Page 81 of Unspoken

"Because you can’t keep on hiding your entire life. It’s hard."

"Do you think I want to?"

"No one does. But sooner or later he’s going to have to let you go. This war won't last. All things pass and it will too and you’ll be able to do what you wish with your life."

Sasha’s so quiet and hardly breathing for such a long time that I’m starting to get worried and about to shake him to life, when he says, "Can you still be there with me? At the finish line."

"I’d love to, my sweet boy. I’d love to."

And it’s not a lie. Not a lie at all. But I’m not sure in light of everything happening to Sasha’s family and me being in themiddle of it, I will be standing next to him when it’s all over. Life doesn’t favor me much.

But for now, even if just for a second, I hold on to the fragile connection that binds us together, refusing to let go.

CHAPTER 27

SASHA

Sweat drips down my temples and neck as I strain against the cold metal of the barbell, muscles trembling with exertion. My teeth clench, jaw tight. Breathe in, push up. Exhale, lower down. I'm going to get stronger even if it bloody kills me.

Logan looms over me, eyes keen as a hawk watching its prey. "That's enough, Sasha. Don't overdo it."

"Piss off," I grunt, hefting the weight again. "I can do five more." The burn sears through my biceps and my pecs. Ah, that glorious pain. Push through it, I tell myself. Be a man, not some weak ponce your brother thinks you are. Can’t even trust you to learn how to handle a gun. Wanker.

After what Logan and I did the other night, I know I've got it in me. Feel like I could take on the whole damn world. I’m a fucking real man. I know how it feels, how it smells and tastes–this freedom of simply being who you're supposed to be.

"I mean it." Logan's voice is firm, but with an edge of concern. "Your form's slipping. Rack the bar before you hurt yourself."

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I know he's right on my next attempt—number three—when my arms literally beg me to stop this torture. With a frustrated sigh, I start guiding the barbellback onto the rack. Logan grabs it with both hands to help me. Always a bloody gentleman. The weights zing and rattle in my ears before going silent.

I sit up, grabbing my towel to wipe my face and neck. My muscles quiver with exhaustion, chest heaving as I catch my breath.

Logan's hand rests on my shoulder, a casual touch that sends electricity racing down my spine. I glance up at him, meeting his intense gaze. In that shared look, memories of our night flood my mind—sweat-slicked skin, desperate gasps, the euphoria of finally feeling so fucking alive that you’re breaking down into a thousand little pieces on a molecular level.

But reality comes crashing back in. Vlad barely trusts me to leave the house, let alone go to the shooting range. Treats me like a child, not a grown-up. Not his brother. Just a fucking asset in this game of his.

All I have left to protect myself is to reshape my body. To make it stronger.

When my breaths even out, I stand up. There’s frustration simmering beneath my skin. I’m tired of being in the lock-up. Tired of hiding my true face in front of everyone. It’s like forcing each and every muscle in my body to keep that second skin intact and it’s exhausting. I thought, just for a moment, after I found out Yuri was dead, that this was going to end soon. But Vlad swooped in, taking over family business and family legacy on both continents. His long bloody hands stretched across the Atlantic, yanking me out of the only circle of people who accepted me and brought me here. To this dry, rainless hell on earth.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard, Sasha," Logan’s voice says beside me. "Your body needs time to get used to this type of exercise. Start slowly."

Logan's eyes track my every move when I catch his reflection in the wall mirror.

"What, you reckon I can't handle it?" I snap. "I'm not some delicate flower, mate. I can take a bit of pain." Our eyes lock and we both know there’s a double meaning behind those words.

Logan’s head cocks to the side slightly. For a second I believe he’s going to bite and respond with something sexy, something a lover would say, but he’s all business when he speaks. "It's not about pain. It's about being smart, strategic." He sighs, running a hand over his short hair. "You'll make better progress if you pace yourself."

I scoff, tossing my towel aside. "Right, 'cause you're the expert. Big strong wanker, here to teach me all his secrets."

"I’m not here to teach you," he half-whispers. "I’m here to take care of you."

And that one sentence undoes me entirely. All the stress, all the anger inside, evaporates, giving way to something else. Desire. White-hot skin-singeing desire.

My gaze darts around the empty gym, ensuring we’re truly alone. In a flash, I shove Logan against the mirrored wall, our bodies colliding with a dull thud. He either doesn’t expect it or simply allows me to manhandle him. He doesn't resist as I lean in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It's a desperate, hungry thing, all teeth and tongue. And since there’s no safe space to make out with him in this house, I try to get as much of him as I can. My hand drifts lower, cupping the growing bulge in Logan's trousers. I can feel Logan's heart pounding, matching the frantic rhythm of my own as I press up to him.

"Sasha," Logan gasps, breaking the kiss. "We can't. Not here."

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