Page 50 of Brutal Reign
“The estate’s cleared. Mansion secure. No civilian casualties. Vadim and Nikolai are already off-site, with three guards they captured for questioning. Roman’s doing a final sweep of the perimeter, but we’re ready to go. How long until you’re ready for extraction?”
“Did you locate Simon?”
“No,” Eva replies. “He was well prepared for a speedy exit.”
I clench my teeth, furious with myself that I let him escape. But if I had pursued him harder, Hope could have been caught in the crossfire, and that wasn’t a chance I was willing to take.
“Give me twenty, and I’ll be ready to fly out.”
“Copy that.”
I push up to my elbows, creating space between our bodies though my legs still pin hers in place. I take in every detail of her face: the way light catches her cheekbones, the stubborn set of her jaw, the fear she’s trying so hard to hide behind anger.
She’s stunning, but it’s more than that. She awakens something in me that I thought was dead. The need to protect, to care for someone who has nothing else in this world.
My brothers expect me to bring Hope back as a prisoner and hand her over for interrogation . But I’ve seen enough. Simon doesn’t give a shit about her. She’s no willing participant in the Black Company’s revival. Will the others see it that way? They’ll want to pump her for information, and they’ll use whatever methods necessary to get it.
There’s only one way to protect her from what comes next.
“This is what’s going to happen,” I explain calmly. “We’re going to walk to the house together. You’re not going to run or try and attack me again because, if you do, I’ll tie you up and carry you over my shoulder like a Christmas ham. And let me be clear, there’s no one around to help you. It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”
I offer her my hand to help her up, but she glares at it like she’s considering biting it off. “Fuck you,” she seethes, stumbling to her feet all on her own.
I smirk, brushing the grass from my sleeves. “Didn’t seem so defiant a minute ago when you were grinding against my cock.”
Fury paints her cheeks red, but she bites her tongue and doesn’t say a word. She looks a mess—we both do—but she’s still the most breathtaking thing I’ve seen in my life.
I’ve spent long years craving her, fantasizing about her body beneath mine, thinking maybe it was the memory I was addicted to and not the woman herself. But now that I’ve touched her again, even for a moment, I know better. It’s all her.
With a firm hand locked around her arm, I lead Hope toward the mansion. We walk in silence, grass underfoot, the sea wind still kicking at her torn dress.
“Why get close to me?” Her voice is low, but I hear her loud and clear. “Why would you seduce me when… when I assume you were there to kill me?”
I stop so I’m facing her, the empty lawn stretching behind us. I hold her gaze, not sparing her the brutality of the truth.
“You’re right. I was sent to London to kill you. But the more I watched you, I realized you weren’t the threat we believed you were. You were only trying to survive.” I pause, reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “Our night together wasn’t supposed to happen. But I couldn’t walk away from you. Not then, and not now.”
She licks her lips, her expression growing taut. “So what, you decided I’m a threat after all and you’re here to finish the job?”
“If I was here to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, uncertain. “If you’re not going to kill me, what are you going to do to me?”
Part of me wants to ease her fear, to tell her what comes next is for her own good, that it’s the best protection I can offer her. But I don’t think she’ll believe me.
“Keep walking,” I say, forcing her forward. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
We enter the estate through the side entrance, the heavy door swinging ajar. It’s eerily quiet in the house, with glasses left half full on trays, chairs overturned, and flower petals scattered like debris on the floor.
She walks with the controlled grace of someone who’s learned to survive by being aware of everything around them. Her eyes catalog our surroundings: the overturned chair that could be a barrier, the crystal decanter that could become a weapon, the French doors that might offer escape. She’s thinking three steps ahead, which is impressive.
Even if it won’t save her from what I’m about to do.
Tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “You can torture me all you want, but I meant what I said before; I know nothing about Black Company business.”
I take her by the shoulders and force her to look at me. Her chin lifts, eyes defiant but shining with unshed tears, and it guts me because I’ve seen that exact expression before.
She wore it the night she stabbed me.
