Page 90 of Unbroken

He’s here.

Vadka moves through the bar with purpose.

Uh-oh. Eyes locked on mine. Dressed in black. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms, veins tight under skin. That jaw’s clenched and hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it too long, thinking too much.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod.

Just stalks.

Straight to the end of the bar. No words.

I try to speak. I do.

“You weren’t here tonight. Just your lackeys,” I say, my voice too sharp, toodeflective.

His eyes narrow on me as his gaze drags over me. “Been super fucking busy hunting,” he growls. “Tracking.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know it isn’t animals he’s hunting or tracking.“You wore the red shirt.” His voice is clipped.

I look down. Yeah. I did. Tight. Cropped. Ridiculous. I don’t know why I put it on.

Yes, I do.

His eyes go darker. “Come with me.”

“Bar’s busy,” I snap.

“You’re not the only one here,” he says without looking. “They’ll cover.”

Like he planned this. Like he knew.

My heart starts to hammer. “Vadka?—”

But he’s already moving. Not asking.

Taking.

I hesitate for half a breath.

Then I follow.

The back hallway smells like spilled beer and cheap cleanser. The storage closet is open, dim light spilling from above. I barely step inside before the door slams shut behind me—and then his mouth is on mine.

There’s no preamble. No pretense. Justneed. I make a sound low in my throat, half moan, half plea, when his hands find my waist. My ribs. My throat. Rough butreverent, like he’s been starving, and I’m the only thing that’ll keep him alive.

I gasp, and he drinks it in. My skin prickles with awareness, and my heart thumps madly in my chest.

“Two fucking weeks,” he growls against my mouth. “Two weeks pretending we’re not circling each other like wolves. Two fucking weeks pretending you don’t want to be with me.”

I dig my fingers into his chest. “I needed some time, some distance. It was too much too soon,” I say, but even as I protest, it sounds like a silly, pathetic protest.

He groans, low and feral, and spins me to the wall. His thigh presses between mine, pinning me. His mouth on my neck now, teeth scraping, followed by tongue soothing.

“You want me to stop?” he whispers against my skin. “Too much, too soon?”

“Are you mocking me?”

His hands tighten on my ass, punishing. “I asked you a question. Stop?”

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