Page 42 of The Payback

After a second, she steps closer. Her fingertips trail along my shoulder and reach my neck before she grips my jaw and tilts my face. I rip away from her hand, and in a flash, she’s the one grabbing my throat. “Look at me, husband.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I turn towards her.

“I am fine. You are fine. Everyone is okay. We will find out what the fuck happened, you hear me?”

I shake my head. “They’re long gone.”

“You have more resources at your disposal now. I’ve already sent a text. We’ll find them.” Right. Because where the Bratva resources might fail, she’s got the backing of multiple government agencies to do her bidding. They’ll converge if she sends them an assassination attempt with a description of the vehicle and a direction.

“Now, what’s really bothering you?” she asks, never letting me look away from her as her grip remains on my throat.

Instead of answering with my words, I put my glass down on the small table beside my chair and gingerly wrap my arms around her body. She steps closer, standing between my spread thighs and moving her hand from my throat to the back of my head. Elsa plays with the short strands there, her nails gentle as she rakes through my hair.

I blow out a deep breath. “You got hurt.”

She shakes me off, takes a step back, and levels a glare at me, letting more of her genuine self shine through. That performance she put on after the shooting was impressive, to say the least. The tears slipped from her eyes so easily I began to question if any of her was real.

Maybe it’s all been a mask, even those glimpses I thought she’d given me.

“I’m fine,” she enunciates. “Stop pouting.”

I scoff but carefully rearrange my mouth into less of a grimace. I pull her carefully onto me, keeping her injured arm against my body so she doesn’t jostle it and I don’t accidentally brush it as I rub her opposite arm. The temperature has plummeted in the last hour, or maybe the adrenaline is wearing off.

“I don’t pout.”

“You do. And it oddly works on you. You don’t need any other weapons in your arsenal.”

I shift my hips, letting her feel me press against her. “It works, does it?”

She smacks me on the chest. “Why did you spiral tonight?” she asks quietly.

Roughly exhaling, I shake my head. With every blink, the images come swarming back in, playing behind my eyelids like a horror film, and I fucking hate those.

“Come on, Dimitri. You’ve got to give me something other than orgasms.”

I smirk, the first smile I’ve given since this all happened. “But you love those.”

“I do, and I’m still pissed about the kitchen and will seek my retribution soon enough. Maybe it’s your turn to be punished. See how you like it.”

I laugh, imagining Elsa putting me on my knees and in my place. I don’t see it happening, but it’s fun to pretend.

“I’m shaking in my boots, Sabre. Do your worst.”

She sees right through my redirection. “Ah, ah. Spill it. No mics, no cameras, just me and you figuring out how to keep you from losing your shit in case it happens when I need your cooperation.”

“My dad,” I whisper.

“He died about a year and a half ago, right?”

“Yeah, right when Nik got home,” I say, giving her more context. “He didn’t pass in his sleep the way everyone thinks. I paid the coroner more than his fair share to doctor the records, so your agency wouldn’t know it either. He was murdered.”

Elsa looks contemplative as she mulls over my words. “Do you think Nik...?”

I shrug—the timeline and method match.

“Why did it trigger you? Was it the blood? It wasn’t an issue with the Irishman.” She waves in the general direction of the kitchen, and I shake my head.

“I don’t know. It was the fact I know you’re a parent. I thought of your daughter growing up without a mom like I did. Does she have her father?” I ask, regretting the words as they leave my mouth.

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