Page 120 of Filthy Lies

But I hold back. I want her to come before me.

“Come for me,” I command against her lips. “Let me feel you, Rowan.”

She does exactly that, tipping over the edge into a spasming orgasm. Only ironclad will keeps me moving, prolonging her pleasure until she’s sobbing my name, begging for mercy.

Then and only then do I allow myself release, pouring into her with a groan that comes from somewhere deeper than my bones.

We collapse together. Her ear comes to rest right over my heart. I wonder if she can hear what it’s saying—the complicated tangle of love and fear and fierce possessiveness that drives every beat.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my skin.

“Don’t be.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I haven’t always given you reason to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” She props herself up on one elbow to look at me properly. “With my life. With Sofiya’s life, too. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Her eyes search mine. “Sometimes, I wonder if we’re just delaying the inevitable. If there’s any way to actually escape this life we’ve built.”

“We escaped today,” I remind her. “The FBI is hunting the Solovyovs instead of us. Our enemies are becoming our allies. The Costa Rica development is back on track.” I comb a stray lock of hair out of her face. “There is a happy ever after waiting for us, Rowan. We just have to hold onto each other long enough to reach it.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. Then she leans down to kiss me, soft and sweet and full of a trust I’m still not sure I deserve.

“Just promise me one thing,” she whispers against my lips.

“Anything.”

“Promise me that if it comes down to it—if we ever have to choose between power and peace—we choose peace.”

I stare into those green eyes, so different from my own, yet familiar in ways I can’t explain. In them, I see a future I never believed possible. A future that might just be within our grasp if we’re willing to strive for it.

“I promise,” I tell her.

I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my whole cursed life.

44

ROWAN

Life is a pinball machine. You bounce from one thing to another, always hoping this one will hold you there for good, that this is the safe haven, or at least the most certain one. But you’re always wrong. There’s always another bounce coming, so that just when you’re getting settled in, you get flung in a fresh direction.

Just days ago, I was convinced my husband was planning his escape without me and Sofiya.

Now, I’m lying naked in our bed, his promises still fresh on my lips, my body bearing the marks of him proving just how wrong I was.

Bounce, bounce, bounce. I’ve been through so many of them since that day in Vince’s office. Since before then, even. Five years of fantasizing about this man, followed by months of fearing him, hating him, loving him until my bones ached with it.

And somehow, despite everything—despite the blood on his hands, on mine—we’re still here. Still clawing our way toward something that feels suspiciously like happiness.

Would my mother recognize me now? This woman who speaks the language of violence so fluently? This woman who spreads her legs for a killer and calls it love?

I’d like to think she would. I’d like to think Mom would understand that sometimes, the darkest places are where you find your light.

The phone rings, shattering my thoughts. Vince answers it before the second ring, his body instantly alert beside me. I watch the hard planes of his face as he listens, the way his jaw ticks—once, twice—before relaxing into something approaching satisfaction.

“When?” he asks, eyes meeting mine. “Send me the details. And Arkady? Good fucking work.”

He ends the call, setting the phone down carefully, deliberately—the calm before a storm I’m not sure whether to fear or welcome.

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