“Maybe,” she says. It’s clear she doesn’t believe that; doesn’t know the whole story. Someday I’ll find a way to reconcile the hurt between them, but for now my only concern is keeping her safe. And keeping her with me. Aly continues, “If you hurt him, you lose me. Completely. I won’t come back.”
The room falls into a heavy silence.
She has chosen.
She has chosen me.
The realization settles deep in my chest, warm and dangerous and undeniable. I have spent my life taking what I want and calling it strength, but this feels different, softer and far more terrifying.
Liev steps close enough that our shoulders nearly touch. His voice drops to a whisper that carries more threat than a shout ever could.
“If anything happens to her,” he murmurs, “I will make you suffer before I kill you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I answer.
We hold each other’s gaze for a long, loaded moment. Two men who once would have died for one another are now standing on opposite sides of the same woman.
Then he turns and walks out, the door closing behind him with heavy finality.
The study goes quiet.
Aly’s hand slips into mine again, and this time I tighten my grip, unwilling to let go.
Chapter 29
Alyona
Iam halfway through resetting treatment room three when the noise starts, low and rhythmic at first, like a distant generator kicking on somewhere down the block.
The clean scent of eucalyptus still hangs in the air as I smooth the fresh linens over the massage table. I tuck in each corner the way Brooke showed me on my first day: tight, precise, and professional. The Lennox. I’ve finally started to feel like a part of it.
Then the windows rattle.
Not hard, just enough to make the glass hum.
A couple of the girls out front laugh, startled, and someone says, “What the hell is that?”
I pause with my hands on folded towels, listening as the sound grows louder and heavier. Then the sound becomes unmistakable.
Rotor blades.
Curiosity wins over professionalism, and I step into the hallway, wiping my palms on my scrub pants as I follow the noise toward the lobby. Half the staff are already clustered near the front windows like a flock of birds craning their necks. It’sthe end of the day, and some girls stand with their purses, ready to go. Others are still wrapping up.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Come look,” Tasha says, grabbing my wrist.
She drags me forward, and I peer past her shoulder out through the wide pane of glass toward the small park across the street.
A helicopter is descending into the quad. It’s definitelynota news chopper or medical transport.
It’s sleek and dark and expensive-looking, navy blue with silver trim. This aircraft doesn’t belong anywhere near a quiet Savannah neighborhood spa.
My stomach drops before my brain catches up. I recognize it.
The Baranov Tech logo is stamped clean and bold along the side.
“Oh my God,” someone breathes. “Is that private?”
