Page 40 of Brutal Union
“It’s not foolish,” he says quietly. “I’m a one-woman guy.”
Something flutters hard in my chest, wild and stupid like wings in a jar. I stare down at my noodles like they’ve betrayed me.
“Bullshit,” I cough, the heat of the food hitting wrong and catching in my throat. I choke a little.
“I’m telling the truth.” Sho lifts both hands like he’s surrendering. “And I expect the same.”
My laugh is dry. Bitter. “Expect the same from who, exactly? What guy are we talking about here?”
He tilts his head at me, slow. Dangerous. “Don’t play with me, Nadia.”
I blink at him, feigning innocence. “I’m not playing. I just didn’t realize I’d have you pussy-whipped this fast.”
His smile returns, but this time it’s razor-sharp, all teeth and tension. “Ah, I see.”
I tilt my head. “See what?”
“You’re not ready for what happens when I’m yours,” he says, voice dropping to a growl. “But when you are? You won’t want anyone else breathing near you.”
I freeze.
For a second, I swear I can feel my heart battering against my ribcage, trying to escape. Every pulse is a warning:run. Instead,I cross my legs tighter, locking everything down, and drag in a deep breath like it might steady me.
“Possessive much?” I murmur, trying to sound unaffected.
Sho doesn’t even glance my way. “I thought we already established that,” he says, eyes fixed on the screen—but the corner of his mouth betrays him. A small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
He wants me to be his—and only his. What kind of twisted attraction is that? Doesn’t he see it for what it is? Loving me is a guaranteed death sentence, and some part of me—some black, hollow place I thought I’d buried—is already clawing its way back to life at the thought. I should warn him. Tell him that wanting me is the worst mistake he could make. That I destroy the things I care about. I should shut this down before it ever starts.
But I don’t.
Instead, I let my eyes trace the ripple of muscle beneath his shirt, the relaxed line of his shoulders, the calm that’s settled into his body like he believes—somehow—he’s safe here. With me. Foolish. Sweet.
After all these years of being a trained killer, he’s gone belly-up in front of the enemy. And if I were just a bit crueler, I’d slit his throat while he smiles.
My gaze flicks to the gun resting on the floor. The other’s still on the nightstand. Sho shifts slightly beside me, and?—
I yawn. Loud and sudden. It catches me off guard as much as it does him.
Sho shifts beside me, brow arching with smug amusement. “Tired already? Am I boring you?”
I rub at my eyes lazily, feigning nonchalance even as my limbs scream in protest. My body feels like a war zone—bruised, scorched, raw.
“Shut up,” I mutter, rolling my shoulder.
But then I stretch, arms over my head, and that’s when I smell it.
My nose wrinkles instantly. “What the hell—” I drop my arms and whip my head toward him. “Sho!”
He blinks. “What?”
“You let me sit here smelling like this?” I gesture dramatically to myself, eyes wide. “Like smoke, blood, and death?”
Sho blinks again, slower this time. “You just got blown up.”
“And?”
“I wasn’t going to rush you into a damn shower while you’re half-broken!” He throws a hand up. “Excuse me for not being a complete monster.”
