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“Paul used the laptop to call all the drones in the city to Merchant’s Arch. Then, when I screamed, it activated all of them at once. He let them target me for the countdown to confuse Alexi, but when it came time to shoot, he switched the target from me to”—I couldn’t bring myself to look at the bodies next to us—“them.”
Damien’s gaze drifted to the bloodbath on the roof, and he held out his hand, silently asking for the cigar.
I passed it over as I watched his thoughts darken.
“I did it again,” he said, exhaling a cloud of vanilla-scented smoke. “I fucking failed.”
“You what?”
“I had one job, Clover. With everyone distracted by the drones, I coulda grabbed the sergeant’s gun when I took you out of his arms. I coulda killed Alexi right then and there, and I fuckin’ didn’t. My entire life had been leadin’ up to that moment, and when I had the opportunity, I fuckin’ choked. Again.” He glanced at me with bitter tears in his eyes as he shook his head and took another drag.
“Killing Alexi was never your job,” I said, plucking the cigar from his frowning mouth and planting mine there instead. The flavor of vanilla custard cream danced at the edges of my consciousness as I pulled away, licking my lips with a smile.
“Never my job? It was my fuckin’ life’s purpose,” he argued.
“No, it wasn’t.” I stamped the cigar out and held his tortured stare, speaking slowly to make sure that my next three words hit their mark. “It was ours.”
Damien’s face paled as I kissed his parted lips again.
“You were never meant to do this on your own,” I said, cupping his cheek. “If I’ve learned anything over the past two weeks, it’s that we only survive … when we stay together. We only succeed … when we do it together.”
I gestured toward the massacre that I was too squeamish to look at. “If you’d shot Alexi, there were four other men on this roof who woulda killed you on the spot. You did the right thing, Damien. You protected me.” I beamed, pressing my forehead to his. “And I protected you.”
Pulling me into his arms, Damien kissed me with a combination of reverence and relief that was so powerful it bathed the back of my eyelids in a blinding blue light. It filled me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, and when he pulled away, my body tingled in every place he had ever touched—both in this life and the last.
“You jump, I jump.” He smirked, and for the first time in days, I knew everything was going to be okay.
I just didn’t know how.
“Damien?” I swallowed. “How are we gonna get down from here without being captured?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said, pursing his lips in contemplation, “and I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
“Why not?”
He sat me down on the roof next to him and, with one last kiss, walked over to a camera on a tripod a few meters away.
Switching it on, Damien took a few steps back and smoothed his hands down the front of his military uniform before running his fingers through his dark hair. His posture stiffened. His stare went cold. And before me stood a man who was destined for greatness. I’d never seen Damien at his strongest. He’d been injured since the day I’d pulled him out of the sea. Seeing him standing in his full power, healthy and nearly healed, was a religious experience.
“Hello.” He spoke in English using his natural Irish accent rather than the fake Russian one he’d used on TV the day before. “This is Lenin Abramov, vice president of the Russian Federation and son of President Alexi Abramov.”
Damien repeated his greeting in Russian.
“Less than an hour ago, my father was slain by Irish rebel forces. Based on the order of succession, which was amended yesterday during my appointment to the position of vice president, I stand before you … as the new president of the Russian Federation.”
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
CHAPTER 51
DAMIEN
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Good evening. I am coming to you live from the Kremlin with President Lenin Abramov to discuss today’s breaking news—that the Republic of Ireland has officially been approved to join the North Atlantic Treaty Organization.”
