I roll my eyes and push past him, heading downstairs, trying to pretend I didn’t just get a glimpse of something I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. The floor is cold beneath my feet.
The smell of coffee hits me first. Then, the sound of muttered Polish.
I step into the kitchen to find Boris standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan while mumbling to himself. Asher follows me into the kitchen, grabbing his coffee like he’s the most relaxed man on the planet.
He looks obnoxiously sexy and completely unaffected.
I, on the other hand, am still trying to figure out how I got from the car to my bed without remembering it.
Boris glances over his shoulder, and the moment his sharp eyes land on me, they soften. "Ah, finally! I was about to come up there and drag you out of bed myself." He abandons the stove for a second, throwing his hands up in exaggerated exasperation. "You disappear on me all night, leave me to deal with that one"—he jerks a thumb toward Asher—"and then you come down looking like you've been hit by a truck."
I snort. "Thanks, Boris. I missed you too."
Boris turns, eyes locking onto me before immediately narrowing on my neck. His lips press together, and then he sighs. "Ah, so this is why you slept so late. You were being eaten alive."
I frown before realizing what he’s staring at. My hand flies to my neck, fingertips brushing over the sore imprint of Asher’s teeth.
Asher, of course, grins like the devil himself. "What can I say? I get carried away."
Boris rolls his eyes, muttering something in Polish that sounds more amused than annoyed, like a man who knows exactly where this is heading. "Of course. Only you two could turn attempted murder into foreplay." He turns back to the stove, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. "I should start taking bets on when you finally admit you’re in love. I’d make a fortune."
I turn toward Asher. “You’re too smug for someone who looks like they lost a fight with a bear,” I mutter, picking up my fork.
Asher, still grinning, shrugs. “I think I won, actually.”
Boris snorts, shaking his head as he plates food. “You look like hell. She looks worse. I do not want to know who won.”
I stab a piece of food aggressively. “You changed my clothes?”
“I carried you to bed,” he says, leaning back like he expects applause. “You were exhausted after the... spectacle.”
Boris barks out a laugh. "Spectacle? Boy, that was assault."
I scowl, chewing hard just to keep from saying something stupid. The truth is, I don’t know how to feel about it. About him. About the way my body still aches in a way that isn’t entirely unwelcome. About the way my chest tightens when I remember the car ride home, the way he let me see something vulnerable under all that arrogance. I hate him for what he did. I hate myself for wanting him anyway. I hate that no matter how much I fight it, I know damn well I’d crawl back to him, let him destroy me all over again, just to feel this alive.
Boris eyes the tension between us and mutters something in Polish before shaking his head. "Two people fighting like this? Either end up together or buried six feet under. And I don't see a shovel."
I nearly choke. Asher grins.
“Not happening” I snap.
Boris just shrugs. “We will see.”
Asher watches me, and for half a second, there’s something dangerous in his gaze—something almost tender. Then the smirk returns, wiping it away like it never existed. "Hate to break it to you, but Boris might have a point."
I narrow my eyes. “Eat your breakfast, Redmont.”
His smirk deepens, but he doesn’t argue. And despite myself, despite everything—I feel the smallest flicker of something familiar. The banter. The tension. The piece of me that almost misses this before I remember why I should hate him.
Boris watches us, shaking his head, and mutters in Polish again. This time, I don’t need a translation. Whatever he just said, I know it’s something along the lines of ‘this will end in disaster.’ And right now, I’m not sure if that’s a warning, a promise, or a curse I’ve already fallen for.
Chapter 51
Buried in Blood, Buried in Data
Violet
Asher didn’t come with me to the lab this time. I told myself that would be a relief—no sharp glances, no silent pressure, and no tension humming between us. But now that I'm here, there's this gnawing absence. The air feels thinner without him. Like I left part of my defense behind and walked into the lion’s den in bare feet. It shouldn’t matter. I should want the space. But I hate how exposed it makes me feel.
