Page 10 of Enemy of the Heart

“Land the plane. Now.”

Viktor’s handsome face shifts from dubiousness to shock. “No. There’s no less than a hundred armed men on that tarmac. We’re lucky we made it out alive. Are you mental?”

He steps into my space, his designer dress shoes bumping the tips of Honey Eyes’s boots. Viktor’s striking Eastern European features are prominent, from his slightly sunken cheeks and enviable razor-sharp bone structure to his pale skin as he stares down at me. “You should thank me for dragging you away from what was certain death.”

Viktor is the living embodiment of unsuspecting danger: a snake in the grass, the ultimate enemy. While he doesn’t have an ounce of the patience I possess, I speak his language of savagery fluently. It’s only a matter of time before his true nature materializes.

My nostrils flare, and I swear I begin to exhale smoke, but my Glock is empty, and my peripheral vision captures the way Viktor’s soldiers edge closer to us. A bloody revolver hangs loosely from the hand of the man nearest me, and I roll my eyes internally. A pathetic choice of weaponry. If he worked for me, I would’ve shot him with it by now.

Viktor and I are close enough that my nipples brush his chest. I crane my neck to look him directly in the eye. “Land. The. Plane.”

“No.”

The room is silent enough that I could be convinced that everyone has stopped breathing. His eyes flare, but there’s the barest hint of respect swirling there even as his lips contort into a snarl. “You are a guest on this flight. Act like one.”

To accompany his threatening tone, the cold steel edge of a blade is pressed against my neck, but I don’t bother reaching for the revolver that’s now within arm’s reach. I grin, my hostile smile drenched in bloodthirst. “Try to kill me, Vik. I dare you. I’ll have you on your arse before you so much as nick me. I’ve done it before. Don’t you remember?”

He knows I speak the truth, and that’s likely the only reason he drops his hand after another six seconds, the knife hanging at his side. The vein in his neck emerges, seeming to pulse with his anger as his jaw tenses. “Stop scaring everyone on my payroll,” he grits out. “That’s my responsibility. Behave.”

“I’ve never done that before.”

Viktor throws his head back and laughs, the tension in the cabin dissipating enough that the shoulders of the surrounding Bratva soldiers drop. I take advantage by snatching a nearby SIG Sauer P365 because there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going for that revolver.

A dozen weapons are aimed at my skull as I press the barrel against Viktor’s chest, right over his heart. “My brother asked me to behave, too. If I couldn’t manage to do that for him, I won’t be doing that for you. Now, turn the plane around.”

He leans forward so the barrel wrinkles his suit. “No.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Not even for Kazi?”

His bright blue eyes flash with something akin to dubious hope. “Not for anyone. That would be reckless.”

Exasperation, rage, and sheer desperation all fight for dominance as I growl in response. I know Viktor well enough to know that he means what he says. Kazi was my secret weapon. The veil of red mist clouding my judgment parts just enough for a sliver of reason to cut through. Once I get to wherever this plane is taking us, I can turn around and collect Sean—with or without Viktor. It’d be easier to launch a rescue mission with Viktor’s help and resources, but I could and would do it without him.

“Go take a shower. You look like shit. We can discuss things once you’ve…cooled off.”

Oh, thank fuck.

Scalding-hot water sluices over my bare skin, and I relish the sting as the torrent dips into each wound on my body. While I loathe to admit that Viktor may have been right when he insisted I bathe before we talked.

It’s an effort to fight the feeling of wrongness that I’m here and Sean…isn’t. My hands glide over my shoulder-length hair, and I reach blindly for the bottle of shampoo. As I massage the suds into the strands, gritting my teeth against the bite of the soap as it seeps into my various gashes, I’m cloaked in a lonely void.

There is no world for me without Sean in it.

The cords of our frayed connection are shrieking at me, notifying me of his torment and distance from me. Freedom wasn’t supposed to be like this.

His masculine hands should be the ones coasting over my stomach, leaving a trail of suds in their wake. Sliding liquid bubbles over the ornate black snake tattoo that slithers up my left side, around my breast. Grazing the scar that I got when I was a careless ball of rage.

There are pieces of myself I’ve never had the opportunity to share with him, bits of him I’m still desperate to explore. I want the chance to know him fully.

I grew a hard outer shell and erected a fortress around my heart nearly two decades ago. My armor strengthened, the walls growing taller and thicker with each passing day. I hadn’t been acquainted with any form of tenderness within myself until Sean blew into my life like a roaring tempest. Right now, his absence feels as though he’s reaching into my ribcage and squeezing the life out of the organ that resides there.

Just as I’m wrapping the plush towel around my torso, my hair dripping fat water droplets onto my back and chest, there’s a knock at the door. Grabbing the stolen SIG Sauer I insisted on bringing with me, I crack the door open to find one of Viktor’s soldiers with a pile of clothing in hand. I arch an eyebrow.

“These are Viktor’s,” he utters in Russian.

Taking the stack from him, I shut and lock the door once more. Glancing between my pile of stolen items I’d stripped out of and the clothing in my arms, I make the better choice and abandon the atrocious orange top and too-large shorts. I abhor that color anyway.

When I emerge from the washroom, I step into the large, opulent bedroom to find Viktor reclined at a table set for two against the windows. The delicate teacup on the table in front of him is steaming, filling the cabin with the bitter, nutty aroma of coffee.