Page 58 of The Enforcer's Vow
I strip off the robe and climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. I close my eyes and try to remember what it felt like when Maksim touched me, the way his hands moved over my skin with a reverence that felt real.
But now I'm carrying his child, and that changes everything. The knowledge sits in my chest like a stone. I'm going to have a baby with a man who married me as part of a mission, who's been ordered to get close to me and break me. A man who might be capable of terrible things but who's never been anything but gentle with me.
Maybe Damir is right. Maybe I've been manipulated so thoroughly that I can't tell the difference between love and control anymore. Or maybe what I feel for Maksim is real, and admitting it is the first honest thing I've done in years.
I pull the covers over my head and try to sleep, but all I can think about is the choice I'm going to have to make. I can trust my brother, the man who raised me and protected me and then sold me out for money and power. Or I can trust my husband, the man who married me under false pretenses but who's never hurt me, never lied to me, never made me feel like I was disposable.
The baby growing inside me deserves better than either option. But those are the only choices I have, and I'm running out of time to decide.
24
MAKSIM
Stomping into the estate, I slam the front door hard enough to rattle the windows, and the sound echoes through the marble hallway. The rage burns in my chest, fed by three days of dead ends and empty rooms. My knuckles are split open from the last interrogation, blood dried black under my fingernails, and I can still taste the copper in my mouth.
I pace the upstairs hallway, my footsteps harsh against the marble. The estate feels too small, too confined, and I can't seem to catch my breath. Damir is still out there, still moving through the city, still breathing when he should be dead. The thought makes my hands shake with fury.
"Where have you been?"
I turn to find Zoya standing in the doorway of the guest room, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. She's wearing one of my shirts, the fabric dwarfing her small frame, and her hazel eyes are sharp with accusation.
"Go back to bed," I growl. I am not in the mood for questions, and I'm not sure how to interact with her anymore.
"Answer me." She walks into the hallway with silent footsteps. "You've been gone for three days. I want to know where you've been."
"Drop it, Zoya."
"No." Her chin lifts, and I see the stubborn set of her jaw that I've come to recognize. "I'm not going to drop it. You disappear without a word, you come back covered in blood, and you think I'm just going to pretend it didn't happen?"
I stop pacing and face her fully. "What do you want me to say? That I've been hunting your brother through every hole in this city? That I've burned down buildings and killed men looking for him?"
"Yes," she says simply. "I want you to say that."
The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. "Why?"
"Because I'm tired of being kept in the dark. Because I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of glass. Because I'm not just bait in whatever game you're playing."
The word "bait" makes something dark twist in my stomach. "You're not just anything," I snap. "You're in this now whether you like it or not. You're my wife, you're carrying my name, and you're going to deal with the consequences."
"Your wife?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what you call this? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot more like you're using me to get to Damir. I asked you to have mercy." Her lower lip trembles as she speaks, and I deflect, changing the subject so I don’t have to answer that question.
"You think I'm using you?" I take a step closer, and she doesn't back down. "You walked right up to me outside your apartment. You're only here to get mercy. You used me first."
"That was different."
"How?"
"Because I actually care," she heaves out, chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. "Because somewhere along the way, thisstopped being about finding out who Damir really is and started being about you. About us."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest tight. "Zoya." I want to reach for her, but I know how it will affect me, the things that will happen if I allow myself to truly love her.
"Don't," she says quickly. "Don't tell me it's not real. Don't tell me it's just part of the mission. Because I know what I feel, and I know what I see when you look at me."
I cross the space between us and kiss her hard, cutting off her words before she can take them back. And when her hands fist in the front of my shirt, I feel something in my chest break open.
We stumble backward into the bedroom, her mouth hot against mine, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. I kick the door closed behind us and press her against it, my hands tangling in her hair.
"Is this what you want?" I ask against her mouth. "Is this real enough for you?"
