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And then they’re gone, leaving me standing on the tarmac, feeling empty inside. I hate goodbyes, even when I know they’re temporary.
When I get back home—which feels oddly easy to say these days—I feel the familiar rush of Mal’s presence before I even see him.
He’s there, waiting, his eyes locked on mine the moment I step through the door. Before I can say anything, he grabs me, pulling me close and kissing me hard, a kiss of fire. I can’t help the way my body reacts to him, the way my heart pounds in my chest as I cling to him, letting him take control in a way only he can.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze searching mine. “Something’s wrong,” he murmurs.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, breathless from the intensity of his stare. “I just need you.”
He pins me harder to the wall, his cock surging thick, pulsing against me as my knees shake with anticipation.
“How?” he growls, his voice rough.
“Hard,” I whisper back, barely able to speak. “Rough.” I tremble as I lean up into the crook of his neck, my lips brushing his ear as his hands tighten around me. “Make it hurt.”
Without another word, he grabs me again, lifting me into his arms and carrying me toward the bedroom. My heart races, knowing what’s coming, knowing that this is where we both thrive—in this mad, mad world of our own creation.
A world so good it takes my breath away.
When I wake up,it’s still light outside, though the sun is starting to dip behind the mountains. I turn over, smiling to myself as I watch Mal sleep beside me. He’s adjusted to my nocturnal schedule. I never asked him to, or even suggested it. It just…happened.
Now he’s a vampire, just like me.
Quietly, I slip out of bed and head to the kitchen for some water. As I drink, I decide to check the output from the diagnostic I ran on Kir’s home system, plus I want to see if Cain got back to me with any ideas on the attempted break-in.
I grab my laptop from the table and plop down on the couch. When I open it, though, I realize it’s not mine. It’s Mal’s.
Oops.
I’m about to close it when a document open on the screen catches my eye, grabbing me like claws around the throat, making my heart stop.
Intel report: Kir Nikolayev
Exploration and deep dive into possible connections between Kir Nikolayev and Lindqvist crime family
I stare at the screen in disbelief, my eyes racing over the words.
It’s not just this one document—there’s a folder of them, each more damning than the last. The headings alone make my stomach churn:Surveillance Logs,Bratva-Lindqvist Family Ties,Suspected Hits Orchestrated by K. Nikolayev. There’sa timestamp on a file that dates back almost twenty years outlining a failed hit on Kir—organized by none other thanmy father, William Lindqvist.
I scroll down. My fingers are shaking, but I can’t stop. I have to know more. The words blur together as I read.
Report Summary: Evidence suggests Kir Nikolayev may have been a key player in the Lindqvist family and empire’s downfall, beginning with his severed ties to William Lindqvist. Historical records indicate that Kir may have orchestrated retaliation, resulting in William Lindqvist’s downfall and ultimately that of his criminal empire.
Possible Motive: Betrayal by Petra Lindqvist, an affair with Kir Nikolayev?—
Wait, WHAT.
Fuckingwhat?!
Kir and my mother? That’s impossible. That can’t be real.
I scroll faster, a sick need clawing at me to uncover every horrible detail. Then I freeze.
Focal Subject: Freya Lindqvist, aka Freya Holm
My own name leaping out at me from the page is a slap to the face. My heart pounds in my chest, the air around me suddenly too thick, too suffocating.
My blood runs cold as I read the detailed profile on me, my mind recoiling from the clinical dissection of my life:
