Page 41 of The Payback

“Just fucking do it,” she says, the impatience in her tone grating on my nerves.

“Why the rush? As your doctor, I’d prescribe six to sixteen weeks of no vigorous physical activity. Sex is off the table, Ellie.”

She throws her head back and laughs in my face. “Jealous, Nik?”

“Extremely.”

Her laugh dies, and I focus on her wound instead of looking at her face. It’s not overly terrible; stitching the skin together will take only a few minutes.

I work silently as she watches me, studying my face and boring holes into my cheek with her laser-sharp gaze.

“You didn’t have tattoos that night,” she whispers, the first admittance that she even fucking remembers me at all.

None of my tattoos are overly distinctive, but together, they tell my story. It wraps around my body and trails down my arms to the first knuckles of my fingers. It was painful, but it was nothing compared to the pain I’ve had in my life, so I sat still and let the needles drag over my skin.

“You’re done,” I say, skipping the mention of our past. I knot the last stitch, cut the thread, and tape some gauze over it. Ellie slides off the counter in her lilac lace bra and panties. Her body brushes against mine as I refuse to give her space. I tilt her chin upward, and she looks into my eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, going up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. But I move my face, and her lips connect with mine for a mere millisecond before she pulls away and raises shaky fingertips to her lips.

I sigh, then swipe my tongue along my lip, chasing her taste.

“Go, Ellie. But know this: I will figure out why you’re here. And whatever you’re planning won’t work.”

She shakes her head and leaves the room, giving my bedroom a once-over before softly closing the door behind her.

Stupid move, Nikita.

I let my fist fly, punching the mirror in front of me, and shards fall into the sink, my blood dripping on top of them as the crack in the glass spiderwebs.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Dimitri

I twirlthe tumbler between my fingers, watching as the liquor sloshes up the sides, flirting with the edge. I’m not in the mood for a drink, but it’s necessary.

Nik is right. I am in no state to be treating Elsa’s wounds right now. My heart lodged in my chest when I caught sight of her, and the only thing I could picture was my father’s corpse the morning I walked in and found him dead in his bed, blood pooled and cooling under his stiff body—his eyes forever open in fear and shock.

But instead of his body, I saw Elsa’s. Lifeless and forever extinguished, and my mind reacted.

All that blood set me off. All of it pulled me down, down, down into a dark place I no longer wished to be. A place I’m sure I’ll end up if I don’t find my way out of this life sooner rather than later.

This is all my fault. The assassination attempt was bound to happen after taking Elsa as my wife. There have been too many attempts on my life in the past, and while she might know about the risks, this one was too close for comfort.

There will always be danger for anyone I’m close to. And this time, it wasn’t me that got hurt, but Elsa. My wife. My new obsession and the one thing I’m holding onto to maintain my sanity.

I still need to show her the footage from the warehouse. There’s a good chance that as soon as she sees what’s on there, every last vestige of that elusive thing we call hope will fly out the window and be lost in the tempest of my sins.

I conveniently left the camera and the audio device in my suit jacket and hung it back up in my closet, swearing to myself I would find the courage to give it to her later. But the things on there...

My head hangs heavy, staring into my glass and wishing it would bring me the answers I seek. This is going to go poorly. But I need to show her. I need to show her all of me, and I need to know all of her. Not just the pleasure she brings. Not the fire she stokes in my belly, waking me up from a life I’ve become so numb to.

The door to the suite closes, and her bare feet pad across the floor, growing louder as she draws nearer.

“Dimitri?” she softly calls as she walks deeper into our shared space.

Even responding and urging her closer to me feels like an offence, so I stay quiet, but she finds me anyway.

Stepping onto the terrace behind me, she stops feet away, hugging the doorframe. I feel her looking down at me as I sit on one of the chairs.

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