Luckily, Nika’s not easily intimidated. She put her foot down, and the Pakhan waved the white flag.
Everyone’s weak to a Kozlov woman.
Wearing nothing but my white t-shirt, Nika lounges on the balcony, tucked into a wrought iron chair as she soaks in the still-soft sunlight of early spring. The Makarov she was cleaning lies in pieces on the table, forgotten in favor of her sketch pad and charcoal sticks.
Pulling my hair back with the tie Nika insisted I should start using, I wander out to see what’s taking her so long.
Bending over her, I press a kiss to the top of her head and steal a peek at her sketch.
I’m the subject. Looking particularly surly, with an exaggerated brow line and… “What the hell is wrong with my hand? I have five fingers, you know.” I point, careful not to smudge her work.
“Shut up.” Nika hunkers down, dragging her charcoal over the mutilated digits. “Hands are difficult to draw.”
I don’t say anything more. The art is part of her therapy, and she’s gotten pretty good in the last few months, minus hands. “So are guns, apparently.” Sitting across from her in just my boxers, I gesture to the barrel, slide, recoil spring, and magazine lying on a cleaning cloth. “If you don’t hurry, we won’t have enough daylight to hit the range. Vanya and Paige are already down there.”
Nika grunts, focusing on fixing my hands. Then she brightens and leans across the table, her dusty fingers tapping up my arm. “I can think of much better things to do.” She bites her lip and glances at the bed.
I regard the sheets, which are twisted and rumpled from our escapades this afternoon. “You want to get out of here?”
Nika sighs. “I’ve tried. Dad’s been great. Everything has been great. But this isn’t home.”
“Then we don’t stay here.” I assemble the gun, check that it’s oiled, and carry the weapon back inside. A vase of red roses decorates the dresser, another one of Nika’s attempts to personalize the space. “Where should we go?”
“Not a beach.” She rolls her lips as she thinks. “And not the mountains.”
“That eliminates a lot of real estate. I hear Nebraska is nice this time of year.” I almost smile, then I say what’s been on my mind. “But if that’s really your only criteria, anywhere in Chicago will do?”
She slips inside behind me, her bare feet nearly silent. “Sure.”
A knot in my chest loosens. “Chicago? Not Nebraska.”
“Definitely not Nebraska.” Taking the gun, she tucks it into her nightstand, next to her lube and several toys we’ve been trying out.
“Good. Because I was lying. Nebraska’s terrible this time of year.”
She laughs and drops onto the bed. As she stretches back, I can tell she hasn’t put on a bra or panties.
I have to close my eyes to keep myself from getting distracted. “Nika. Where do you want to go?”
Several seconds pass.
She twines her legs around my thighs, pulling me forward. I catch myself before I crush her, my hands hitting the mattress on either side of her shoulders.
Her fingers tangle in my hair before tugging my face down to hers.
“Figure it out.” She lifts her hips while rubbing herself against me. “I already know what home feels like. And I’ll follow this anywhere.”
“Are you sayingIfeel like home?” I grind my hips against her, sliding my hardening dick between her legs. She smiles that special smile that only appears in moments like this. “Or just this?”
For a moment, Nika’s eyes flutter closed. “You.” She works her feet against my boxers, pushing them down with surprising dexterity. I help her without breaking eye contact. “With you, my heart is safe.”
A fault line I didn’t know existed splits open in my chest. Such a declaration from this deadly woman leaves me…wobbly. Terrified. Elated. Aroused. Appreciative. So many feelings all wrapped around one core. Emotions that before Nika, I never let myself have.
Needing time to think, I pull the shirt over her head. She makes a sound low in her throat, her body arching into mine as she demands more contact, more pressure, more everything.
I understand why she doesn’t say the actual words.
Love was weaponized against her. Even basic affection was based on manipulation, perverted, and twisted into something rotten.
