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I almost smile.

“Trust me,” I say, “those are my favorite sides of you.”

His mouth twitches again. For a moment, something vulnerable flashes across his face. It is there and gone so quickly.

“Then kiss me.”

I don’t make him ask twice. I grab the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine.

Maksim meets me with a starved, violent urgency. Our lips collide with three months of grief, rage, and reckless obsession. He lets out a low, ragged sound against my mouth as our breaths tangle, completely detached from the noise in the room and the weapon held steady in his hand that’s still pointed at Jake. I catch his lower lip between my teeth, tasting the heat of him before pulling him deeper into the kiss.

Then the gun fires.

I don’t flinch.

Instead, my fingers tighten in his hair, my other arm wrapping around his waist, pulling his body flush against mine, anchoring myself completely in his warmth, in the reality of what we are to each other.

When we finally part, our breath comes fast and uneven against each other’s lips.

“Fuck,” Maksim whispers, his chest rising and falling against mine. “That was hot.”

I let out a slow breath and finally turn my eyes toward the chair.

Jake’s head has fallen forward. Blood trails down from his forehead, and his body hangs motionless against the restraints.

He’s dead.

I stare at him for a long moment.

Eight months ago, Maksim had looked me in the eyes and promised me something I had refused to believe.

I’ll kill Jake.

He had said it with that terrifying certainty only he could possess.

And I’ll make sure I do it in front of you, where you’ll see your lover die right before your very eyes.

Now he has done exactly what he promised. Jake is no longer alive.

I wait for something to rise in me. Guilt, grief, or even a flicker of the history we once shared. Nothing comes. Only a vast, clean numbness. Whatever Jake once was to me died long before this moment. I will not mourn him.

I look back at Maksim. He is watching me closely, his gaze searching my face for hesitation, regret, or disgust—waiting to see if this is the moment I pull away.

When he finds only calm acceptance, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“You’re low-key a psychopath, you know that, right?” he says, a faint chuckle in his voice.

“Not really,” I reply, my mouth twitching slightly.

Maksim glances over at the chair for a split second before returning his full attention to me.

“So I’m guessing this isn’t enough punishment for you then?”

I don’t answer with words. I just tighten my grip on his waist, dragging him closer until there’s nothing left between us.

“You still have a lot of groveling to do, Tristan,” he says with stubborn pride, though his hands readily find their way around the back of my neck. “You have to earn an I love you from me.”

“I’ll make sure to earn it, spitfire,” I say, leaning down until our lips brush once more. “It’s my turn to chase after you now.”