Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

One month ago…

Ollie

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room, as if the world was granting us momentary peace. If my past was any indication, it was a peace that wouldn't last but goddamn, I'd enjoy it while I could. It was the fifth day of her captivity, and Mikhail said in two more days, I had to let her go.

Her best friend Isabella was back in Colombia with Lev, and everything she reported back to us corroborated what Renata had told me thus far: her brother worked alongside Isabella's brother Javier to destroy our Bratva, Javier was dead, and Carlos was as well. Neither woman showed a shred of remorse about their brother's deaths, solidifying what I knew to be true—there was no love lost between them.

Renata sat by the window, her long, thick, dark hair catching the light like strands of chocolate silk. Her fingers danced absentmindedly over her thigh, her serene expression masking the storm I knew raged inside her—the storm I was desperate to calm. How could I, a man who straddled the line between life and death, bring peace to a woman like her? Still, I couldn't help but watch her, mesmerized by how beautiful she was. I held myself as motionless as I could, as if moving too fast or breathing too deeply would break the peace.

Finally, I cleared my throat.

"Renata," I said softly, not wanting to break the spell. But I had a job to do, and we had more to discuss.

She turned to me, her eyes wary, always on guard. "What is it?" she asked, her voice steady and sharp. If she were on her feet, she'd be ready to take a fighting stance. I fucking loved that about her.

I walked over and sat beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body and smell the fragrance of vanilla and warmed cinnamon.

"Where do you want to go from here? Have you given it any thought?"

"From here?"

Mikhail had suggested a warmer line of questioning, something friendly to build trust. "Talk about her future, hopes, and dreams," he had said with a sardonic grin. "Let her believe you actually give a shit."

Problem was? I did.

She gave me a small, almost imperceptible shrug. "I haven't given much thought to the future. So far, it's been wildly unpredictable. I'm more of a live-in-the-moment kind of girl." She swallowed. "I've had to be."

If that wasn't something I fucking loved about her. I was forced to be a live-in-the-moment kind of guy, and I didn't like it either. It was exhausting, never having a promise of tomorrow. Dreaming of the future was a luxury we couldn't afford.

I reached out and took her hand in mine. I expected her to pull away or, at the very least, recoil, but she did neither. She stared at our hands. "If I were to think about it," she began hesitantly, "I might think about a time when… all the violence and bloodshed is behind us—me," she corrected, looking away from me. Maybe she didn't mean to include the two of us together.

I loved that she did.

"I could just be… normal. Maybe have a little home somewhere quiet, away from main roads or noise or… everything. A quiet place to sit. Maybe with a little deck or rocking chair. Somewhere I could just think and not have to answer to anybody. I grew up in the city. I grew up with a lot of money. I don't want that anymore."

"You grew up with a lot of money?"

She corrected herself quickly. "According to my father, earning money was the best thing he could do for anybody, the best thing any of us could do. What bullshit," she said, shaking her head.

"Your mother?"

"I didn't have a mother." She gave me a sad smile. "When I was little, before my father became completely corrupt, he would tell me the story of how I grew in the garden next to the cabbages."

She paused, thoughtful. "Eventually, I found out the truth, of course, that my mother did have me but died in childbirth. I wondered for a time if my father blamed me for her death, but he never did. My maternal grandmother, though, she was another story."

I'd have to keep that one in mind.

"Do you really think something like… a house, a future, is possible?" she asked, her eyes wistful as if my answer held the key to hope in her future.

"I have to," I said, squeezing her hand gently. "It keeps me going. The thought that one day, I can leave the violence behind and be free from all of this."

She sighed, looking out the window. "I've learned that expecting too much only brings sadness. Dreams have a way of getting crushed."

"I know," I said, my own voice tinged with sadness. "But that doesn't mean we can't hope, or want more, or even plan for it."

She looked at me, her eyes softer but still tinged with caution. Still guarded. I knew then it would take a lot more than mere days for her to trust me. "I want to believe in that too," she said quietly. "But it's hard. It's hard to let myself believe that it could happen."

"I understand," I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But know this, Renata—I'll fight like hell for that future, for us, even when you can't believe in it yourself."

She frowned slightly. "Then how can you make it sound so simple?" she asked, a note of acute accusation in her voice.

I sighed. "I don't know if it has to be that complicated."

Did everything have to be?

For a moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to crumble, and she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. We sat there in silence, the weight of everything between us, like the hot, humid air of a Colombian summer.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Maybe you're right. I hope you are."

In that moment, I saw a glimpse of the future I longed for. A future where Renata and I could be together, free from the shadows that haunted us. And I vowed to myself that no matter what, no matter who stood in our way, I would make that happen.

I wake beside Renata, moonlight spilling through the curtains. Last night, she gave me a sharp look when it was mentioned we would be sharing the guest room. After what happened between us, it felt natural to me, but for her… I'm not sure. She's still guarded, still wary, and for good reason.

I had expected her to protest, but she didn't. She climbed into bed, put her head on the pillow, and by the time I joined her, she was fast asleep.

Now she stirs and leans toward me, her small foot brushing against my leg and her hand resting on my abs. Her warmth seeps into me, and I hold her there, my hand on the small of her back, savoring the rare moment of peace. She isn't awake yet. When she is, I doubt she'll be this cozy.

