Page 30 of His Hold

She’s right. I never miss.

I shift in my seat and trace my eyes over her, taking in the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her chest rises and falls as she fights to keep her composure. It’s almost... captivating.

And I want her. Fuck, do I want her.

The way her body tenses under my scrutiny gives me the indication that she knows I’m thinking about her. Imagining her pressed against me with those legs wrapped around my waist, and fingers clawing at my shoulders as I take her roughly. That defiance twisting into something else.

But no. I should end this. Send her out into the cold. But the more I push her, the more she digs in her heels, daring me to break her.

And I’ve always loved a challenge.

“Why are you helping me?” she whispers, sounding more vulnerable than before.

“Because we’re stuck here. And whether we like it or not, we’re in the same boat,” I answer.

“You may think I’m doing too much coming all the way here,” she murmurs. “But you don’t get it. I need to find her. I won’t stop until I do. And you’re my best lead.”

“You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.” I stand, resting my gun so it’s facing her, a casual reminder of the power dynamic here. “But you’re grasping at straws. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Then help me. Help me find out what happened to her.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You’re asking me to risk my neck for a dead girl?”

“She’s not dead,” she snaps. “I would feel it if she was. She’s out there, and she needs me.”

The sincerity in her voice shakes me more than I’d like to admit. I can’t help but respect her determination, foolish as it is. She’s not just fighting for answers – she’s fighting for family. Something I used to understand.

“Fine, I guess since I have nothing better to do, I could lend you some of my time. We’ll try to get through this storm first. Then we will figure out the rest when we leave, if I still feel like it. But understand – if you lie to me, or pull any stunts, I won’t hesitate. Got it?”

“Got it.” She peers at me.

For the first time, I see her not just as a nuisance or threat but as a person with something to lose. It adds a new layer to the stakes, one I hadn’t considered. We sit there, the storm a chaotic backdrop to our uneasy truce. I wonder what tomorrow will bring if this fragile alliance will hold. Or if her search for truth will be our undoing.

I toss a few logs into the stove and light the fire, the warmth gradually spreading through the cabin. Its crackling is the only sound punctuating the silence between us. She watches me, analyzing every move. It’s almost amusing how she thinks she can figure me out.

“You hungry?” I ask, without taking my eyes off the fire.

“Starving,” she admits, her voice softening slightly. It’s not a peace offering, but it’s a start. I pull a couple of ration packs from the cabinet and toss one her way. Survival food, nothing fancy, but it’ll keep us going.

“Better than nothing,” she mutters as she tears into the pack. Her hands still shake a little as she eats.

“So why did you join the Bratva?” she asks suddenly, catching me off guard.

“Lack of options,” I reply, keeping it vague. “Same as anyone, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer,” she presses.

“Well, it’s all you get, krasivaya.” I meet her stare, unflinching. She huffs but lets it drop.

“Tell me about her. Your sister,” I say, more to see her reaction than actual curiosity. Her face softens, and the hard edge melts away for just a moment.

“Irina was...wild. Reckless, even. Always chasing something just out of reach. But she is the hardest-working and selfless person I know. We grew up hard. She was always looking for a way out, any way out. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised when I found out she started running with your crowd. I knew my sister would do anything. I just didn’t know she’d gotten in over her head. From all I saw in her emails, she had jobs lined up that would have made her financially stable for a while. And my sister is smart. She could always take herself out of any tough situation. That is why I feel she is alive.”

Her voice quivers, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability beneath the armor. It’s strange how people cling to hope.

“What sort of jobs?” I press.

“I couldn’t tell much from the emails, but I deduce they weren’t odd stuff. Just delivery runs, errand work but always with specific instructions. Meet me here, bring two of them, collect, and don’t ask questions. Make sure the seal isn’t broken on delivery.”

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