Page 36 of Enemy of the Heart

“The blow took me to my knees, and he moved to strangle me with the whip. But intimate kills are the riskiest because unless your victim is immobilized, you make yourself vulnerable. It took seven stab wounds before he finally stopped breathing. It’s still my messiest execution.

“While that experience taught me plenty of reconnaissance lessons, it served its purpose. I was able to collect on all sixteen hits on him, and news spread of the person who had killed the unkillable. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t clean; I had an inbox full of requests by the end of that month.”

That’s how kuoleman jumalatar was born.

His reply is a soft kiss to the top of my head that makes my heart turn over, my stomach knot, and my skin feel warm. I seal myself to him, sticking our bodies together with invisible cement. Being with Sean is like seeing things in color for the first time. He has this charming way of making me forget everyone and everything other than him. My eyes fall shut, letting the tiredness claim me and swallow me whole.

Something drags me from sleep, and my eyes flutter open. I’m on my side, and where I should be met with the sight of Sean fast asleep next to me, there’s nothing but cold, disturbed sheets. Sitting up, I spot him perched at the end of the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees, blatantly ignoring his shoulder injury.

At some point, he must’ve stoked the fire in the hearth because the sound of the burning wood crackles like crinkled paper being rolled into a ball, smelling faintly of forested pine and spruce as the marigold flames dance into oblivion, gently illuminating the room.

I’m trying to give Sean the space he obviously needs, but this is the fourth night in a row I’ve woken to find him staring at the wall. Sometimes he comes back to bed—always atop the sheets—but occasionally he leaves the room entirely, and I find him in the gym hours later.

I’m tempted to ask Jace about it, but something stops me every time I open my mouth. I worry that Sean is falling through my fingers like loose sand, and I desperately yearn to clutch the grains left in my fist.

“Sean,” I venture cautiously, my voice gentle. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t meet my eye. Instead, he stretches to his full height and moves across the room. I watch as he tugs on a pair of borrowed shorts and sneakers some Bratva soldier will likely never get back.

“I’m going to the gym.” Then, he leaves. I drop my head into my hands and dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

How much longer can I let this go on? What can I do to save him if he can’t liberate himself?

Sean

Sweat drips down my bare torso as my feet pound against the belt of the treadmill. The clock on the wall says I’ve been here for more than two hours. Jace joined me a bit ago, and he grunts behind me as he squats an impressive amount of weight.

Sunrise is still two hours away, but the light won’t cast out my demons. So, I try to outrun them instead.

Every muscle in my legs burns like hellfire, but I welcome the sensation. It’s the only thing grounding me. The ghost of that God-forsaken island is around every corner, but the hauntings are the worst when I close my eyes. Maybe I should start carrying a crucifix.

The reminders of what I endured are in every throbbing bruise and uncomfortable twinge of my dislocated shoulder. None of the physical pain compares to the overwhelming guilt I feel every time I see one of Louhi’s injuries. The evidence of my regrettable decisions is there in her crooked, broken fingers gripping her mug of coffee and the poorly stitched wound on her shoulder that curls into a wicked sort of red smile. My gut twists when I look at her.

How could I have done those things to her? How do I move forward when the burden of my shame feels like too much to carry?

Lou and I haven’t had sex in four days, not since we first got here. I’ve rebuffed all her advances, even when she climbed onto my lap naked last night. I don’t want to admit that I’m afraid.

Unleashing myself on her fucking terrifies me. I want to hurt her, to lose myself in the darkness. I’m desperate to bottle the sound of her screams and drink them down while I lap at the pain etched into her expression. I don’t want to want any of those things. It’s not right, especially not now.

This is why I don’t fucking date.

I increase the speed on the treadmill and pray the punishing pace will atone for my sins. I spent most of my time imprisoned trying to survive. Now that I’m out, I’m forced to contend with everything.

Being on the other side of those iron bars changes things. It was five hundred times worse than anything I could’ve imagined. There’s no amount of training that could’ve prepared me for what I endured.

Now that I’m out, the uncertainty is killing me. The military is all I’ve known for years, and discovering who I am without that feels…more daunting than I was anticipating. I’m hardly the first soldier to encounter this dilemma, but that doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, my particular set of circumstances makes it considerably harder.

Lost in my brutal pace, I don’t notice the machine being unplugged from the wall. I stumble as the belt freezes in place. Gripping the armbars on either side to steady myself, I scowl at the man with the black power cord dangling from his hand. “What the fuck?”

“You’re going to break my equipment if you keep this up.”

My chest heaves, and I have no idea if it’s from the workout or my aggravation. Probably both. Behind me, the sound of heavy plates hitting the floor mats reverberates through the subterranean concrete space. I don’t have to turn to feel Jace measuring this exchange.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” I grit back at the Pakhan.

Hit me, I beg him silently for no good reason. Swing at me so I can swing at you. The clock stops, and my blood rushes between my ears as Viktor arches a dark blond eyebrow. The corner of his mouth lifts when he inclines his head to the side like a predatory cat.

“With what money?” he counters lightly. I think he knows what I want, which is probably why he doesn’t give it to me. Tugging the back of his gray T-shirt, he discards it before positioning himself on the stationary bike, presumably to warm up. I wish he would’ve hit me.