert to die."
"You gave me a chance."
"I should've given you more."
"Yes, you should have.” Her hand finds mine across the console. Her palm is small. Warm. Alive in ways that make my chest ache. "You're giving me more now. Helping me destroy them. Helping me finish what they started."
"This isn't redemption. I'm still using you, putting you in danger."
"I know." She squeezes my hand. "But you're also the only person who's seen me. Really seen me. Not the ghost. Just me."
I lean across the console, my hand finding her face and cupping her jaw softer than I’ve ever touched her before. "You need to understand something," I say, my voice low and rough. "I'm not a good man. Never have been. I'm selfish and violent and I use people without remorse."
"I know."
"But with you …" I stop and swallow, trying to find words for something I don't have language for. "With you I want to be something else. Someone who deserves what you're offering.”
"You saved me. Twice. That's more than anyone else has done."
"I also left you to die the first time."
"That's more complicated than you being good or bad." Her free hand finds my face, mirroring my touch. "We're both damaged. Both broken.”
It should…should be enough to build on. To work with. To use as foundation for whatever this thing between us is becoming. But I want more. I want her in ways that have nothing to do with revenge or the careful planning that's kept me alive this long. I want to own her. Claim her. Make her mine in ways that go beyond alliance or partnership or whatever pretty words we're using to avoid acknowledging the truth.
I kiss her hard, my tongue invading her mouth like a conquering hero. The kiss of a man who's done pretending this is anything except raw desire.
