Page 37 of Tattooed Vow

“But wanting you…” She shakes her head. “It scares me. Being in your world scares me.”

I look at her—really look at her. Not the armor, not the sass or sarcasm she wields like a shield, but the woman beneath it. Vulnerable and brave.

“Sandy—” I reach for her, but she steps back, shaking her head.

“I need time,” she whispers. “I need to think.”

She turns away without a word, disappearing up the stairs and into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

I don’t stop her. Don’t say a damn thing. But as I stand there, staring at the empty space she leaves behind, one thought keeps echoing. She doesn’t belong in my world.

I don’t want her in it either. It’s too dangerous. Too dark. And no matter how much I want her, dragging her into this life will destroy her.

I pour another vodka, letting the burn chase away her taste. By morning, I will have my walls firmly back in place. I will be her protector again, nothing more. It is the only way she'll survive. At least, that’s what I want to believe.

15

DIMITRI

The storm has passed. The rain and wind are nothing more than a memory now. The faint scent of the cool night air filters through the cracks in the old cabin.

I stand in the living room, leaning against the wooden window frame, my eyes straining to pierce the darkness beyond. I can’t see much, but the moonlight slips through the branches, creeping between the trees like something waiting to strike.

Then I see it. Movement, just beyond the tree line.

A shadow. Quick. Subtle. Followed by another.

My jaw tightens as my fingers move silently to the light switch. The entire cabin goes dark except for a single lamp in the corner of the room. Enough light to lure them in. Not enough to see me.

I feel the familiar cold settle over me. That calculating detachment that has kept me alive all these years. Time seems to slow as my senses heighten: the slight creak of footsteps on the porch, the whisper of movement outside the windows, the metallic click of a weapon being readied.

I move like a ghost melting into the darkness. My steps carry me to the kitchen, where the back door looms like a mouth poised to open. I twist the silencer onto my gun, sliding it into the waistband of my joggers. Then I draw a knife from the block, its blade catching a glint of moonlight. And I wait.

My thoughts drift to Sandy, asleep upstairs. A year ago, she’d meant nothing to me. Just Talia’s sister pulled into my world after my brother Mikhail’s murder. Now, she is everything. The reason my heart beats. The reason I’m prepared to kill tonight.

The first enforcer comes in slowly, easing the door open. He is dressed in all black, from boots to gloves. His steps are practiced. He’s quiet. He thinks he is the predator.

I’m already behind him.

I wrap my arm around his throat, dragging him backward into the darkness before he has time to breathe. The blade in my other hand slides clean across his neck. He gurgles once. Then nothing. Dead before he hits the floor.

I catch his body and ease it down. No noise. No struggle. His blood pools beneath him, thick and dark, against the wooden floorboards.

And then I hear the second enforcer.

The front door creaks open.

I turn, slipping through the hallway like a shadow. My breathing is steady and controlled. I've been trained since I was a teenager to kill without hesitation, to protect what is mine. And now, Sandy is mine to protect.

He is halfway up the stairs before he realizes I’m behind him. He turns, and our eyes meet. His are wide with surprise. Mine are cold as ice. He raises his gun, but it’s too late.

I tackle him, unwilling to risk a shot that might draw Sandy from the bedroom. Or worse, put her in the line of fire. The weapon skids down the stairs as we crash into the wall. Fists fly, the thudding sound of bone against bone echoing in the narrow hallway. He is strong and trained, but I’m faster. Meaner.

He reaches for a second weapon. I grab his wrist, twist it, and slam it against the railing. He doesn’t drop the gun. I drive my fist into his face. Once. Twice. Bone cracks. Blood sprays.

He kicks out, catching my ribs, but I don’t stop. I grab his gun, turn it toward him, and pull the trigger.

His skull snaps back, and blood splatters the wall. He drops. Dead weight on the bottom stair.

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