Page 29 of Unspoken

For the third time ever since Sasha left, I open the tracking app. Jaw clenched, I watch the blinking dot that represents Sasha hold steady inside the building. Just like it did minutes ago.

He hasn't fled. But something still feels off, a persistent itch between my shoulder blades I can't quite scratch.

Enough of this bullshit.

I grab my Glock from the center console, hide it under the waistband of my pants, and exit the SUV.

My strides are long and determined, eating up the distance to the entrance. The usual din of a busy shopping center envelops me as I enter. I tune it out, zeroing in on the signal from Sasha's tracker I’m watching on the screen of my phone.

My heart pounds in time with my footsteps while I navigate the crowded building. The bitter bite of adrenaline is sharp on my tongue. I shouldn’t have let him go by himself.

The path leads me to a secluded corner of the mall, a small seating area tucked away from the main thoroughfare.

And there, bathed in the muted glow of the skylight, I finally spot him. Perched on a piano bench, slender fingers caressing the keys, lost to the world. Lost to me.

I halt to a stop next to the column and for a moment I simply stare, drinking in this rare unguarded version of Sasha. He looks younger, transformed. The hard lines of anger and tension smoothed away by the music pouring from beneath his fingers.

Something tightens in my chest, a sensation I haven't felt in years, one I thought long scabbed over. One I'm terrified to examine too closely. Because in this life, in my reality, there's no room for such fragile, tender things.

So I simply watch, like a trespasser, along with a few strangers, whom he doesn’t seem to mind.

But the spell shatters as Sasha's eyes meet mine in the reflection of a large mirror on the wall. His fingers slam down on the keys in a discordant clash, his body going rigid with terror.

He's on his feet in seconds, snatching up his shopping bag and hurrying toward me, eyes wide and filled with fear. The silence stretches taut between us as he approaches.

"That was... pretty good," I finally manage, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate on my tongue.

"Thanks," Sasha mumbles, gaze downcast. He takes a shaky breath and starts walking. "Don't tell Vlad about this."

I frown, puzzled. "Vlad doesn't know you play piano?"

Sasha shakes his head, and I swear a shudder ripples through his lean frame. "Piano was never... welcomed by our father."

Understanding dawns, cold and harsh. "Your secret's safe with me," I reassure him as we march through the shopping center and toward the exit.

The relief that washes over Sasha's face is palpable, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight has been lifted. "Thank you, Logan. I mean it," he says, glancing at me over his shoulder.

I nod. The air between us feels charged, the boundaries of our relationship shifting in ways I'm not ready to acknowledge. I like this asshole. Well some parts of him. I want to do a good job, to keep him out of harm’s way.

"We should really head back," I say gruffly. "It's not safe for you to be driving around the city all day."

Sasha’s clutching a Hugo Boss shopping bag. He didn’t lie to me after all, and I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed between us today. He’s not trying to get rid of me and I’m starting to enjoy this gig a bit more.

As we approach the exit, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Instinct, honed by years of training and experience, whispers a warning. We're being watched.

We continue on while my eyes scan the crowd, searching for the source of the prickling unease. When they land on the glass doors ahead of us, a reflection materializes behind us. A male figure in a dark hoodie. I can’t tell his age but he was lurking by the piano too, observing Sasha play. At first, I took him for a regular guy.

"Logan?" Sasha asks, as if sensing my concern. "What's wrong?"

I keep my voice low. "Someone’s following us. We need to leave. Now."

Without waiting for a response, I grab Sasha's arm, guiding him through the exit. My grip is firm, unyielding, a physical manifestation of my determination to keep him safe. It’s the first time I’m holding him this close after that balcony incident at Vlad’s place.

Sasha stumbles slightly, struggling to keep pace with my longer strides. "Who? Who's watching us?"

"No idea," I growl. "But I don't like it. So just let me do my job until I’m sure you’re secure."

We burst out of the building and I steer Sasha toward the Navigator, every sense on high alert. Moments later, we are speeding away from the parking lot.

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