Page 39 of Brutal Union
“I’ll handle it,” he says, cutting me off with a look that makes me pause. “No one’s going to touch you. I won’t let them.”
My fingers curl around the chipped mug on the floor. The heat seeps into my palms, grounding me, even as the words claw their way up my throat.
“You can’t kill my brother.” It feels wrong saying it aloud, like it’s not even mine. Like it’s a request I know neither of us can follow, but I can’t just kill Nikolai because a stranger told me he wants me dead. I want him to look me in the eye and tell me that he tried to kill his little sister with an assassin like a coward.
Sho swallows. “I won’t.”
The silence between us sharpens into something heavy. Then, softly—“Just let me take care of you. One day. Then you can go back to being the deadly, terrifying warrior princess I’m so madly obsessed with.”
I exhale, slowly lowering myself back to the floor. My body screams in protest, pain flaring like electricity along my ribs.
“One day,” I say, glaring at him. “And I’m only agreeing because it feels like I’m dying.”
He grins. “Good. Dying makes you reasonable.”
I lift the mug to my lips—and immediately recoil. “What the hell is this?”
“Powdered sugar,” he says, far too proud of himself.
He shrugs, sipping his own cup. “Yeah, and no sugar in your coffee is borderline sociopathic. Someone should really lock you up.”
___________
Hours later, I’m sprawled across the bed, propped up against the headboard with a pillow tucked behind my back and my side still aching. Sho sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on the screen like it’s a high-stakes mission instead ofLove Island UK.
“She’s obsessed with that guy,” he says, mouth half-full of dumpling, gesturing with his chopsticks, “but the second the new girls came in, he brought one of them to the hideaway.”
I narrow my eyes at the brunette on the screen—gorgeous, smug, and clearly a problem. My beef lo mein sits forgotten on my lap as I watch her giggle like she didn’t just demolish another woman’s self-esteem in under five minutes. The redheaded girl aka the original partner is currently pouting as the man they both want speaks to her in hush tones.
“What’s the hideaway again?” I ask, squinting at the screen.
Sho smirks. “Private suite away from everyone else. Basically, it’s where you go to ‘get to know each other better.’” He adds air quotes, like we both don’t know exactly what happens behind that door.
I snort. “So it’s the ‘screw palace.’ Got it.”
He chuckles, chewing slowly. “It’sLove Island, not a nun retreat. They need somewhere to get theirloveon.”
I glance sideways at him. “And this is what you do in your free time? Watch trash TV and eat your body weight in dumplings while you wait for your next target?”
“Hey,” he defends, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to judge me when you’re just as invested in this relationship as I am.”
“Well, it’s not the brunette’s fault,” I snap, pointing at the TV like I’m delivering a closing argument in court. “The redhead is pissed, sure—but she’s overreacting. No one owes anyone anything in this show. That’s the whole point.”
Sho swallows a mouthful of dumplings and shakes his head, calm and unbothered. “Wrong. The whole point is towinas a couple the audience believes in. Loyalty is the currency. He picked the redhead during the re-coupling, promised her the ride or die act—then dropped her the second a newer model showed up.”
I narrow my eyes at the screen. “She didn’t exactly tattoo his name on her ass either. She had options.”
“Yeah, but she didn’ttakethem,” he counters, waving a chopstick. “New guys came in, and she stayed loyal. He didn’t. That’s the problem.”
“Please,” I scoff, picking up a chunk of lo mein and shoving it into my mouth. “You’re the last person who should be preaching loyalty. Assassins don’t do loyalty. They do contracts. Paychecks. Lies.”
Sho’s hand freezes mid-air, and he swiftly sets down his food container, his gaze sharpening.
“Don’t they?” he asks, voice low.
I shrug with a full mouth, not meeting his eyes. “You’re an assassin. A cold-blooded killer You don’t have time for relationships. Or family. You probably have a girlfriend in every country—frequent flyer hearts. Requiring loyalty from a guy like you is like asking to get your heart broken. It’s foolish.”
There’s a long pause. Then Sho leans back against the headboard, arms braced behind him. The amusement drains from his face, replaced by something unreadable—his jaw tight, his eyes darker than the TV glow across his cheekbones.
