Page 49 of Unspoken

His lips were so soft, the press of them so innocent, a contrast to everything his last name represents. He was sweet, like candy, his breaths non-existent as if he held air in his lungs. This kind of kiss usually speaks of desperate, quiet things. It tasted like forbidden fruit; it felt like the peace I'd been missing without knowing it was gone. A fire that licked my insides as he stood in front of me, his body so close almost pressing up against mine.

But I'm not here for kisses.

I'm here to keep him alive.

I did what I thought was the best thing for both of us. I put a stop to it before it was too late, before his wants consumed me, before I lost control and signed my own death sentence.

Only now, that time has passed and morning light began to filter through the heavy curtains of Vlad's mansion, I still can’tshake off that feeling that washed over me when Sasha’s lips touched mine. It’s all my mind knows. I wonder if this is how Adam and Eve felt when they ate the Forbidden Fruit.

Don’t, Logan. Don’t think about it. Don’t let it mess with you.

Still, guilt gnaws at my insides. Maybe I was too kind, too open. Maybe Sasha mistook my protection for something else. Something more.

I try to dispel the fog of emotions clouding my judgment. Duty first. Feelings... they don't have a place in this story. Not when every shadow could hide a gun, every corner a threat waiting to leap.

Exhaustion clings to me as I peel myself from the bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Ivan asked me to stay when I brought Sasha back, and I spent the night in the spare bedroom down the hall from Sasha’s room, hardly sleeping, just laying on top of the covers, ready and mostly listening to the sounds of this house.

A distant hum somewhere outside signals an arrival. I reach the window and slide the pane open. Heavy tires crunch against the driveway. Agitated voices travel downstairs. Vlad. It's him; it has to be. He’s returned from yet another business trip.

Every inch of my body protests the movement as I roll my shoulders and head over to the bathroom. There, water that splashes onto my face scatters thoughts and images—Sasha's taboo lips caressing mine. Toothpaste foams, washing away the taste of him and the taste of guilt that lingers in my mouth.

A knock jolts me. Ivan's frame fills the doorway when I swing it open, his eyes serious as he delivers the message in his gravelly Russian accent. "Vlad wants to see you. Downstairs."

"Thanks," I reply, with a nod that feels like a weight tied around my neck.

As we descend the staircase and walk toward the office, my each step is chained to the terror pooling in my gut.

Ivan stops in front of the heavy doors and knocks twice until a curt "come in" sounds from the inside.

The first thing I see when I enter the room is a dark monolith against the light of the large window where the morning sun sears through the glass, spilling over Vlad’s figure. He stands there, a presence of power wrapped in an immaculate suit that whispers threats in its crisp lines.

"Vlad," I say, my voice betraying nothing but professionalism.

He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge my greeting with more than a tilt of his head. A mystery puppeteer presiding over his kingdom. The door shuts behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.

"Logan." Vlad’s voice slices through the tension of the room. "Thank you. For saving Alexander yesterday." The words are thick, unaccompanied by a glance or gesture.

"Doing my job," I respond, keeping my tone even. My eyes fixate on his back, wondering if gratitude is just another currency in this place.

"And I appreciate it." The pause that follows is heavy. "However, I do not remember giving you permission to teach him to use a gun." The statement comes out flat, almost a question, but it's clear he's not seeking an answer. When he turns, the light carves harsh lines into his expression—shadows of displeasure etched deep into his features.

"He needs to be able to protect himself," I supply, knowing where this dance leads. His authority bears down on us, a tangible force that seeks to suffocate my reasoning.

"He does not," Vlad snaps, cold fury simmering beneath his polished veneer. "I will protect my brother myself."

"And when you're not around?" I challenge, meeting his gaze squarely. It's a gamble, throwing these words like dice onto thetable between us. Every time I defy Vlad I risk losing this job. And my head.

"That is why you are here," he retorts. "Or perhaps you are not as capable as I thought."

"I’m more than capable. You know it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be upstairs right now. He’d be in a fucking morgue."

Vlad’s jaw clenches as he continues to stare at me. "You are my employee. You are not hired to make decisions," he finally grits out.

"Helpless," I spit out. "That's what you turned him into."

"Do not presume to know what is best for Alexander."

"Then enlighten me," I challenge, my frustration mounting. "How does ignorance keep him alive?"

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