Page 71 of Shatter Me

I study my brother's haggard appearance. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his usually pristine tactical gear looks wrinkled like it's been worn for days.

"What's wrong?" The words come out sharper than intended.

Erik runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pacing the narrow corridor. "I'm in too fucking deep, Dmitri." His voice cracks slightly. "I'm falling for her. I don't—I don't know what to do."

The confession hits me like a punch to the gut. Not because it's unexpected—I've seen the signs—but because Erik never admits weakness. Never shows vulnerability. The fact that he's telling me this means he's truly lost control.

I narrow my eyes, a cold feeling settling in my chest. "Have you fucked her?"

Erik stops pacing, his back to me. His shoulders tense, and for a long moment, he says nothing. His expression is carefully blank when he finally turns, reminding me of his Spetsnaz training.

"That's not the issue here," he says quietly.

My fingers twitch at his non-answer. The urge to grab him by the throat and demand a straight response pulses through me, but I force it down. Erik may be compromised, but he's still my brother. Still deadly.

"It's exactly the issue," I say instead, keeping my voice level. "Have you compromised our position?"

He meets my gaze, and I see something I've never seen before—uncertainty.

I study my brother's face, recognizing the emotion there all too well. Fuck. This complicates everything.

"We can't keep her, Erik." The words taste bitter in my mouth. "If we want this war to end, Katarina must be returned."

Erik's hands clench into fists. "I'm not sure I can let her go."

The defeat in his voice mirrors what I feel every time I think about Tash. I remember how she looked at me when she found out who I was and the distance I have to keep now to protect her.

"You think I don't understand?" I move closer to Erik. "Look at me and Natasha. What are the fucking odds we'd both fall this hard, this fast?"

Erik's eyes snap to mine, surprise breaking through his carefully controlled expression. It's the first time I've admitted my feelings about her, even to myself.

"At least Katarina knows what this life is," I continue. "She was born into it. Tash..." I shake my head. "She looks at me now like I'm a monster."

"Katarina hates what her father does," Erik says quietly. "She's different."

"It doesn't matter. We need to end this war before more people die. Before Igor decides to target Natasha to get to me." My voice hardens. "You know what has to be done."

Erik's jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he'll refuse. Then, his shoulders slump slightly. "I know." The words come out rough, pained. "Just... give me time."

I nod, understanding exactly what it costs him to agree. We're both trapped between duty and desire, between what we want and what needs to be done.

I watch my brother's inner struggle, understanding it better than anyone. Erik's always been the controlled one, the soldier who follows orders without question. Seeing him this vulnerable is like watching a fortress crumble.

"Why did you call me?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

Erik's shoulders tense. "Alexi would turn it into a joke. And Nikolai..." He shakes his head. "He'd only see it as a weakness to exploit. You're the only one who might understand."

I lean against the wall, giving him space. Showing vulnerability goes against everything he is. "Because of Natasha?"

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "How do you handle it? This... feeling?"

"Poorly," I admit, earning a brief smile from him. It's rare, this moment of honesty between us. No pretenses, no masks. Just two brothers drowning in similar waters.

"Does she..." I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. "How does Katarina feel about you?"

Erik's jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists. "She responds to me. Wants me. But..." He looks away, tension radiating from every muscle. "Could be Stockholm syndrome. Who the fuck knows? All I know is I care for her. Want her so bad it hurts."

The honesty in his voice hits close to home. I recognize that same desperate need, that same consuming desire that keeps me watching Tash's security feeds, unable to look away.

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