Page 25 of 10 Days to Surrender

I glance in the back. Jas is asleep, effortlessly beautiful, like she’s ready to star in a shampoo commercial as soon as she opens her eyes. Uncle Kosti, on the other hand, has his mouth wide open. Only when the car comes to a final stop do they both wake up.

“Eh? Eh?” mumbles Kosti.

“We’re resting here until sundown,” Sasha says, opening the door. “Get comfortable. More importantly, stay the fuck out of sight.”

“He’s got a way with words, doesn’t he, girls?” grumbles Kosti as he emerges from the vehicle.

Jasmine, with one look at the tension on my face, comes to give me a reassuring squeeze of the hand.

Sasha told us to get comfortable, but comfort doesn’t come easy. The four of us disperse to different corners of the barn. Jas and Kosti go up high, bedding down in haystacks. I’d follow them, but rotting ladders seem like a bad idea in my condition.

Instead, I try to sit propped against a barrel, a tractor wheel, and a pile of old saddles, but each one is more uncomfortable than the last. I can’t stop thinking about how many critters must’ve called this place home over the years, and how many might still.Every time I think I’m about to drift off, an itch or a tingle sends me jolting back upright.

Sleeping during the day is odd, too. Sun peeks through the gaps in the roof like it’s squinting in, trying to see who’s here and why. I throw an arm over my eyes to block it.

But lightning bolts go racing through my hips when I try to adjust my position, and just like that, I know sleep isn’t in the cards for me tonight. Today. Whatever.

I open my eyes…

… and across the room, I see Sasha looking back at me.

We stare at each other through the dusty gloom. His gaze drops to my belly first—always the belly, an instinct he can’t seem to quit—before dragging up to meet mine. For a few thundering moments, I’m back in his penthouse, tangled in sheets that smelled like his stupid cologne, whispering promises we both thought might actually stand the test of time.

I wrench my gaze away before he says something. Seeing him here, now, like this—it’s too much. It would be too much if it were just him, without all the baggage he’s brought along for the ride. But for it to be himandDragan’s reaching, grabbing fingers, the ever-present cloud of danger that hovers over Sasha’s head… That’s far, far too much.

I close my eyes and pretend I’m sleeping again.

Fabric rustles. Footsteps approach. I tense as Sasha’s shadow falls over me. He drops a canteen in my lap. “Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Your lips are cracked, your voice is hoarse, and I know you haven’t had a sip of anything in at least twelve hours.” When I still don’t move, he crouches—slow, predator cautious—and unscrews the cap. “Sit up and take one sip.”

I stay wrapped tight around my belly. “Make me.”

His throat bobs. Then, with a growl, he slides an arm under my shoulders and hauls me upright. Through the gap in his shirt, I see a bandage I hadn’t noticed before—with fresh blood blooming through the gauze.

“Christ, Sasha?—”

“Drink. Don’t worry about me.”

I swallow a few bitter gulps just to wipe that look off his face—some unholy mix of concern and possession. The water’s warm. Tastes like his sweat. Like shared air in a car that’s waiting for one or the other of us to drive it right off the edge of a cliff.

His thumb touches my lower lip, catching a stray droplet. “Better?”

Electricity arcs where skin touches skin. I jerk back. “Don’t touch me.”

His jaw clenches, but his hand falls. He rises and steps back. “Try to sleep.”

“Where are you going?”

“Perimeter check.” He tosses the words over his shoulder. “Stay put.”

The barn door screeches open, then slams shut. The silence that follows washes his absence clean. My fingers drift to my lips, still tingling from his touch.

“Asshole,” I tell the twins. “Your father is a total fucking asshole.”

Their answering kick feels suspiciously like laughter.

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