Page 117 of Dirty Damage

Simple.

Direct.

Like a knife between the ribs.

I pull out onto the street, focusing on the feel of the powerful engine beneath me instead of the ache in my chest. “You’ll have to give me directions.”

He taps the screen, and a familiar blue line appears. “Just follow the route. Should be there in about fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes to get my head straight and my heart under control.

Fifteen minutes to remember that this is business, not pleasure.

That he’s my employer, not my fairy tale prince.

But as I navigate through traffic, hyper-aware of his presence beside me, all I can think is how cruel it is that he’s given me exactly what I needed—freedom, security, independence—while simultaneously reminding me that none of it is real.

I’m halfway through a left turn when a sports car comes screaming through the intersection, blowing past their red light.

My heart stops. Time slows. I freeze.

But Oleg doesn’t.

His hand shoots out, grabs the wheel, and yanks us back into our lane as the car blasts past, missing us by inches. The blare of their horn is deafening.

“Pull over. Now.”

I’m shaking so hard it’s a miracle I can even guide the SUV to the curb. As soon as we’re stopped, Oleg is out of his seat, leaning across me to throw the car in park.

“Are you okay?” His hands frame my face, tilting it up to his. His eyes burn gold with fury and something else. Something that looks terrifyingly like fear. “Sutton. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out whisper-soft. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That piece of shit could have killed you.” His thumb traces my cheekbone, and for a moment, just a moment, the mask slips.Raw emotion flashes across his face before he catches himself and pulls back. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

I grab his wrist before he can retreat completely. “Please. I want to drive. I need to drive.”

He studies me for a long moment, jaw clenched. “Fine. But we’re finding a quieter route.”

I nod, trying to ignore how cold I feel now that he’s no longer touching me. How empty the space between us seems.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

“I’m fine.” I force a smile. “Just your average near-death experience. No big deal.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t joke about that. Not about your safety. Not ever.”

The intensity in his words steals my breath. For a second, I let myself believe it’s because he cares. Because I matter to him as more than just a means to an end.

Even if I know better than that.

34

SUTTON

The afternoon feels like a movie.

It’s a montage of a perfect afternoon by the pool. Artem and Oleg compete to see who can make the biggest splash while the kids giggle and cheer. Faye watches her husband with such obvious love that it makes me feel like I’m intruding even more than I already am.

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