Page 14 of Inked Athena

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

Last night, we talked about monsters in the dark. About fathers who break their children. About basements and woods and all the ways powerful men teach you not to trust. Sam actually listened. Actually shared. Actually made me feel… safe.

That’s how I know this is all a lie.

Because Samuil Litvinov doesn’t do safe. He does calculated. Strategic. He takes what he wants and eliminates what stands in his way. And right now, I’m just a liability—the girl who stole his server and ran straight to his enemies.

Because how could he believe me? How can I believe him? How can either of us believe anything ever again?

The fact that he hasn’t put a bullet in my head yet just means he still thinks I’m useful.

Or maybe he’s waiting to see if I’ll lead him to something bigger. To someone bigger. To all the secrets I don’t actually have.

His fingers twitch against my hip, and my traitor body responds. Heat pools low in my belly as I remember those same fingers bringing me to pieces in the bath yesterday. Remember the way he touched me after he thought I was asleep, like he couldn’t help himself.

Like he wanted me as much as I want him.

But want isn’t trust. And trust isn’t something either of us can afford right now.

I inhale slowly, trying to steady my racing pulse. Outside the cabin windows, dawn is breaking over the trees. Soon, he’ll wake up. Soon, we’ll have to face whatever comes next.

Soon, I’ll have to decide if I’m going to fight or surrender when he inevitably shows his true colors.

For now, though, I let myself have this moment. Let myself pretend that the warmth at my back is comfort rather than threat. That the man holding me is salvation rather than damnation.

Let myself imagine, just for a heartbeat, that we could be something other than what we are:

A mafia prince and his latest victim.

A captor and his prey.

A man who kills traitors and the woman who betrayed him.

Behind me, Sam stirs.

Time’s up.

“Nova…” His voice is raspy with sleep as his hand brushes along my shoulder.

I shiver, caught between fear and desire.

This is how it starts.

I force my eyes open. He looms over me, all six-foot-four of lethal grace. His usually pristine appearance has gone feral—beard untamed, dark hair falling in waves over his forehead.

The wildness suits him.

“Good. You’re awake.” Without warning, he scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing.

If I thought it would make any difference, I’d fight. Since I know it won’t, I don’t bother.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t have to. I can barely walk without his help.

As we pass through the cabin’s living room, I notice my duffel bag is gone and the furniture has all been pushed back into place.

“Where are we going?” I ask again. “And ‘somewhere safe’ isn’t an answer.”

---