Page 27 of The Enforcer's Vow
That makes her go still. She props herself up on one elbow, her hair falling across her chest as she looks down at me. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve known each other two weeks—if that. Maksim, it's too fast."
“I don’t care.” The rejection stings. It actually stings me, and I hate that it does because this is just a job. It's a means to an end, but I'm in too deep.
She laughs softly, but there’s tension in it. “That’s not enough time.”
“For most people, maybe. Not for me.”
“Maksim…” Her voice trails off. She sits up, drawing the blanket over her chest. “Marriage isn’t a game. You don’t just decide to marry someone because the sex was good and the night was nice.”
“It’s not a game to me.” I sit up beside her. “I know what I want.” It's floundering, just as I knew it would. Grisha's idea seems good on paper, but Zoya isn't stupid. She knows what I really want—her brother's head on a pole. She's smart enough to put the pieces together. We should've just had Renat do his thing, interrogate her. She'd have talked eventually.
But now we're in deep. Now the thought of his hands on her, causing pain in the interest of gaining answers—it infuriates me. I don't want that. Not when my hands have been on her in other ways, intimate ways.
“And you want me? ”
“Yes. Protected. Safe. With my name. Under my roof.” I pull her against my body, realizing that while marriage is definitely way too fast a movement for this relationship, I actually do want her. She must see the sincerity in my eyes, but she sighs and lets her shoulders drop.
She turns her face toward me, searching. “And if I’m not ready?”
“Then I wait. But I won’t change my mind.”
She swallows, looking away toward the window. “I don’t know if I can say yes.”
“You don’t have to.” I reach for her hand. “Not right away. Zoya, I promise you," I say with deep and true sincerity, "you're safer if you do this my way." I'm letting too much show, exposing too many secrets with that statement. I'm showing my hand and I don't care. I know it's the truth. I will still find her brother, but I will do it my way. "We can make it so public the whole world will know. No one will dare cross you. Not even your brother."
The words make her stiffen again, and that same fear, the same vulnerability from before flickers in her eyes. I reach for her hand and she lets me take it, fingers cool against mine. Her thumb brushes across my knuckles. “I’m not saying no.”
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it once, firmly.
“That’s enough,” I say. “For now.”
11
ZOYA
Iwake to gray light filtering through the hotel room's single window. My body aches in places I forgot existed, and for a moment I lie still, parsing through what happened last night. Maksim's mouth on my throat. His hands mapping my skin. The way he looked at me afterward—focused, hungry, almost reverent.
The sheets smell like him, but he left before the sun rose. Cedar and cigarettes and something darker underneath. I bury my face in the pillow and inhale, then immediately hate myself for it. This is how women lose themselves. This is how they disappear.
The room feels too small now. The walls press closer than they did yesterday, and I can't shake the feeling that everything has shifted while I slept. My reflection in the bathroom mirror shows the evidence—a faint bruise on my collarbone where his teeth grazed, hair still tangled from his fingers, lips swollen and dark.
I touch the mark on my throat and feel heat coil low in my stomach. The memory of his hands on my skin, the wayhe whispered my name against my ear. The way he held me afterward, careful and deliberate, like I was breakable.
I splash cold water on my face and try to wash away the wanting. It doesn't work.
I pull on my clothes and step into the Moscow morning, needing air that doesn't carry his scent. The city sprawls before me, gray and endless, but I feel disconnected from it all. Every step I take feels deliberate, planned, like I'm walking toward something I can't name.
The city moves around me in its usual rhythm. Vendors setting up their stalls, commuters hurrying toward the metro, the ever-present hum of traffic. A woman sells flowers from a cart near the corner, her weathered hands arranging roses and carnations. Two men in business suits argue over coffee outside a café. But I feel disconnected from it all, replaying every word he said, every touch, every promise he made without actually promising anything. The way he looked at me when I opened the door. The way his eyes tracked my movements as I poured wine. The way he spoke my name...
Even thinking it makes my pulse quicken. He wants me. That much was clear. But want and safety are different things, and I've learned not to confuse them. Men want many things. They rarely protect what they claim to desire. And I know he's sucking me in, wanting me to give my brother up. Because that's the next move, right? Say he wants to marry me, then ask if my brother is coming to the wedding to give me away.
And then what happens? They kill Damir, who blames me for drawing him out, and what do they do to me next? Am I really so foolish as to go along with this?
But then I wonder if saying yes might just be what I need. I give in to him, do what he wants, then ask him to protect Damir...
