Page 56 of Unspoken

"You’re not going to die, Sasha. I won’t allow it."

"Fine. And the date?"

Logan's nod is almost imperceptible, a small surrender in the face of our impossible circumstance. "Okay. I’ll take you out on a date."

A mix of emotions rush through me—fear, anticipation, and an aching need. My mind races ahead, painting pictures of moments that could be. A future fraught with danger but alive with the promise of what's unfolding between us.

CHAPTER 19

LOGAN

I jolt awake, gulping down the night air like I've never breathed before. My heart is a drumline in my chest, hard and fast, echoing the throbbing pulse elsewhere. The sheets are twisted around me, damp with sweat or something else, and for a moment, I'm still caught in the vivid haze where Sasha's mouth was...

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, sitting up and shoving the traitorous images away. It's dark in my apartment, the kind of black that feels heavy, that swallows sound and sense. But it can't swallow the memory of his lips on mine, the heat of our bodies pressed together in the pool, the desperate cling of wet skin.

My jaw clenches, and the scar at my temple seems to pull tight, a physical reminder of past life when I was a cop. How easily one wrong move can bleed out into catastrophe. That's what this thing with Sasha is—an impending disaster, a wound waiting to open. Yet when he looked at me with those pleading eyes, something gnarled inside me unraveled, and I agreed to this insanity.

I don't know why.

I can't explain it.

The death of my mother is still possessing every corner of my mind and I blame this insanity on the grief, blame my lethal attraction to Vlad's younger brother on loss, loss that dulled my understanding of right and wrong entirely.

I swing my legs over the edge, feet hitting the cold floor as if to shock some sense back into my system. It's sorrow, yeah. No other explanation. Ma's gone, and there's no one to tell me to keep my head straight, to remind me who the hell I am—a guy who's supposed to protect, not get entangled with the very person I'm guarding.

But even as I rake a hand through my short hair, I can feel the trace of Sasha's fingers on my body, softer than any touch I've had in years. Desire rolls around my gut, slick and insidious, whispering seduction and sweetness and all the damn things that could ruin me.

I rise up and pace around my room for a bit, then grab my iPad from the dresser and flop into a chair in the corner. Minutes later, I find myself browsing through the online translators, looking up Russian words I have no business knowing, not when it comes to Sasha.

I spend a good amount of time, humoring myself with learning terms of endearment.

"Get your shit together, McKenna," I mutter into the emptiness of my room after a while. Setting the iPad aside, I stand up and move into the bathroom. The mirror there throws back a reflection that's all edges and ink, a map of mementos etched onto the skin. A man who should be made of steel, but flesh and blood have a way of betraying even the toughest facade.

The water runs cold over my hands, and I splash it onto my face, hoping to wash away the remnants of dreams better left unexplored. But water isn't enough to cleanse the stain oflonging, of wanting something that's sure as hell going to burn me alive.

The drive to the mall is a blend of loud punk music clashing with my thoughts. It’s Sasha's favorite sound, the kind of noise that drowns out everything else. I let it wash over me, fill up the space where dangerous longing threatens to spill over. With every mile that disappears under the tires of my car, anticipation grows tighter in my chest, a silent countdown to the moment I'll see him.

But this time it’s on his terms, not on the terms of his brother. This time I’m not his shadow dressed in all black. This time I’m just a man in faded jeans and a T-shirt, a man who’s following the instructions he received in a late-night text yesterday when he got home from work.

At the mall, I park inside the lot and close to the entrance, then sit with my hands wrapped around the wheel, my mind battling with itself.

What if someone is watching me right now?

What if Vlad has people watching Sasha too?

My paranoia is so strong I can almost taste its bitterness on my tongue. But when I think about Sasha’s face and all the emotions his eyes held when he pleaded with me in the pool, my brain shuts off completely. My honor be damned.

When I finally arrive at the small clock tower where he’s supposed to be waiting for me, I spot him immediately despite the shades and fedora—the way he stands apart from the crowd, like he doesn't belong.

Frustration and worry flare within me, sharp and bitter. He should've known better than to come alone. Even if coming alone was the only way.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I whisper as I approach, struggling to keep my voice calm.

He smiles, but even behind the disguise, I can feel the weight of his gaze. "I'm hardly recognizable, am I? Besides, I needed some fresh air."

"Fresh air my ass," I snap back, acutely aware of the people milling around us, oblivious to the danger one person among them could potentially carry. But my instincts are good even today. "There are protocols for a reason. Your safety isn't a game. Why didn’t you bring someone?"

"Well, I couldn’t take Ivan for an obvious reason," Sasha retorts, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "He’s not supposed to know I’m meeting you when you’re off."

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