Page 28 of Unhinged

“I’ll sweep the bathroom,” he says in a low growl.

I nod and swallow hard like we have some sort of fucked-up agreement to work together.

God.

I gasp when I spin around and find him right there, so close I can feel the heat of his body next to mine. He grabs my wrists, holding me in place as if waiting for me to struggle—but I won’t.

I hold his gaze. “This is where you tell me some kind of bullshit about you taking care of what’s yours? How you’re going to punish me for what I did? Go ahead, Mr. Cliché. It’s your turn. But I promise you’re not going to get a chance to break me.” I smile and cock my head. “Kinda missed you.”

His grip tightens as if in warning. I just smirk at him, but he’s got a glint in his eyes that looks familiar. Comfortable.

He’s close now. Too close. The air between us is charged with electricity, but I won’t flinch. I won’t shrink back. That’s what he wants—to gain the upper hand, to punish me for escaping him the first time.

But the way he looks at me—his eyes fiery, his grip firm, his nearness making me shiver. Hatred coils between us. But there’s something else, too, something I can’t put my finger on.

Something darker.

He leans in, his fingers brushing my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered,solnyshka.”

Sunshine. He calls me sunshine.

Awww.

I smile. “It’s because I ran, isn’t it? Youarea kinky motherfucker.” I lower my voice and eyelids. “Got a primal kink, big guy?”

He steps closer, the wicked smirk confirmation.

Well, damn.

Hedoes.

I can’t move. There’s nowhere to go when the walls are closing in.

No.He’sclosing in, his presence suffocating. And as the silence stretches between us, it’s like he savors it.

“Finders keepers,” he croons. “There are no cages to shove me in this time.”

“Shame,” I say with a shake of my head. “A face like yours really does belong behind bars.”

The door slams shut, the heavy lock clicking into place. My stomach twists. The bar’s empty—no backup, no witnesses. Just me and my hot, furious, wicked stalker. Matvei.

“Matvei Kopolov,” I say by way of greeting, but I quickly stutter to silence when his hands find his belt buckle.

Uh-oh.

It clinks as he leans back against the bar, lazy and predatory, like he has all the time in the world to decide what to do with me—even as his fingers unfasten the buckle and tug the leather through the loops.

My pulse beats too fast in my throat. I’ve faced killers, survived interrogations, and outwitted men smarter than him—but none of them ever looked at me like this. Like they wanted to ruin me, own me, and devour me all in the same breath.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run,” he says softly, eyes glinting.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

“Nowyou decide to stay? Ha.Go.It wasn’t a request,” he says. “Ten. Nine.”

His voice drops deeper. So he wants to chase me first. Chasing me through the streets of Paris wasn’t enough? No. I’m not going to play that game. Plus, I know there’s nowhere to run in here. It’s a stupid fucking bar in Paris—you have to pull down a rope just to get to the basement, and they stock the damn liquor bottles outside in an alley so narrow he couldn’t even fit his left arm in it.

“Eight, seven?—”

---