What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m here for her, to remind her who’s in charge.
I’ve spent the last hour planning exactly how to break thissuka. The plan was simple: grab her, threaten her, make her play by my fucking rules.
But when I push the door open, every fucking thought evaporates.
Clara had turned off all the lights except for a dim lamp in the corner. Moonlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the king-sized bed in silver. And there she is.
Chyert.
My feet root to the wooden floor. The hellcat who took down three of my men, who’d rather die than show fear, lies curled around her son like a protective tigress. Her dark hair spills across white sheets, features soft in sleep. The moonlight catches her face, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
God, she’s fucking gorgeous.
This would be easier if she were trying to claw my eyes out. At least then I’d know what to do with the heat coursing through my veins.
I take a step forward, my gaze lowers, and my breath catches. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that has ridden up, exposing a tantalizing stretch of thigh that makes my mouth go dry and my cock throb with desire.
Get it together, you pathetic mudak.
I’m not here to fuck her, but my primal instincts tell me otherwise. She’s gorgeous, sleeping like an angel, unaware of the predator watching over her.
My cock clearly hasn’t gotten the memo about her being the enemy. Traitor’s been doing most of my thinking when it comes to this woman. First at that club, now here—
I drag a hand down my face, forcing my eyes away from those legs that go on for fucking days…
I’m the fucking Pakhan of the Kuznetsov Bratva, I remind myself again,not some dick-driven piece of shit who can’t control himself around a pretty face.
Even if that face belongs to the most infuriating, beautifulsukaI’ve ever—
Ostanovis’. Stop.
I force myself to breathe, my muscles tensing as I try to pull myself out of whatever spell she’s casting.
Instead, I find myself counting her breaths.
The kid shifts in his sleep, and my eyes snap to him. Little fingers clutch her hand like it’s a lifeline. Something twists in my gut at the sight. Those curls…Der’mo, they’re just like my mother’s photos of me at that age.
“No…” Her whisper slices through my thoughts. “Jake, don’t…”
Her face contorts, body twitching beneath the sheets. Tears leak from beneath those long lashes, andfuckif that doesn’t do something strange to my chest.
“Baby, please…” Raw desperation rips through her voice. “Look at Mommy…”
My hand moves before my brain catches up.Stupid.But I can’t stop watching her face. The fierce littletigritsawho’d sooner shoot me than show weakness, now fighting shadows in her sleep.
This is perfect, thePakhanin me whispers.Wake her now. Use the boy. Break her.
But my fingers hover over her tear-stained cheek. The mighty Clara reduced to pleading in her dreams. It feels… wrong. Like watching something I shouldn’t see. Something private.
“ELIJAH!”
Her scream jolts through me. The boy doesn’t stir—too used to his mother’s demons. More tears track down her face, and before I can stop myself—
“Shhhh.” The sound escapes like a betrayal. My thumb catches a tear. “Sleep, Clara. Everything’s okay.”
She settles under my touch, andblyat, her skin is soft. Warm. Her breathing evens out, but then those eyes flutter open—just a sliver of brown in the moonlight.
I yank my hand back like her skin burns. Which it fucking does. Burns straight through my flesh, into places I thought were long dead.
