Page 92 of Brutal Union
“I’ll stay here,” I rasp. “Until you believe me. Until youfeelhow sorry I am.”
He exhales—short and sharp. A bitter laugh. “You look ridiculous.”
“I don’t care,” I whisper.
“What, you’re just gonna starve to death on my floor?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
The floor creaks beneath his weight, and I hear the shift—his body turning toward me again.
“Fuck,Hime,” he growls into the air. “You won’t even allow me to be mad at you.”
I remain still, unsure if he’s angry or undone. Maybe both.
Then, slowly—almost reluctantly—I feel his fingers against my shoulder. This time, there’s no force. Just heat, and the slow trail of his fingertips against my body.
“You’re forgiven,” he says, voice gruff. “Alright? There. You got it.”
I stay down a moment longer, as if waiting for the ground to confirm his words. Then, finally, I lift my head. My eyes are red, swollen, stinging from both emotion and hours of holding this pose, but I look up at him through strands of disheveled hair.
He doesn’t look at me with softness. He looks at me like someone still bleeding, and moves a couple of strands from off ofmy forehead. He is barefoot, dressed in nothing but some linen pants.
Sho reaches for the bowl, scoops a spoonful of soup, and lifts it to my lips. “Eat.”
I blink at him. “You cooked this?”
His brow twitches. “Of course I did.”
I huff a breath, nearly a laugh. “Didn’t know you could cook.”
He arches a dark brow, handing me the bowl now that I’m upright. “I’m a grown man, Nadia. I know how to scale a building. I know how to kill. I know how to clean up blood and hide bodies.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “And I know how to make fucking soup.”
“Well sorry,” I mutter as I lift the bowl and press the warm edge of the bowl to my lips, taking a sip. It’s good.Reallygood. Balanced, light, but full of umami. Earthy, and grounding. He’s a way better cook than I am.
But before I can compliment him again, the stillness is broken by a sound.
Low. Groaning. A sharp, guttural noise that scrapes against the edges of the quiet night.
I freeze, bowl halfway to my mouth.
I glance around, pulse quickening. “What… was that?”
Sho doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look up from the steam curling between us.
Instead, he just lifts his tea to his lips and takes a slow sip.
“It’s better than any other time,” he mutters, “for you to see your forgiveness present.”
Another groan—this one more distinct. Human. Strangled.
I lower the bowl and narrow my eyes. “Forgiveness present?” I echo warily.
He smirks around the rim of his cup. “You’ll understand part of the reason I was so pissed you betrayed me.” He sets the cup down gently, and I flinch at the sound. “It was supposed to be our one month anniversary present, now it can be our wedding present.”
“Wedding present?”
“You think I am going through this again?” Sho rises slowly, brushing his palms down his thighs, then holds out a hand to me. “You and I would be married by now.”
