Chapter 12

Istand in the middle of the gym, doing simple balance drills. It's been roughly thirty minutes since we arrived at this "penthouse." It's more like a fortress in the sky, with two big metal doors before entering the actual apartment. It reminds me a lot of the compound back home.

Aiden left me here, saying he was going to talk with his dad and that I should make myself comfortable. This is how I usually make myself comfortable, but I can't focus. My mother is in here somewhere. My brothers burned down the lodge, or some men they hired did.

I wonder if I even want them to take me back. I wouldn't say this aloud, especially not to Aiden, but I was almost relieved when he said he wasn't letting me go. It's cowardly but nice not to have to decide for myself. I can just be here, in this gym, like the studio back home.

After around forty minutes, I sit on one of the benches, looking at myself in the mirror. Wicked thoughts try to tell me I'm ugly and gross, but then something magical happens. I hear Aiden instead, whispering things he'd never say in real life.

You're beautiful. You're angelic. You're perfect.

I jump up when somebody knocks on the door.

"It's me," Aiden calls.

"Okay."

"Can I come in?"

"It's a gym, not a bedroom."

"I'm trying to be polite here."

Anothersmile. How does he keep doing this? "Okay, come in."

He pushes the door open, his T-shirt seeming so damn tight around his arms. I hate and love that's the first thing I notice. His face is serious and mature, telling me he's definitely a few years older than I am. He walks right up to me, his hands behind his back, looking more like a military man than ever. I resist the insane urge to reach over and touch his firm chest. I can smell him, and it does something to me.

"Your brothers hired a local Bratva to look for you. You were right. They were morons. They figured they'd take it upon themselves to send a message, but neither Dimitri nor Mikhail ordered that fire."

My mouth falls open. Is he serious? Does he think that's big news? "Oh, wow, thanks for telling me my brothers didn't try to kill me. That's really useful information."

"I'm just getting the facts straight," he growls. "They worked fast for criminals."

I'm sure he adds the for criminals part just to annoy me, but I don't rise to the bait. We're standing so close to each other. It would be so easy to lean forward, to rest my head against his chest, to feel his firmness, to savor just him.

"How do you know any of this, then?"

"I've got cameras with long-life batteries all over the forest. The footage showed a tattoo on one of the men's arms, and then it was a simple phone call."

"Phone call?"

"Their leader is in prison. I threatened to move him to a worse one if his lackey doesn't back down."

"You work fast, too," I murmur, thinking about how this is why my brothers never wanted tattoos. It identifies people too quickly when caught on camera or in trouble with the law.

"Not fast enough," he says. "That never should've happened. Those idiots. What if you'd been inside?"

Something in his voice makes me turn away. There's too much passion in it, like he thinks he owns me or could own me, whatever that means. I've heard Mikhail and Dimitri talk about their love for their new wives and the intensity of their feelings, but I never thought I'd feel it. Truthfully, I'm not even sure if this is it. I've never had a boyfriend. Not even close.

"Well, I'm safe," I say, wanting him to change the subject.

"Hmm."

"What now? Are you sending me home?"

He reaches over and touches my chin. It's so abrupt that I almost flinch away. Yet somehow, it feels natural, too. It feels like something he should do. He looks down at me like he can't decide what to do. He seems so unsure, which is strange for him. He's a stranger, and already, some things seem normal while others seem odd.

"You don't want to go home," he says, leaning down further and further.

Then he stops and drops his hand.

"What?" I whisper, my mouth tingling like I'm getting ready for a kiss. Is that what's going to happen? Is he going to kiss me?

"It's just … in this light, damn."

"What?"

"I don't know."

He turns and abruptly walks away, leaving me to stare and wonder what the hell just happened. Was he sleepwalking this time? His touch lingers on my chin, a warmth that shivers all over my body, pulsing through me, making me want to follow him. I'm not sure what to do. What if I run into my mom? In the end, I sit on the bench, waiting.

About ten minutes later, he returns, seeming distant this time around. "Let me show you to your room."

"What was that about?" I retort, standing up.

He sighs. "I don't know."

"You always go around touching women's faces?"

He laughs gruffly. "It's not a habit, but …"

"But what?"

He lets out a shuddering breath. "Let's say I wanted to do something reckless. Let's say I wanted to do something inappropriate. It's my job to hold back. It's my job to have some goddamn perspective."

Reckless, inappropriate … Are they words that should have my body buzzing with anticipation? Should I be dreaming about him leaning in, pressing those smirking lips against mine, crushing me with his hands, and owning me? He's already helped me more with that than anybody ever has or ever could. Maybe he could change me in other ways, too.

"What exactly are we talking about?"

"The fact you don't know is why I have to be strong," he grunts. "Come on."

He turns away again. He's so wrong, though. I obviously know something was going to happen then, something steamy. Is that the right word? Something that involved the heat between us bursting to the surface.

Feeling like I have no choice—and not wanting to wait here again—I follow him down the hallway. This place is ultra-modern, all sleek and marble, nothing like home. Aiden turns down a corridor and leads me to a mini-apartment with a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a lock outside the door.

In the entranceway, I point out, "This feels like a very fancy prison."

"Call it what you want. You'll be safe here while I figure out what to do."

"That's simple. Let me go home."

I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't like the way he curls his fists when I say this. Or how he looks at me like he'd rather fight a hundred Bratva men than let me go.

"Do you know what Stockholm syndrome is?" he says.

"Of course I do," I snap.

"You were born into a criminal family, but you don't really know them. They show one side to you and another to the world."

"There's nothing you could ever say to turn me against my brothers."

He takes a step forward. I think he's going to touch me again for a moment. I almost have to press my legs together when I feel the tingling dancing over my lower half and into my heart. It's so sudden. "I don't want to turn you against anyone. I want you to make your own decision."

I laugh. "Is that a joke?"

He shakes his head but looks confused and angry at being confused. "I know how it sounds."

"It sounds insane."

"Maybe that's what I am."

Ditto, I almost say, but I can't let him think we can start making jokes whenever things get awkward. Finally, he steps away, making me wish he'd get close again. I want to know what his lips taste and feel like. I want to experience the closeness, the pressure of his body.

"I'm going to speak to Molly," Aiden says. "See if she's calmed down. It's been a hell of a day, and it's not even dinnertime."

"You sure do love your food."

He chuckles. Again, we're back to the lighthearted stuff so quickly. Patting his belly, he says, "It's hard not to when you've got a body like mine."

"Oh, yeah. You need to lose a couple of pounds. Let me see."

I mean it as a joke, but then he lifts his shirt. I almost gasp when I see his rock-hard abs, well-defined muscles, and a solid block of pure power. He lowers the shirt. "I don't know why I did that."

"Are you blushing?" I quip as I watch the tips of his ears turn red.

"I don't normally do stuff like that."

"You are blushing."

"You're a wild ride, Ania. Seriously."

He turns, leaving me to ponder his words. I'm the wild ride, am I? He's the one who makes me feel like I've got whiplash, going from needing him to wanting to go home and back again.