Chapter 159

She tilts her face up to mine, and I see it there—the trust creeping back into her eyes. She used to always look at me like this before the world taught her to be wary.

I’d like to make it so that’s the only way she ever looks at me again.

“Show me,” she says, echoing her words from earlier.

But this time, there’s no challenge in them. Only invitation.

I don’t need to be asked twice.

My mouth meets hers with a hunger that’s been building since I first saw her sitting on our bed, looking lost and broken. She melts against me. A soft sound of surrender catches in her throat as my tongue pushes into her mouth.

I want to devour her. To consume her doubt and fear and replace it with the bone-deep certainty that she is mine and I am hers and nothing—nothing— will ever change that.

She moans when I lay her back on the bed. My body covers hers like a shield against all the darkness in the world.

Including the darkness in me.

“I missed you,” she breathes as I trail kisses down her throat, lingering over her pulse point where her heart thuds with growing arousal. “Even when you were right here, I missed you.”

“I know.” I tug her shirt over her head and cast it aside. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

My hands and mouth worship her body—the curves that still carry the memory of bearing our child, the scars that tell the story of all she’s survived.

When I reach the waistband of her leggings, I glance up, seeking permission.

Sometimes, I take.

Sometimes, I ask.

This is the latter.

She nods and lifts her hips so I can peel the fabric down her legs. Her body trembles as I pepper reverent kisses along her inner thighs and work my way towards her core.

“Vince,” she gasps when my tongue finally finds her center. “Oh, God, Vince.”

I devour her, each flick of my tongue a silent promise, each press of my fingers a vow. She comes apart under my mouth, back arching, hands fisted in my hair, my name a broken stutter on her lips.

But I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.

I shed my own clothes, never taking my eyes off her flushed face, the way she watches me with hunger that matches my own. When I finally slide inside her, we both groan at the perfection of it.

No two things have ever fit together so well.

“Mine,” I growl against her ear as I begin to move. “No matter what happens, no matter what comes for us. You’re mine, Rowan. You and Sofiya. Always.”

“Yours,” she agrees. Her nails rake down my back hard enough to leave marks. Good. I want to be marked by her. Claimed by her just as thoroughly as I claim her.

We move together with growing urgency, my thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more desperate. The slick heat of her surrounds me, pulls me deeper, urges me toward completion.

But I hold back. I want her to come before me.

“Come for me,” I command against her lips. “Let me feel you, Rowan.”

She does exactly that, tipping over the edge into a spasming orgasm. Only ironclad will keeps me moving, prolonging her pleasure until she’s sobbing my name, begging for mercy.

Then and only then do I allow myself release, pouring into her with a groan that comes from somewhere deeper than my bones.

We collapse together. Her ear comes to rest right over my heart. I wonder if she can hear what it’s saying—the complicated tangle of love and fear and fierce possessiveness that drives every beat.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my skin.

“Don’t be.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I haven’t always given you reason to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” She props herself up on one elbow to look at me properly. “With my life. With Sofiya’s life, too. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Her eyes search mine. “Sometimes, I wonder if we’re just delaying the inevitable. If there’s any way to actually escape this life we’ve built.”

“We escaped today,” I remind her. “The FBI is hunting the Solovyovs instead of us. Our enemies are becoming our allies. The Costa Rica development is back on track.” I comb a stray lock of hair out of her face. “There is a happy ever after waiting for us, Rowan. We just have to hold onto each other long enough to reach it.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. Then she leans down to kiss me, soft and sweet and full of a trust I’m still not sure I deserve.

“Just promise me one thing,” she whispers against my lips.

“Anything.”

“Promise me that if it comes down to it—if we ever have to choose between power and peace—we choose peace.”

I stare into those green eyes, so different from my own, yet familiar in ways I can’t explain. In them, I see a future I never believed possible. A future that might just be within our grasp if we’re willing to strive for it.

“I promise,” I tell her.

I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my whole cursed life.

44

ROWAN

Life is a pinball machine. You bounce from one thing to another, always hoping this one will hold you there for good, that this is the safe haven, or at least the most certain one. But you’re always wrong. There’s always another bounce coming, so that just when you’re getting settled in, you get flung in a fresh direction.

Just days ago, I was convinced my husband was planning his escape without me and Sofiya.

Now, I’m lying naked in our bed, his promises still fresh on my lips, my body bearing the marks of him proving just how wrong I was.

Bounce, bounce, bounce. I’ve been through so many of them since that day in Vince’s office. Since before then, even. Five years of fantasizing about this man, followed by months of fearing him, hating him, loving him until my bones ached with it.

And somehow, despite everything—despite the blood on his hands, on mine —we’re still here. Still clawing our way toward something that feels suspiciously like happiness.

Would my mother recognize me now? This woman who speaks the language of violence so fluently? This woman who spreads her legs for a killer and calls it love?

I’d like to think she would. I’d like to think Mom would understand that sometimes, the darkest places are where you find your light.

The phone rings, shattering my thoughts. Vince answers it before the second ring, his body instantly alert beside me. I watch the hard planes of his face as he listens, the way his jaw ticks—once, twice—before relaxing into something approaching satisfaction.

“When?” he asks, eyes meeting mine. “Send me the details. And Arkady? Good fucking work.”

He ends the call, setting the phone down carefully, deliberately—the calm before a storm I’m not sure whether to fear or welcome.

“That was Arkady,” he says, unnecessarily. “Agent Carver called. The Bureau is officially redirecting all resources to the Solovyov investigation.”

My breath catches. “And us?”

“We’re off their radar. For now.” His mouth curves into something too predatory to be called a smile, but it warms me up nonetheless. “Your strategy worked, Rowan. Better than we could have hoped.”

I sit up, sheet falling away from my naked body. “So that’s it? They’re really leaving us alone? Just like that?”

“Not out of the kindness of their hearts.” Vince’s fingers trace my spine, sending shivers across my skin. “But because you gave them bigger fish to fry. The Solovyovs are going down hard, and Carver’s going to make his career on it, and we have you to thank, my little doe.”

The relief hits me with unexpected force. “So we’re safe? Really safe?”

“As safe as people like us ever get.” Vince’s phone vibrates again. He checks it, and then his grin ticks one notch wider. “Costa Rica just came through, too. The development has secured new investors—legitimate ones, with no ties to either the Petrovs or us. Clean money, Rowan. Clean fucking cash.”