Kira giggled, burying her face in the crook of her arm, and something twisted warm and fierce inside me. Fuck, I loved that sound. Loved that I could still make her laugh, even here, even now.
I dropped beside her and kissed her shoulder, still flushed and trembling. “I’ll get you some clothes,” I murmured, brushing her hair back, my tone already shifting as I turned my eyes back to Felix. “Then I’ll take care of this mess.”
Felix was grunting against the gag, writhing like the rat he was, dragging himself inch by pathetic inch toward the door—even with the knife still lodged in his shoulder.
I glanced at him, and said with a cold smile, “Don’t squirm too much. I hate it when my toys wear themselves out before I’m ready.”
I pulled on my pants, digging through the pocket until I found my phone. The screen lit up—2:37 AM. Fucking late. But I didn’t care.
I dialed.
He picked up after two rings. “Reaper? It’s late. What’s up?”
“Got a situation,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “And I need you in.”
There was a beat of silence. “You need me at two-thirty in the morning? How many did you kill?”
“For now, just one. The other is tied up.”
“Fuck’s sake, Maksym.”
“I need you to come to Fairmont Grand Hotel. Eighth floor. Room 8113.”
More silence.
“Seriously?”
“And grab some of your wife’s clothes. Something soft. Comfortable. And a pair of shoes. She’s tiny—hopefully they’ll fit.”
Another beat. Then, dry as hell, “Are you kidnapping women now or rescuing them?”
“Both.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll sneak into my wife’s closet like a fucking thief. Anything else, princess?”
“Yeah. Bring cigarettes. I’m out.”
“You kill a man, fuck a girl, tie another guy up, and now you want a smoke?”
“I’m having a long night.”
“You always have a long night.”
“Come quick.”
“Coming. And if I get caught stealing panties, I’m blaming you.”
I hung up, smirking.
Then I looked at her.
She was lying on her stomach, legs spread lazily, hair a mess around her shoulders, completely naked—completely unbothered. The sheet half-draped across one thigh, ass still flushed from where I’d held her. She didn’t glance at the corpse near the door. Didn’t flinch at the sight of bloody Felix bound and gagged. She just lay there, arms folded under her cheek, watching me with those wicked eyes like she was already dreaming of round two.
And fuck me if it didn’t hit like a punch to the chest.
This wasmywoman.
Not because I said so. Not because I fucked her. But because the scene around her was insane—blood, violence, the kind of chaos that would send most people running—and she looked like she belonged in it. Like she was born in it. Like she chose it. Chose me.
