Don’t let it bother you, dammit!
Before I can gather my thoughts, Yulia’s voice cuts through my internal turmoil.
“Can’t you tell me where we are going?” she asks curiously. He turns his attention back to her, the gentleness returning to his voice. The discrepancy fuels my frustration, my mind spinning with unanswered questions.
“You’ll see,malyška.” He winks at her. I grit my teeth. So much tenderness and none of it aimed at me.
Why the hell should I care, anyway?
“Where are we…?” I start to ask again, but my words die on my lips. There’s a finality in his expression that makes me feel like I’ve been dismissed, like I’m not worth his time or his explanations.
“Get changed and meet us in the lobby,” he repeats, not a hint of emotion in his voice. And with that, he scoops Yulia into his arms, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts, staring at the now empty doorway.
∞∞∞
Idrag myself toward my room, an unholy mix of anger, disappointment, bone-deep weariness, and a stinging slice of jealousy coursing through my veins. The weight of the world feels cemented on my shoulders, matching the emotional shit-show I’m carrying around.
I flop onto the bed, letting my face sink into my palms, surrendering to this damn whirlpool of emotions. It’s only when I peel my face out of my hands that the sight of something on my table freezes me.
There’s a paper there, a single, lonely note that screams out of place.
“Pillow,” it reads. One fucking word. My heart stutters, my brain firing off questions like a malfunctioning machine gun.
A twisted knot of apprehension curls in my stomach as I turn to my pillow. Tucked underneath it is a burner phone. Its silent presence screams louder than a bomb.
“Fuck,” I grind out, my mind stuck on repeat, hammering one name over and over. “Aleks.”
But who the hell left this here?
Chapter 17
Luka
Seeing her bolting down to the lobby shouldn’t twist my insides, but fuck, it does. She’s so insanely gorgeous, it’s nearly unbelievable. I mean, who looks that good in a casual tee and skinny jeans? Her curves are displayed like a goddamn buffet, her face flushed with some unspoken urgency.
I wasn’t expecting the vision that is her. A surprise, that’s what she is. And let’s be clear, I fucking despise surprises. Generally, when I’m caught off guard, it’s a preamble to violence. But now, now I’m clued in. The next time she strides into my line of sight, I’ll be ready. I won’t let that captivating face, those shapely legs, or those arresting eyes distract me from my mission. And damn, that hair. The thought of running my fingers through those thick dark waves, tugging her head back to expose that tender neck of hers…
Fuck.
Suddenly, the recklessness of last night hits me. I’ve never fucked up like this before, always had my shit together, always used a fucking condom. But with Sophia, logic seemed to have flown right out the window. I’d screwed her raw without a second thought. The memory of that, the pure carnality of it, sparks something wild in me, something I haven’t tasted before. I despise how she ties me all up, how she makes me lose control. But fuck me if it doesn’t feel incredible.
A sudden thought hits me like a fist to the throat; the idea of a kid – a fucking baby. Now. The timing couldn’t be more disastrous. It would be a complication, a burden. I’m in no fucking state for that. Not with everything that’s going on. The idea of it sets off a wave of dread in me. I’ve always been a master of control, but Sophia…she’s threatening to unravel all that.
Shaking off the paralyzing thought, I focus on the woman in front of me.
“You’re late,” I bark at her. My words are sharp, an intended jab designed to rile her up.
With a spark of rebellion, Sophia fires back, “Five minutes late, because I was putting together a lunch for Yulia, just in case—” She halts mid-sentence, looking to the car where Yulia is already buckled in the backseat. A familiar head pops up from the window. Max’s tongue lolls out in a canine grin. His joy is infectious, if not a bit irritating.
“In case of what, Sophia?” I prod.
She chews on her bottom lip, clearly wrestling with whether to continue or not. The silence stretches, taut like a wire, until she finally caves.
“In case she gets hungry,” she mutters defensively.
The audacity of her answer irks me. “You think I’d let her starve?” I retort, a brow cocked in challenge. She opens her mouth to respond, but I’m quicker. “Get in the car.”
She glares at me, her pretty face a mask of stubborn fury. But she doesn’t respond, not this time. Instead, she silently opens the car door, sliding in next to Yulia.
