EIGHTEEN

VIKTOR KUZNETSOV'S POV

She was finally asleep.

I leaned back against the couch, watching her lying there, wrapped in the sheets, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks still flushed. She’d drifted off so fast, not even pausing to clean up, and, somehow, I found myself… admiring her. She looked so innocent, so unguarded, her mouth slightly open as she breathed softly, deep in sleep.

I smirked to myself, biting down on the apple in my hand, doing my best to bury the emotions clawing their way to the surface. This hadn’t been the plan. I was supposed to interrogate her, get answers. But from the moment she’d looked at me with those defiant green eyes, everything shifted. One look, one word from her, and I knew I’d be taking her tonight, questioning be damned. The softness in her voice, the way she whispered my name—it all tore through my resolve.

But I couldn’t keep her. She was just a girl, one who had her own life waiting beyond these walls, a life far from this world I belonged to. Whatever this was, whatever I felt right now, had to end. I couldn’t let myself get attached.

She murmured something in her sleep, her body shifting slightly, a soft sigh escaping her. Instinctively, I felt myself leaning in, drawn to her, wanting more, needing her warmth again. But no—I had to be stronger than this. I forced myself to look away, standing up, my mind already beginning to shut this down. I’d already gotten my answers; she knew nothing about the boy who was killed. She was just a victim caught in the crossfire, wrong place, wrong time. And by morning, I’d have to let her go.

I found my clothes strewn around the room, tugging them on piece by piece. I glanced back at her one last time, taking in the way she lay, peaceful and content. She wouldn’t even remember this in a few days; I’d be just a dark memory. And that’s all I should be.

As I closed the door behind me, I stood for a moment in the silent hallway. My men knew I’d "handled" her, that she wouldn’t be coming back. They’d assume she was just another woman to me, another night. Yes they all did, except for Bonnie. But as I walked down the hall, the echo of her voice, the look in her eyes, all of it lingered, heavy and impossible to shake.

In the quiet of the house, Bonnie sat in the center of the living room, a bottle of alcohol resting on the floor in front of him. His large frame was slouched back in a lazy sprawl, his gaze distant, as though lost in thought. Anyone looking at him might think he was completely oblivious to anyone else in the room. But I knew better.

Bonnie was anything but unaware.

Even in his late fifties, he was as sharp and agile as ever. Loyal and fiercely protective, he was one of our best—a fighter who’d been around since I was a teenager in my father’s house. His presence was like an immovable rock, unyielding and strong, a constant I’d come to rely on.

Before I even got close, Bonnie whipped around, his body tensing, stance alert and predatory. But when he saw it was just me, he relaxed, slouching back into his usual lazy posture. With a slight nod, he gripped the bottle, pouring himself a drink before handing it over.

I lowered myself onto the rug beside him, taking the bottle and lifting it to my lips. "She knows nothing," I whispered, the words heavy in the stillness between us. The sharp burn of the liquor hit the back of my throat, and I grimaced as it went down, its heat lingering as I swallowed.

Bonnie watched me in silence, his eyes scanning my face with that unreadable look he always had, as though gauging the weight of my words—or maybe the toll this night had taken on me.

He didn’t look pleased. His eyes held a silent critique that didn’t need words. But Bonnie, loyal as he was, wouldn’t speak without permission. I raised the bottle to my lips again, watching him over the rim as I swallowed the liquor like it was nothing but water. “I know that look.”

He looked away, sucking his teeth, a slight shake of his head betraying his thoughts. “I knew she didn’t know anything a long time ago.”

I let out a low chuckle, though his bluntness stung a bit. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

His gaze met mine, sharp and unreadable. “Because you didn’t ask.” His eyes shifted slightly before he continued, “You brought her in for questioning, and then… you slept with her. The first time in a long while.” He studied me for a second, like he was weighing his next words carefully. “Are you by any chance…” He paused, then added with a hint of reluctance, “interested?”

I shrugged, forcing a smirk as if the question was absurd. I wanted to brush it off, to say I wasn’t affected. But his words hit closer than I wanted to admit. “Far from it,” I replied, too quickly.

He gave me a look, not quite buying it. I kept my face neutral, unwilling to give him anything more.

Bonnie, true to form, didn’t press the issue. We sat there in the stillness, the kind of silence that felt like a truce, the only sound our breathing and the soft slosh of liquor as we raised the bottle to our lips. The dim light in the room barely reached the edges, casting shadows that blurred our reflections against the glass wall. Beyond it, the woods stretched into darkness, as still and empty as the silence inside.

“I know I shouldn’t,” I murmured, almost as if convincing myself, my voice barely more than a breath.

Bonnie glanced over, his rough chuckle breaking the quiet like a jagged edge. “She’s not going to survive it,” he said, matter-of-fact, but there was a touch of something else—a warning, maybe, or a reminder of what this life demanded.

The words settled heavy in my chest, but I gave a short nod, staring into the darkness. This was the life we’d chosen—the life handed to us. Power, loyalty, isolation. There was no room for anyone who couldn’t withstand that weight.

“Of course, she wouldn’t,” I said, my voice cold but with a quiet resignation beneath. “Return her in the morning. Pay her for the night.” I paused, the words almost sticking. “And keep a close watch on her.”

Bonnie’s only answer was a curt nod, but in the dim light, his gaze was steady, knowing. We both understood what the morning would bring.