Renata is going to be my wife.

I'll wake beside her every day.

If only I could trust her…

You know I didn't, she had said. But talk is cheap, and loyalty is proven.

If she wants to show that she didn't betray us, that what she says is true, and her brother took her to Colombia to threaten her or to instill fear into us, she'll start by marrying me.

I'll watch how she responds to Carlos's retribution.

I'm expecting a swift, merciless response from him if he is indeed alive and as predictable as I suspect.

I'm lost in a world all my own when I realize her eyes are open. Instead of leaping away from me or cowering in fear, she lies quietly beside me.

Maybe she wasn't as immune to what happened between us as she'd like me to think she was.

I take in her caramel-colored cheeks and warm brown eyes, framed with long, thick black lashes and bold, striking brows. Her lips are turned down in a hint of a pout. I want to kiss them, lick them, bite them, and make them part in a scream while I savor the taste of her.

I swallow, hard as fuck already, and reach my hand to brush my thumb along the scar on her right cheek. She flinches away from me, but I don't let her.

My voice is rough and husky in the early morning, tempered with the effort of maintaining control. "Who gave you this scar?"

Always fucking maintain control.

The corner of her lips quirks up in a sad smile. "You have to ask? My brother, of course. Who else?"

I blow out a breath. "Your brother's evil."

She swallows and nods, then says in a little voice, as if trying to convince herself more than me, "He wasn't always that way. There was a time when he was my protector. There was a time when we were allies, Ollie."

She runs her thumb along my lower abdomen, her touch stirring an awareness in me. I can't believe that she'll be mine. I hardly know what to do with myself.

I shake my head. "I don't care that he used to be good to you. What matters is how he treats you now. You know I'll—if he were alive, I'd have to kill him."

Her eyes flash at me in the darkness. "If I didn't get to him first."

When she turns from me, a shadow of pain crosses her face. "Does your arm hurt?"

"Like a son of a bitch," she says. "But that's not it. I just hate what has to happen with my brother."

There are a lot of things that fucking suck about what's happened to both of us, what has to happen still. If it were me, I'd want to shoot myself before I killed one of my brothers, no matter how badly they betrayed me.

I'm glad I don't have to make that decision.

I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"What makes you happy, Renata?"

She thinks for a moment before replying, thoughtful as if she's sifting through thoughts and memories to get to something happy. I expect it will take her a while to respond, but she has a ready answer.

"Puppies," she says, her voice lightening. "Farmers' markets, especially if they have food. And I don't just mean vegetables and fruit, but hot food that you can eat, like Mexican street corn, walking tacos and those fried things on sticks. Ocean views. Sleeping in." Her voice lowers, becoming husky and sensual. "Sex."

I smile, my heart warming at her honesty. I will give her all of that, though sex seems like the best place to start.

I roll her gently onto her back, leaning over her. "I don't have puppies, farmers' markets aren't open yet, and we're wide awake. Sex it is, then," I whisper, my lips brushing against hers.

She smiles—a genuine smile that reaches her eyes and pulls me closer. I marvel at how our bodies fit together perfectly, her warmth enveloping me. Her nipples peak, and her eyes go half-lidded with desire. She wasn't lying—her body responds like we were made for each other. She rolls her hips and lifts her face to kiss me. I kiss her softly, savoring every moment, every taste. I wonder if she remembers what I do—those stolen moments together before we were enemies. Back when we were just doing all we'd ever known.

Her hands roam over my shoulders, her touch sending shivers down my spine. When she bends to kiss my jaw, I press myself down on her.

She kisses down my neck, her breathing heavy with each kiss. She arches beneath me, her body responding to my touch. I take my time, wanting this moment to be sweet and perfect, just like her. My movements are slow and deliberate, sensations heightened by the intimacy of the moonlight on us. We're only human, but the first cast of moonlight will turn us into wolves. I know this by now.

I hold my breath as I slide inside her. I exhale when I fill her. Connected. Fused. Finding solace in each other against the chaos of our lives. In this moment, nothing else matters. Just us, our shared breath, the quiet of two people who will become one. She shudders beneath me when I thrust, her hips meeting mine. I savor her moans. I build a rhythm that's slow, wanting to take my time, but my need for her escalates. I thrust harder. She takes me.

I bend down and take her lips with mine as I come inside her. She cries into my mouth. I bite her lip and relish all of it—the taste of her, the way she shudders beneath me, the way my hot seed spills into her, pleasure ricocheting through every inch of me. I feel the echo of her ecstasy thrum through my veins.

I collapse beside her, my fingers trailing languidly through the silken waves of her hair. The warmth of her breath mingles with mine as I cradle the back of her head, guiding her to rest on my shoulder.

It's happening. I can feel it, gravity pulling me closer to her with each heartbeat.

I'm falling for her, just like my brothers did for their wives.

Hell, it's not happening . I'm already there. I can't imagine a world without Renata at the absolute center of my universe.

A small part of me wants to hold onto control, to hold onto everything I've painstakingly built. I have to stay in control.

Someone has to protect us.