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So…I don’t.
I kiss her again, harder. This time, she does pull away, wrestling herself out of my grip with a choked gasp.
“This isdone, Mal,” she blurts, her voice shaking with fury. “This…thingbetween us. It’s over.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” I growl harshly. “We still have an arrangement.”
Her eyes flare with anger, and she steps forward, jabbing her finger into my chest. “Fuck the arrangement! Just tell them!” she yells. “Tell Kir! Tell Sota! Tell everyone!I don’t care anymore, Mal!”
I blink, my mind whirling. I can feel her slipping, and no matter how hard I try to hold on, the ground is crumbling under my feet.
Freya’s voice softens, but there’s still an edge to it. “You’re here and then you’re not. You want me but you hate me.” Her gaze turns stony as she steps back, putting distance between us. “Why don’t I make this easy for you.”
A dark mania surges into my chest when I see the resolve in her eyes.
“How about you stay,” she says coldly, “and I walk away this time.”
She turns before I can respond, before I can even process the words, and storms away. I start to follow but stop when she gets into a black SUV I recognize as belonging to the Nikolayev organization.
The door shuts, and the car peels away from the curb. I watch her go, my chest full of anger, frustration, and something that feels too much like loss. The sight of her driving away sends a surge of anxiousness through me so foreign and uncomfortable that I almost don’t recognize it.
Ineedto let her go. It’s all I’ve ever done.
But with Freya, I can’t. The roaring in my head only quiets when she’s near.
And that’s a problem I don’t know how to solve.
23
MAL
It’s almost daybreak,that quiet hour when the world starts waking up as dawn creeps up on the horizon, smearing the sky with pale streaks of light. But inside my mind, it’s nothing but darkness. A constant, unyielding roar.
I’m crouched in the shadows just outside Kir’s Bronx mansion, still as a statue, watching.
Waiting.
Freya came back here hours ago, and I’ve been watching her ever since. There’s something calming to me in the way she moves when she thinks no one is looking—unguarded, vulnerable. She didn’t see me. She never does. But I see her, same as always.
I should leave her alone. Turn and walk away.
That’s not happening.
The mansion’s security patrols are regular as clockwork. It’s easy to slip between the gaps and blend into the night. These guards aren’t trained for someone like me—someone who’s made a life out of remaining invisible.
I keep my eyes on the driveway, waiting for Kir’s car. He’s laughably predictable, a weakness I’ve always hated in men like him. Kir is normally up before dawn to work out, eat his customary breakfast, and have his cup and a half—no more, no less—of black coffee. Then he leaves the house for his first meeting with his advisors. Always at the same time.
When he leaves today, I’ll get what I came for.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, the large black armored SUV rolls out to the gates. I watch his guards wave him through, and as soon as the car disappears around the bend, I move.
I slip across the lawn, keeping low, my footsteps light but deliberate. The mansion looms above me, its dark windows watching like a predator waiting to pounce. I bypass all the main entrances, knowing they’ll be guarded, and find instead a second-floor balcony, easily reachable via the thick covering of ivy running up the side of the house.
Once up, the door’s lock is easy to pick—disappointingly easy. The click of it disengaging sounds like a gunshot in the silence, but there’s no one around to hear it. I slip into Kir’s office, the scent of leather and whiskey hanging in the air.
Hereallyshould have better security.
The room is dark, the faint light from the approaching dawn filtering in through the high windows, casting long shadows across the floor. I make my way to Kir’s desk, scanning the room for any alarms or traps.
