Page 64 of Alik

My eyes widen. “That isnotfunny.”

He laughs, but when he comes down from it, his smile falls. “Seriously, though. What happens if I fall asleep? Do you think you’ll stay … you?”

I nod. “I’ll be up the whole time. I promise.”

He looks skeptical, but eventually, he nods. “All right, let’s get out of here, then. If you’re seen outside my apartment, the pictures your evil twin took will be the least of our worries.”

“I understand.”

He puts his hand on my back while guiding me from the apartment. “Just so you know, I like you better. You’re the far more agreeable one of the two of you.”

I know he means it as a joke, but I find myself sighing with relief anyway. No one I know who’s still alive has ever known my other half. I wouldn’t have guessed she existed, let alone that she was some kind of mastermind.

Is it crazy to fear Alik may somehow come to like her better?

16

ALIK

I’m pulled from a deep sleep by a gentle hand combing my hair along my forehead.

“Alik,” Olive whispers. Her voice is soft, angelic, and I don’t open my eyes to it. If anything, it only serves to soothe me back to desperately needed sleep.

“You have to get up, baby. Someone’s at the door.”

My eyes pop open, and I shoot up in bed, jerking my head toward the door when an angry knock booms from the living room. If I had time, I would scold Olive for her overly calm demeanor, but I don’t, so I jump out of bed and stride to the door, pausing at the bedroom entrance to turn to her. “Do not leave this room.”

Her head tilts like she’s questioning the command, but she sits on the bed, crossing one leg over the other before steepling her fingers.

I click the bedroom door shut then stride to the front door and fling it open just as another chorus of angry knocks start up again.

Nikita stands with his cane hovering in the air like he was using it to knock, and when our eyes meet, he lowers it to thefloor. His expression blank, he moves his gaze to my bare chest and shorts then back up to my messy hair.

Shit.

“You’re not answering your phone.”

He’s been calling me?

Have I been sleeping that hard?

“I didn’t realize you’d called, sir. It wasn’t intentional.”

He lifts a shoulder, his lips snarling slightly. “Have I ever been one to care about intentionality?”

My eyes find his hands on instinct to search for a blade, but I know better. If he has one, it’ll be tucked away.

Does he care about intentionality? If he does, it never shows.

“No, sir.”

He’s also not one to show up at my place. Or anywhere alone.

What is he doing here?

Why didn’t he send someone else?

I check his hands again.

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