Page 158 of Silenced

Always.

Forever.

In this world and the next.

When I breathe the words into her ear, she tightens around me, back bowing, nails scraping over my scalp and shoulders as she holds me tight.

I follow her through her pleasure, continuing to ride her until she’s eked out every drop of ecstasy.

Her legs quiver, thighs trembling, then once she’s sagged beneath me, clearly tired out, exhausted from being awoken in the middle of the night, I turn us over so that she blankets me.

Softly, I stroke a hand down her spine to comfort us both and when I fall asleep, the nightmares I expect don’t follow me into unconsciousness.

Just into tomorrow.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

There’s a rumor that the recent explosion in Petrovsky Park is Bratva-adjacent.

No one knows for certain, least of all the Muscovian police force, but that comes as no surprise, not when they’re more corrupt than the NYPD.

Still, the bomb blastisa shock. There’s been no terrorist action in Moscow since the Bratva closed ranks and began policing the streets themselves.

One has to ask who’d have the balls to disrupt thistranquillitas ordinis—peace order.

I have reason to believe that it might be a certain upstart from New York.

Rumor has it that Maxim Lyanov’s reason for spending so much time in Moscow wasnotto cozy up to the Krestniy Otets but to plan a revolution.

Only time will tell if this is true or not, but I’ll be the first, as always, with the latest updates.

38

NIKOLAI

Blue and Yellow - The Used

* * *

“You can’t bringher with us.”

Dmitri’s retort has me frowning at him. “Dmitri, you’re the one who can’t come with me.”

His eyes round. “Excuse me?”

“I need you here,” I sign.

“But my place is with you!”

“You are my Sovietnik.” I place a hand on Dmitri’s shoulder and squeeze.

Sometimes when I look at him, it’s hard to remember that he’s an adult now. I still see those eyes flooded with tears, bruised and battered, his face loaded with lacerations from where his father’s signet ring tore his cheeks apart.

Whether fifteen years separate him from that moment or fifteen minutes—the last place I want him to be is Moskva. Even if I’d appreciate him having my back in this dogfight.

He swallows. “You need me.”

My hand tightens on his shoulder. “Always,” I rasp, then I let go of him and sign, “But I need you to hold my territory. The men respect you and with Pavel still in the hospital, I have no choice. Even if he wasn’t, I’d prefer you to stay here. I trust you implicitly.”

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