Page 40 of The Heir's Defiance

"I’m here because I’m running out of ways to protect you," I snap, stepping away farther. "You think I wanted this? That I wanted to lie to them, to you, to keep playing a game I’m not built for? I’m drowning, Connor. Every time I try to breathe,someone else shoves my head back under." I cross my arms over my chest protectively and feel myself shaking.

"Then stop playing both sides! You say you want to protect me, but you show up with shadows on your heels and think I’ll what—kiss you and forget the stakes? They’ll kill you just as fast as they’ll kill me. Maybe faster."

A cold chill creeps across my back and I shudder. "I know that," I say, softer. "But I didn’t come here for forgiveness. I came here because if we don’t figure this out together, they’re going to wipe us both off the map and smile while they do it."

He looks away, breathing hard. Then he laughs—but it’s hollow. "So, what do you want? A name? A location? Should I tie up my crew and hand them over gift-wrapped for your father’s approval?"

"I want to live," I say. "And I want you to live too. We don't need to hand them anything real. We just need to feed them enough to keep them guessing." I want to cling to him but I'm scared of what will happen.

"You’re gambling with all our lives."

"So are you," I tell him bluntly. I'm acutely aware of my future if I fail my father. I don't have to protect Connor—I want to. Because somewhere inside, I want him to be my future. "I don’t expect you to give me anything. But I can’t return with nothing. They’re ready to pull the trigger, Connor. They said if I don’t give them something, they’ll kill you and blame it on the Russians."

His laugh is short and bitter. He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair again. The moisture slicks it back as his eyes turn inky and narrow on me. "So they kill me and dump the blame across the water. Clean hands…"

"It’s already planned. My father told me himself." Tears burn my eyes, and I walk to the window and stare out. "I think your family will just attack the Russians and Da's problems with them will be over. They'll have their weaker link, and his plan to destroy your brother will be finished."

He watches me like he’s trying to see through it all. "You should’ve stayed away." The words slice through my heart. How could he say that? He's the one who messaged me first. Yes, neither of us knew what was going to happen, but he dragged me into this. Not the other way around.

"I can't now." My voice is calm, my words as cold as my heart after that comment from him.

"Then don’t ask me to hand them a match and help burn down everything I’ve bled for. Don’t ask me to gut my family just to save my life." He doesn't back off. He stares down at me, and for a second, I think he might snap.

Turning to him, I swallow the emotion and wipe the tears from my cheeks. "You came here for answers, and all I can give you is the truth. If I don’t go back with something, they’ll kill you. And if I go back with a lie, they’ll kill me." They may not actually kill me, but my heart will be dead. Connor will be dead. And Pyotr Vetrov will be my future.

"Then we’re both out of time," he says quietly.

I look up at him and speak through a throat raw with emotions. "You’ll be another headline, Connor. I can't let that happen."

He sinks down onto the couch, hands braced on his knees, head down. "What did you tell them?"

"That I needed more time."

"And what are you telling me?" Now he looks up at me with sincerity in his eyes, all the darkness gone. All I see is a man in love, earnestly desiring freedom from his chains.

"That I’m not going to be the reason you die." I walk to him and sit next to him, resting my hand on his leg.

We sit in silence while the storm presses against the windows. The low roll of thunder reminds me of the voice of God, hanging like an omen over the safehouse. I can't stop the tears from flowing.

"They’re tightening the circle," he says. "Ronan wants me to pressure you. Use you. You’re not a person to them. You’re a liability. A tool. The same as how your father sees you." When he turns toward me and grips my jaw so hard it bites, I feel my lip quiver. "I’m not going to be like them."

He says it with such certainty, it breaks something in me. I lean into him and throw my arms around him, sobbing as I kiss his tender lips.

"I don’t want to run," I whisper.

"Then we don’t run." His touch softens, and I climb onto his lap so his arms can wrap around me.

"They’ll kill us," I whimper.

"Not if we stay ahead of them." His suggestion is foolish. They will hunt us down. We can't run. We have to stand and fight.

I press my hands to his face , willing them not to shake. "I’m scared."

"I know." His voice is quiet. "But I’m not going to let them take you."

He lifts one hand to the side of my face. His thumb brushes under my eye. "We do this together," he says, "or not at all."

Sniffling, I nod my head and cling to him like my life depends on it, because it does. His mouth meets mine again with a hunger that's different from any other kiss. He kisses me with the kind of calm that insists we still have time.

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