Page 90 of Brutal Unionn
“No.”
He doesn’t blink. “You made this deal right after I escaped?”
“No, but it doesn’t?—”
“It fuckingmatterswhen you made the deal, Nadia,” he snarls, turning on his heel and stalking deeper into the dimly lit house. His back is tense, muscles shifting beneath the thin cotton of his shirt like caged violence. The moonlight cuts across his jaw, turning him into something mythic—half-man, half-wrath.
I slam the door behind me and follow him into the next room, the sharp crack of wood-on-wood echoing like a gunshot. The silence stretches as he speaks, voice low as he unties the battered wraps from his knuckles.
“Because if you made that deal while I was still your prisoner—while we were still just playing our twisted little game—thenfine,maybe I could forgive that,” he says, tossing the wraps onto a nearby chair. “But you didn’t.”
He turns to face me, his green eyes glowing like broken glass in the moonlight. “You made that dealafterwe fucked. After you knew there was something real between us. Youknew,and you still?—”
“You left me,” I cut in, my voice cracking before I can stop it. “You left me tied up. Naked. In your hotel room. You didn’t even look back. I thought I was a fuckinggameto you, Sho. I didn’t think?—”
“Bullshit!” he explodes, stepping closer, every muscle in his body coiled like a viper. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
His eyes burn with something deeper than rage—betrayal, disappointment, something raw that makes my chest cave in.
“I watched you, Nadia,” he snarls. “I watched the way you looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that made you feel alive. And don’t tell me it wasn’t real, because I felt it too. Youmade that dealafter you had my hands on your skin and your heart in my mouth. I called you after and I brought you clothes. I didn’t leave you alone in the cold.”
He’s breathing hard now, each inhale sharp and ragged, like every word he just spat was a punch he barely held back. His chest rises and falls beneath the sweat-dampened cotton. “You knew what this was. And you still agreed to hand me over.”
“IsaidI’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the edge of tears. It rasps from my throat like it’s been buried too long, raw with desperation. I take a step forward, reaching out, forcing my trembling fingers to lacewith his.
But before our hands can settle into anything resembling comfort or connection, he yanks his away like I burned him and moves to the far side of the room, putting the narrow cot between us like a barrier.
“No, youfucking didn’t,” he snaps, turning his back to me.
“What?” I gasp, stunned, confused, watching his silhouette under the fractured moonlight as he unbuttons his shirt. One by one the fabric falls away from his body, revealing the full scale of how much he’s changed.
His torso is carved like a war god—thicker now, more defined. Ridges of muscle curl along his abdomen like armor, a tight V cutting low into his hips. His tattoos stretch with each breath, inked dragons and serpents curling around muscle that wasn’t there the last time I touched him. A deep scar slices down his side—a fresh one I don’t remember—jagged and red against smooth tan flesh.
“Youneversaid ‘I’m sorry,’ Nadia,” he says, voice quieter now, like he’s too tired to shout. “You never apologized.”
I turn toward him, glassy-eyed, throat tightening with emotion I’ve fought for too long. “Yes, I did,” I whisper, voice barely audible.
“No,” he says, more firmly, turning to face me with his shirt now discarded at his feet, chest rising with every wounded breath. “You gave mereasons.You gave me justifications. You talked about Boris. About the Bratva. About your loyalty to your bloodline. But you never—never—looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’m sorry I tried to kill you, Sho.’”
My body quivers. The air feels too thick, like I’m drowning in all the things I never said. My hand lifts again, hesitant,shaking. “Y-you had to know,” I whisper. “You had to know how sorry I was.”
He doesn’t answer. Just methodically pulls at the cloth wraps around his waist—ripping them loose with practiced, violent flicks. The sound of fabric tearing fills the silence between us like thunder.
“Knowwhat,Nadia?” he says finally, his eyes locked on mine. “That the woman I almost died for—more than once—thought I’d justfeelher apology in the silence?”
He takes a step forward, and I freeze, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know anything, when you never gave me the one thing I asked for? Honesty.” He pauses, eyes scanning me like he’s searching for something. Maybe the girl I used to be. Maybe a reason to still care.
I take a shaky step toward him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. His jaw ticks. His fists clench, but he just follows me with his eyes.
I step again, closer now, so close I can feel the heat off his bare chest. I look up at him, tears finally breaking free and sliding down my cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry, Sho. For all of it. For not saying it when I should have. For not fighting harder. For making you think you were nothing to me when you wereeverything.”
“This apology is too fucking late,” he rasps out, and I place both hands on his chest; the warmth burns me like the sun, but I take the pain in stride.
“No, it’s not,” I whisper.
