Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I hugged my knees and rested my head on my arms. Anyone else would have friends outside of work, people they could turn to. I had no one. This is what happens when work is your entire life. I hadn’t felt so completely alone since my parents died. My mind plummeted down, down, down.
And then, right as it was about to hit bottom, it caught on something. One slim, silvery thread.
There was one place I could go where the FBI would never think to look for me. One person I could ask for help.
My mind recoiled. No!
Yes, I was attracted to him. Yes, I... felt things for him. But that made it worse, not better. He was still Bratva, still the enemy. I couldn’t go to him for help. I was FBI, and the FBI’s job was to hunt him.
But now they were hunting me.
I tried to think of another plan: something else, anything else. But I was out of options.
“Fuck,” I said aloud, and climbed to my feet.
A few hours later, I was on the street outside Gennadiy’s mansion. I’d been there so many times, sitting in an FBI car, watching the place. It felt wrong, walking up the driveway, like walking onto a stage when you’ve only ever been hidden in the wings.
There was a big iron doorknocker. I lifted my hand to it. Hesitated. Grabbed hold of it. Hesitated again.
I hated going to him. But what I hated even more was that my heart was racing just at the thought of seeing him again. I crushed the feeling down, lifted the knocker—
Gennadiy swung the door open wide. He must have been watching me on a security camera. He gazed down at me, his eyes tracking over my leather pants, my tank top and bare shoulders, finishing on my eyes. He seemed to get stuck there for a second. Then he gave me that superior, cold glare and raised one eyebrow expectantly.
I took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
25
GENNADIY
The sight of her standing on my doorstep, so small and vulnerable, nearly broke me. It took everything I had just to keep my expression stony and unyielding. But when she asked for my help, I almost crumbled completely. It wasn’t just the fear in her voice; it was that she’d come to me, which meant she had no one else. All the feelings that had been building for months welled up, and I had to brace my hands on the door frame to keep from grabbing her and pulling her to me.
It didn’t matter how I felt about her. She was still a cop. Still part of the system that tore my family apart. We were on opposite sides in a war that would never end. But all of those reasons I kept clawing at as handholds...they were feeling less like iron and more like smoke.
I stepped back from the door and waved her in. She walked beside me through the hallway, looking absurdly small in the cavernous space. In the living room, she stopped in the center, just...lost. I forced myself to keep my distance. “What happened?” I asked gruffly.
She told me about being set up by someone at the FBI. “We were wrong before,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Whoever’s behind this is trying to get rid of me, not you. They didn’t manage to kill me, so now they’re getting me thrown in jail. Then they can pay someone to shiv me in the showers.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “They might not even have to pay. An FBI agent in jail? Someone’ll do me for free.”
Before I could stop myself, I’d marched over to her and grabbed her shoulders. “No one’s killing you,” I snapped. I just meant to reassure her, but my words put a knife through the whole idea of someone hurting her. She lifted her chin and looked up at me and—
Blyat’. I’d never looked into anyone’s eyes and seen that before. Hope. My hands tightened on her shoulders, and God, I just wanted to crush my lips down on hers and let all her good and all my bad obliterate one another.
I turned away and stalked over to a side table. I knew what I had to do. “You’ll be out of the country tonight,” I told her.
“What?!” she asked behind me. Then, “I don’t have my passport.”
I didn’t dare turn around. “I know someone who can make you a new one.” The idea of never seeing her again was tearing a hole in my heart. I hadn’t been ready for how much it would hurt. But this was the only way to keep her safe.
“I don’t have any money!” she protested.
“I’ll give you some,” I said. I just about managed to keep the pain out of my voice. “Enough to get started. A hundred thousand.” I poured vodka, my knuckles white on the bottle.