Page 65 of All The Pretty Little Lies

My hands, which had been frozen at my sides, come to life. They explore the expanse of his muscled back, tracing the ridges and valleys of his scars, feeling the stories etched into his skin. Each touch seems to fuel the fire between us, and Zaire growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through my entire being.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along my jaw, down the column of my throat. When he reaches the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, he nips gently, then soothes the sting with his tongue. I gasp, my head falling back against the wall, giving him better access.

"Vesper," he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with desire. “Moya koroleva."

The possessiveness in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. I'm dimly aware that this is dangerous, that I'm playing with fire. But in this moment, with Zaire's arms around me, his lips on my skin, I can't bring myself to care.

He captures my lips again, this time with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the earlier passion. It's a kiss full of promise and of unspoken devotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns on my lower back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into him, wanting, needing, to be closer.

When we finally part, both of us breathing heavily, I feel as though the weight of the world lifts away. Zaire rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breath fanning across my face.

A rap comes from the door. “Leaving in ten, Z,” Talon’s voice says from the other side.

Zaire's eyes flutter open, meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. Without a word, he leans in and captures my lips once more. This kiss is different; slower, deeper, filled with a longing that makes my heart ache. His hands cradle my face as if I'm something precious, his thumbs caressing my cheeks with a tenderness that belies the strength in his calloused fingers.

When he pulls away, I feel bereft, cold in the absence of his warmth. Zaire steps back, his gaze never leaving mine as he moves toward his closet. I watch, transfixed, as he peels off his sweatpants, revealing long, muscular legs adorned with intricate tattoos that disappear beneath his boxer briefs.

He pulls on a pair of dark jeans that hug his thighs, then reaches for a black t-shirt. As he lifts his arms to put it on, I can't help but marvel at the play of muscles across his back and the way his tattoos seem to shift and dance with each movement. The shirt slides down, covering the canvas of his skin, and I find myself mourning the loss.

Zaire turns back to me, now fully dressed but somehow looking just as dangerous as he did half-naked. He grabs a leather jacket from a hook on the wall, shrugging it on with casual grace. The action is so mundane, yet there's an undercurrent of lethal efficiency in every move he makes.

He crosses the room to me in three long strides, backing me against the door once more. His hands come to rest on either side of my head, caging me in, but I've never felt safer.

"I'll be back," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. "Nothing will keep me from coming back to you, Vesper.”

I shiver at the fervor in his words, the absolute conviction in his eyes. Zaire leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead that feels like a blessing and a promise sealed in flesh.

"Wait for me," he whispers against my skin.

Then he's gone, slipping past me and out the door with a final smoldering look that burns itself into my memory. I'm left leaning against the door, my heart pounding, my lips tingling, and the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin.

ALEX

The road stretches outbefore us, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the lush New York landscape. Zaire's hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. The playlist I'd curated for our impromptu road trip fills the car with a mix of classic rock and indie tunes, a futile attempt to lighten the mood. The four hour drive passes quickly despite the silence from Zaire.

“The clinic should be up here on the right.”

The clinic finally appears, a nondescript building nestled between a laundromat and a convenience store. Zaire pulls overa few blocks away, finding a spot with a clear view of the entrance.

We sit in silence, watching the steady stream of people entering and exiting the clinic. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the street, painting everything in hues of orange and gold. It's almost beautiful if you can ignore the fact that we're here on a potentially dangerous mission.

I pull out my phone, fingers flying across the screen as I text Oscar.

At location. Clinic closes in 1 hr. Waiting and watching.

As I wait for a response, I can't help but observe the scene before us. A young couple exits the clinic, their faces etched with worry. An elderly man shuffles in, leaning heavily on his cane. A harried-looking woman juggles a crying toddler and a diaper bag as she hurries inside.

It's strange, seeing this slice of normal life when our world is anything but. These people have no idea that two members of a powerful crime family are sitting just a few yards away.

My phone buzzes with Oscar's reply:

Good. Keep eyes open. Be safe.

“Oz knows we made it.”

“Good,” Zaire responds. He’s back to whatever LaLa land he’s been letting his mind race off to before I can even take another breath. Normally, he’s all business, but there’s something about him right now that is piquing my curiosity. What better time to poke the Russian bear than when you're alone in a car with him? At least, I will have witnesses if he kills me here in the car.

"So," I begin, trying to keep my tone light, "you and Oz, and Vesper. That's quite the triangle you've got going on there."

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