Page 47 of Chain Me

“My brother is a master hacker. You learn a trick or two when he’s constantly going on about python and javascript.”

That makes sense, but Erik never struck me as a guy who bothered with computers too much. I force myself to concentrate on the breach rather than the man behind me, but it's nearly impossible. His proximity is intoxicating, a distraction I can't afford yet can't seem to resist. Every time he shifts, every breath against my neck splits my attention between the crisis and the maddening awareness of him.

“I need you to implement this countermeasure,” I say, my fingers flying across the keyboard faster than I ever have, even during my most intense coding sessions. The code pours from me despite the pressure.

I glance up from the screen, expecting to find Erik studying the monitor. Instead, his eyes are fixed on my face. There's something in his gaze—admiration? Trust? Whatever it is, it consumes me like wildfire.

“Now!” I command, completing the final sequence.

Without hesitation, Erik reaches past me to execute the program. Our shoulders press together as we watch the systemsrespond. One by one, the red warning lights turn green. The breach is contained.

We stare at the screen in shared disbelief as everything comes back online. The victory feels oddly intimate—something we built together against impossible odds. A connection neither of us expected.

“We did it,” I breathe, turning toward him.

His face is inches from mine, those dark eyes capturing mine. “You did it,” he corrects softly, pride evident in his voice.

My heart races wildly, and I can't blame it on the adrenaline of the breach anymore.

The adrenaline that kept me focused during the breach suddenly evaporated, leaving me empty and shaky. I grip the edge of the desk, trying to steady myself.

“Hey, I've got you,” Erik murmurs, strong arms wrapping around me from behind. He turns me gently in the chair until I'm facing him, then pulls me against his chest.

I melt into his embrace, surprised by how natural it feels to be held by him. His heartbeat is strong under my ear, his warmth enveloping me like a shield against the world. The slight tremors in my body begin to subside as he runs a hand slowly up and down my spine.

“I've never seen anyone work that fast,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp.

I press my face against his chest, inhaling his scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him. “I've never had anyone trust me like that,” I admit quietly. “Not with something so important.”

The weight of what just happened crashes over me. Erik had given me access to everything—the security of his family's compound. He'd placed it all in my hands without hesitation.

“I could have used that access to escape,” I say quietly, needing him to understand what this means. I could havebetrayed him. Could have sent messages out. It could have exposed everything.

“I know,” he replies, his arms tightening around me. “But you didn't.”

We stay like that, holding each other in the aftermath of danger. My breathing synchronizes with his, our bodies fitting together as if designed for this purpose. For the first time since I was brought here, I feel completely safe.

The vibration of his phone breaks our moment. Erik shifts slightly to retrieve it from his pocket, still keeping one arm around me. I watch his face as he reads the message and see something dark pass over his features—a shadow that transforms his expression from tender to troubled in an instant.

“What's wrong?” I ask, suddenly cold despite his nearness.

“Nothing,” he says, but his eyes won't meet mine as he tucks the phone away.

When he pulls me back into his arms, there's a desperation in his embrace that wasn't there before. His hands press more firmly against my back, his face buried deeper in my hair. He holds me like a man preparing to lose something precious, and though I don't know what changed in those few seconds, I feel the difference in every point where his body touches mine.

20

ERIK

My boots hit the marble floor of Natasha Blackwood's building with purpose, Alexi just ahead of me. The text from Dmitri had been brief but urgent. "Tash taken. Meet at her apartment. Now." Dmitri had only recently gone public with his relationship to the art historian, something he rarely does, and now Igor Lebedev had seized the opportunity to strike back at our family where it would hurt most.

I'd left Katarina with Viktor, ignoring the questions in her eyes. Better she doesn't know what's happening. Better she stays in the safety of the compound while I handle this.

The elevator ride to the penthouse feels endless. Alexi's fingers drum against his thigh; his usual playful demeanor has been replaced by focused intensity. We both know what this means—not just for Natasha, but for all of us. For Katarina.

The doors slide open to reveal a chaotic scene. Security personnel move with purpose through Natasha's elegant apartment, collecting evidence and checking for surveillance devices. Nikolai stands by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his face carved from stone.

And Dmitri—my always composed, always perfect brother—paces like a caged animal, his hair disheveled, his customsuit wrinkled. I've never seen him like this. Not since we were children. Not since mother.

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