“That’s how I thought, but I don’t risk my life for a tool. I don’t risk everything for someone who doesn’t matter.” I step closer before dropping to my knees in front of her. Rain drips from my clothes, down my face, from my hair. “I should have told you, Nika. I’m sorry that I didn’t. I regret that, but I don’t regret killing him. If you need that from me, I can’t give it to you. All I have is who I am and what I’ve done, and I won’t hide from it. I’m a killer. I’m going to be a Dragon. And I want you by my side. I want my wife. I need you, Nika. I need you.”
She searches my face, teeth catching her lip, confusion and stress written all over it, until she sits forward. “Shit,” she whispers under her breath. “Shit. Shit!” She lunges at me, grabs my face, fists the front of my soaking shirt, and slams her mouth into mine.
It hurts. It feels fucking incredible. Our teeth click and lips mash until I’m kissing her so hard it feels like I might break. I drag her down to the porch with me, down onto her knees as I wrap my arms around her and taste her, feel her warmth flood through my wet clothes. She kisses me back, whimpers into my mouth,and I don’t know what Yelena said to her. I don’t know what she’s thinking. But I can be sure that I won’t ever hide something from her again. Full honesty, even if it kills me.
That’s the best I can do now.
We break apart. Her forehead rests against mine. “I’m afraid,” she whispers.
I stroke her cheek. “I know you are.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. If we keep doing this—if we don’t stop?—“
“There’s only one path. I’m walking it.”
“You’re going to be a Dragon.”
“And you’re going to be a Dragon’s wife. Think about it, Nika. You’re going to be my queen.”
She laughs under her breath. “Why would anyone want me to be their queen?”
“Because you’re not as small as you think you are.” I kiss her, thumb trailing down her cheek. “Do you believe me?”
“I think so. I don’t know. I want to forgive you, I just—“ She takes a shuddering breath. “I’m afraid, that’s all.”
“Then we’ll go slow. One small step forward until we’re standing together again.”
“Here I was thinking you were an impatient man.”
“I am. For anyone else. But for you, I can wait.”
She dips her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. I lean forward and kiss them away, tasting the salt on her skin.
“We should go inside. You need to change into dry clothes.”
“In a few minutes.” I pull her tighter against me. The storm’s raging, wind blowing hard, trees bending. “I want to watch this with you.”
Lightning strikes and thunder roars. She clings to me and I hold her while the world shivers and groans around us, and I feel more grounded than I’ve been in a long, long time.
CHAPTER 21
NIKA
After the storm, the beach is swept clean. Aunt Yelena and I sit near the water the following day, our toes in the sand watching the waves lap against the surf. She puts up a big tent and tuts at me when I tell her I want to get tan. “With skin like that? You don’t tan, Nikusha, you only turn into lobster.” She makes clacking-claw gestures with her hands.
Gabe joins us for a couple hours. He sits in a chair looking like he can’t stand sitting still. I keep stealing glances at his muscular, tattooed chest, at his scars and the fresh bruises from where he got shot in his bulletproof vest. He’s beautiful and dangerous, even hiding behind dark sunglasses, his thick hair salty and curly. He smirks at me when he notices me looking, and I try to pretend like I’m not thinking about him.
Even if he’s on my mind all the time.
Life feels normal for a few days. Gabe’s out working most of the time, which means I get to spend hours with Aunt Yelena catching up. She talks about her work in Moscow, about convincing the various Bratva families and factions to backGabe, how half of them split off to follow my cousin instead. She cooks, puts on movies, and makes me feel like I’m home again.
I don’t want this to end.
Gabe comes home at night. He slips into my bed and wraps his warm arms around me. We barely kiss for three days, but that feels right. It isn’t that I don’t want to—if I’m honest, all I can think about is sex when he’s around—but more like we need to reestablish what it’s like to be with each other again. There’s no conversation about our relationship, no definitions, no declarations, but I don’t need any of that.
He comes home. He sleeps in my bed. He holds me when I let him. That’s enough.
On the fourth day, we go swimming together. He’s good in the water. His long, lean arms slice through the waves like they’re nothing. Aunt Yelena paces us on the beach, watching under her big floppy sun hat. Gabe comes to me, pulls me against him and kisses me. It tastes like salt water. I laugh and splash him, and we play like that. It’s the most lighthearted I’ve ever seen him. I get three hours of Gabe that day, and when we head back to the house, I take a long, hot shower, smiling to myself and replaying the memory of paddling circles around him while we bob up and down in the waves, his smirk and his shaggy hair, his glorious shoulders and gorgeous arms.
