Page 91 of Imperfect Desires

He’s there, just behind us, watching. I don’t know how I know it—only that the air shifts when he’s near. Like gravity bending.

Then, without a word, he steps forward.

Viktor starts to pull back from me—but Lev doesn’t wait.

He reaches in and takes me.

His arms wrap around me, drawing me out of Viktor’s hold and into his own like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like I’ve always belonged there.

And God help me—I do.

The second I feel his body against mine, everything inside me steadies. My heartbeat calms. The shaking in my limbs dulls.

Viktor’s brow lifts at the bold move, but he doesn’t comment. He just exhales and mutters, “I saw your handiwork on the way up.”

Lev shrugs, eyes still locked on me. “They left me no choice.”

Viktor’s expression tightens slightly. “I didn’t see Mendes among the bodies, though.”

Lev’s jaw hardens. “He probably escaped.”

The room feels colder just hearing the name. My body tenses, but Lev’s hold on me tightens, grounding me.

Viktor nods once. “Then our work here isn’t done.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.

I glance between the two men who’ve come for me—one by blood, one by choice. And the way Lev holds me now?

There’s no question that I trust him to never let go again.

The SUV’s engine purrs low beneath us, but the silence inside the cabin feels louder than gunfire. Zasha is at the wheel, hands steady, eyes locked on the road with the kind of cold focus that only comes after blood has been spilled. Viktor rides shotgun, barking low-voiced instructions into his phone—clean-up crews, burned files, surveillance footage. Always one step ahead. Always the general.

But in the back seat, I’m no longer a mission. I’m someone’s world.

Lev hasn’t let go of me since we left the compound. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders like steel, pulling me into his chest. I’m tucked beneath his chin, my body molded against his with a trembling kind of surrender.

I can’t stop shaking.

The adrenaline’s worn off. What’s left is raw and hollow. My limbs feel heavy, my skin too tight. There’s blood on my clothes—some of it mine, most of it not. My cheek still burns from Mendes’s slap, and every bump in the road sends a throb through my bones.

But I’m alive.

I’m safe.

I’m in his arms.

The world outside is a blur of passing lights and muted city sounds. I don’t bother looking. Nothing matters beyond this small, sacred space we’ve carved into the back seat.

Lev’s lips brush my hair.

“You’re okay now,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,kotyonok.”

I don’t reply. I don’t have the words yet. I just tighten my fingers around the front of his shirt, anchoring myself to him.

He leans closer, his breath warm against my temple. “No one’s going to hurt you again. Not while I’m breathing.”

His grip never loosens.

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