Page 17 of Imperfect Desires

I sit in the dark, nursing a glass of whiskey.

The room is quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on the nightstand. The amber liquid reflects the low light from the single lamp, casting long shadows across the walls of my bedroom.

My jaw tightens as I take another sip, the burn sliding down my throat. It’s not enough to dull the ache twisting through my chest.

I shouldn’t have kissed her back.

My hand tightens around the glass. The memory of Alina’s mouth against mine burns through me like a live wire. The softness of her lips, the way her hand slid over my chest, the warmth of her body pressed against me—fuck. I let it happen because I wanted it.

For that brief second, I didn’t care that she’s Viktor’s sister. I didn’t care that she’s too young. All I cared about was how she tasted, how perfectly her body fit against mine.

And that makes me the worst kind of bastard.

I push the glass to my lips and drain it. The alcohol does nothing to cut through the storm raging beneath my skin.

She’s nineteen, for fuck's sake, and I’m thirty-one. While twelve years isn't enough for me to be her father, it feels like a damn chasm between us. I lean back against the headboard, rubbing the heel of my hand across my chest. My muscles are tense, wound up to the point of snapping.

The worst part is that I don’t even know how to stop this. She’s Viktor’s sister. Viktor isn’t just my best friend—he’s my brother. He saved my life. Gave me a future. I owe him everything.

And now I’ve kissed his baby sister.

I should’ve pushed her away the second her mouth touched mine. But I didn’t. I kissed her back. My hand slid to her waist. My body reacted instinctively.

It’s not instinct. It’s her. Alina isn’t just any woman. And that’s the problem.

I stand abruptly, setting the empty glass on the nightstand with a sharp clink. My chest feels like it’s about to explode and the room feels too fucking small. I need to shut this down. I must bury this feeling before it takes root. I want to hit something. Grabbing a towel, I head downstairs to my personal gym.

The gym is cold and quiet. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The scent of sweat and leather clings to the air. I wrap my hands slowly, the sharp sound of the tape stretching and snapping echoing through the empty room. My fingers curl into fists.

I start with the heavy bag. A hard right jab connects with the leather, and the bag swings beneath the impact. I follow it with a left cross, feeling the satisfying jolt travel through my knuckles.

My breath comes sharp and fast. My muscles burn. But it’s not enough. Every punch I land against the bag feels like punishment—punishment for wanting the one woman I can't have. Alina’s kiss still lingers on my lips, making me hate myself a little more with every ragged breath.

Alina’s face flashes through my mind. The way her blue eyes widened right before she kissed me. The softness of her mouth. The sound of her breath hitching when my hand slid to her waist. The innocence radiating from her.

Fuck.

I hit harder and faster. My knuckles scream beneath the tape, but I keep going. I can’t want her; even if she weren’t too young, she’s still Viktor’s sister.

The betrayal of that fact cuts deeper than any wound I’ve ever taken. Viktor found me when I was seventeen. He pulled me out of the hell I was in, took me in, and gave me a place in the Bratva. I owe him my life. And now I’m thinking about his sister in ways that would get any other man killed.

I hit the bag so hard it swings back and nearly clips my shoulder. My breath comes rough and ragged. Sweat drips down my back. This isn’t going to stop. Not unless I shut it down, and the first step is to stop being around her.

The next day, I sit at the far end of the dining room table. Zasha sits beside me, his gaze fixed on the phone in his hand as Viktor outlines the latest shift in security.

I’m not listening because Alina is in the same room as me.

She looks… calm. Too calm. Her long dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a simple fitted sweater thatclings to her body in all the wrong ways. I feel her gaze slide toward me. My jaw tightens, but I focus on my coffee.

Yelena leans closer to her. “You’re quiet,” she says.

Alina’s smile is faint. “Just thinking.”

My pulse jumps.

Yelena smirks. “About what?”

Alina’s gaze flicks toward me. Her mouth tilts faintly at the corner. “Nothing important.”

---