Page 5 of Savage Love

“It’s good to be back.” I sink into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, rubbing a hand over my face. “I hope you don’t have a job for me in Rio, because I don’t plan to go back for a while. Maybe not ever, if I’m being honest.”

“I don’t blame you. After what Vasquez pulled, I don’t think we’ll be putting down any roots there, either. Not that I really had any plans to.” Viktor sits back down behind the desk, turning to take a bottle of vodka and two glasses off of a shelf to his left. “I would have honored that deal if you’d made it, though. That was good thinking.”

“Well, it would have worked out if Vasquez had honored his.” I take the glass from him after he pours, sipping the vodka. It’s the highest quality, but it still burns a little going down, just how I like it.

Viktor shrugs. “It ended well, at least. Elena is in Boston, safely with her sister. You did what needed to be done. And now you’re back home.” He lifts the glass towards me. “A job well done.”

I nod, tilting my own glass towards him, and Viktor looks at me appraisingly.

“There’s something else to it, though, isn’t there?” He sets the glass down. “Something to do with Elena?”

He’s too perceptive, that’s for sure. I’m not surprised he’s picked up on my mood or what might have caused it. We know each other too well by now. But I’m not about to delve into all of it—not now, and probably not ever.

I’ve gotten through most of the past years by trying to not think too often about what’s in the past for me to miss, and grieve. If I didn’t, I’d have given up long ago. This is no different.

“Connor mentioned to me that there seemed to be a—closeness between the two of you,” Viktor adds, swirling the vodka in his glass. “I assured him that you’re a more focused man than that these days. He wasn’t happy about the possibility—something about how Ricardo Santiago might change his mind about the deal that was made if he thought you’d taken advantage of his daughter. But I told him it was ridiculous.”

I can see the plausible deniability that he’s giving me. I nod, taking another sip of the vodka. “It was a job,” I say finally. “And it’s finished now.”

I’m not going to lie to him. But neither do I need to come out and say what actually happened.

Viktor nods. “Well. That’s where we’ll leave it, then. I assume you’d rather not go to Boston for a while.”

“I think it would be for the best.”

“I’ve got plenty for you to do here.” He shoves a stack of files toward me. “Recruits being sent over to us. You can look them over and see who might be worth your time. Nico is taking on some of the firing range training, working with those that we might contract out as bodyguards. I’d rather have you working with the mercenaries.”

“That’s certainly in my skill set.” I look at the files, feeling a bit as if I’ve been relegated to desk duty, but I have a feeling that’s just another part of my penance. “I’ll let you know my thoughts in a few days.”

“No rush.” Viktor leans back. “You’ve earned some time to yourself, after what you’ve been through. Getting Elena back to Boston safely was a huge success for all of us. You can take all the time you need.”

“I appreciate it. I like to keep busy, though.” I finish the vodka, setting the glass down, and reach for the files. The stitches in my side pull and ache as I stand up, and I know Viktor’s not wrong about the idea that I could use some time off.

But ‘time to myself’ also means time to think. Time in my own head. And that’s the last fucking thing I need right now.

* * *

I consider going to a bar, out to a movie, anything I could come up with to keep from being alone in the silence of my apartment. But instead, I go straight there, the files tucked under my arm as I ride the elevator up to my floor and walk into the sterile quiet of the small one-bedroom that I’ve called home for a while now.

I could afford a house. Hell, I could afford a nicer apartment if that’s all I wanted. But I’ve never really seen the point. I meant it when I told Elena that it was just a place to eat and sleep and fuck—though I left that last part off. Now, I’m not so sure it applies any longer.

What, you’re just going to be celibate at thirty-eight? Who the fuck do you think you are, Maximilian Agosti? And even he found a woman he couldn’t resist eventually.

I drop the files on the kitchen counter, open the refrigerator, and look for a beer. There’s half a six-pack left and nothing else in there. I let out a long breath as I consider the merits of grocery delivery versus just ordering food in. The latter is likely to win out, as it usually does.

The thing is, I’m fuckingachingalready for a release. It’s been three days since I was with Elena last, and I already feel frustrated and restless, as if it’s been much longer. But the thought of going out and finding someone to bring home–my usual solution to feeling this way—is the last fucking thing I want.

There’s no one that I could find that I wouldn’t wish was her. No one who I wouldn’t have to grit my teeth against calling her name in bed. No one that could measure up right now.

I wanther. And right now, even though I know that in time I’ll likely feel differently, the wanting feels endless.

It feels like I’ll never be able to want anyone else again.

I tilt the beer back, drinking it in a few long gulps as I stride to the bedroom and strip off my clothes, tossing them in the hamper and heading for the shower. The apartment is neat and clean to the point of feeling more like a hotel room than a home—–someone comes once a month if I’m on a job to clean it, and once a week if I’m here, and they do a pristine job—and that just makes me think of Elena, too, of all the hotel rooms we stayed in over the past weeks. Most of them were shitty, and yet she still never complained.

It was like she was happy no matter where we were, as long as I was there too.

The thought brings an almost physical pain. I turn on the shower, rubbing my hand over my face, trying to exorcise the thoughts of her. It won’t solve anything. It won’t make anything better. And yet—

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