Page 101 of Brutal Unionn
“I love you too,” he murmurs, his voice soft but certain. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his body seep into mine, and for the first time I feel safe. I feel loved.
24
SHO
Nadia’s headrests on my chest, her breathing a slow rhythm, the warmth of our bodies creating a sweet layer of sweat, reminding me of the storm we’ve just survived.
Her hair is strewn along her perfect figure, and she snores just a little on every third breath. But aside from her appearance, she is mine, and that’s all I need.
The weight of her feels right—grounding me in a way that battle never can. I run my hand along the curve of her spine, savoring the rise and fall of her breath, the gentle heat radiating from her skin. For all her sharp edges, for all the venom she keeps locked behind those blue eyes, here she is—peaceful, unguarded. Vulnerable, but not weak.
Her fingers twitch against my stomach, unconsciously tracing over the scar she once left on me. It makes me smile. Even in sleep, she brands me.
Outside, the forest groans, the birds chirp the happy little tune I once sneered at—but right now the early afternoon sunbarely makes an appearance, silence wraps around us like silk, and I pull her closer to me, relief after all this time.
She murmurs something in Russian, half-asleep. I don’t need to understand the words. Her voice alone undoes something in me that I’ve spent years trying to seal off.
“I could kill you in your sleep,” she whispers groggily, lips brushing my chest.
I chuckle. “You’d never get the chance. I’d wake up the moment you reached for the knife.”
“You think you know me so well,” she mumbles, the threat softening into a sigh as she presses her mouth to my skin.
I slide my hand into her hair, gently tugging her head back just enough to see her face. Her lashes flutter open, sleepy but sharp, daring me.
“I do know you,” I say. “Every wicked little thought. Every scar. Every lie you tell yourself to survive. I know you.”
She studies me for a beat, then smirks. “Then you know I’ll leave you eventually.”
“Maybe,” I admit, brushing my lips against her temple. “But not tonight.”
Her smile falters, something raw flickering in her gaze before she nestles into my chest again, her arm tightening around my waist like she doesn’t believe herself either.
And in that fragile moment, amid the chaos of the world we built on blood and betrayal, I dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, we can survive each other.
Nadia rolls off my chest a few minutes later, slipping into the depths of sleep with a kind of ease that only comes fromabsolute exhaustion. She sprawls out across the bed, one arm flung over a pillow, her legs tangled in the sheets like she owns every inch of the room.
I watch her for a moment longer, memorizing the curve of her lips and the rise and fall of her bare back, before carefully slipping out from under her. Every movement is a slow, panther-like jump. I don’t want to risk waking her.
As I pad toward the kitchen, the low murmur of voices pulls me to a stop just beyond the hallway. Instinct kicks in immediately, my shoulders tensing, heart rate edging toward alert. I tilt my head, listening, ready for a threat—until Bhon’s unmistakable laugh rings out, sharp and unbothered, slicing through the quiet.
Rounding the corner, I find Bhon and Aoi seated at the kitchen table. They’re deep in conversation, Aoi practically draped over him, laughing like he’s just told the greatest joke in the world. She wears that familiar smirk—mischievous, unreadable—and Bhon, as usual, looks like he has three plans and two escape routes already mapped out.
When Bhon catches sight of me in the doorway, he gives a knowing smile.
“You must be feeling like a god right now,” he says, his voice low and amused.
I snort, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Are gods usually covered in bruises and cuts? Honestly, how’d you do it?”
He laughs again, softer this time, and Aoi slides a steaming cup of tea toward me. The smell alone is enough to cut through the lingering ache in my bones. I take it gratefully and nod. “Thanks.”
Aoi returns the gesture with a tight-lipped smile. “We have news.”
That word—news—always lands wrong when it comes from Aoi’s mouth. With her, it rarely means something good. Usually it’s the kind of news that demands bloodshed, pain, and a plan sketched in destruction.
I hesitate, taking a sip of the tea. “Okay,” I say slowly. “What kind of news?”
She straightens, her tone shifting into a chilling sharp edge. “We reached out to an old informant with ties to the Yakuza. They’re holding someone—Mia. The girl Nadia mentioned. She’s alive.”
