Vik (Shot Callers 2)

He bit his lip and lowered his eyes, taking away what little connection we still had.

And my gut twisted.

Okay. Fine, you stubborn ass.

I stood as gracefully as possible and laid it out firm. “This is what I can’t get past, Vik. We were a team, thirteen years strong. And if you can’t talk to me, then there’s nothing left to talk about.”

It felt like a cleanse. It felt final. But just as I turned to retrieve the box, his hand circled my wrist and held firm. I twisted back to look at him. Wearing an expression I could only describe as pure agony, he tugged, and I stumbled forward, falling sideways onto his lap. Before I had a chance to process, his strong arms were wrapped around me, holding me tightly to him, and when he lowered his forehead to my collarbone, it felt as though he was trying to speak using his actions, as words had failed him so many times before. His warm breath at my neck, his arms flexing in a way that told me he was only seconds from losing control, it caused severe damage to my heart and my head alike. I reflexively snaked my arm around his shoulders, taking in his warmth and desperation, wrapping myself in the intense cocoon of emotion he dared not display.

To be held by Vik was nothing but natural.

To hold him in return was sublime.

My hands moved of their own accord, first stroking his nape, then the back of his head, moving on to his unyielding shoulders. I carefully observed the way he shuddered at my ministrations, and the power that surged through me right then was unparalleled.

Vik did not often need affection, but when he did, I gave it freely. He only took as he needed. A little at a time. And when he gifted me the opportunity to care for him, I gripped it tightly, holding it with both hands. It felt heavenly to be needed by him, even for a moment.

His lips skimmed the sensitive flesh at my collar, not quite kissing, just gliding, whisper-soft against my skin, and I took a stuttering breath in. My eyes fluttered closed.

Right then, if he made a move, I would have succumbed. I would have given myself to him, held him in my body, and offered myself up as a sacrifice on the altar of his pain.

Then, without a single care for his injuries, he stood, taking me with him, and I melted into his arms. My eyes held his as he lowered me carefully into the center of my bed, and I held my breath. There was something in the way he stood, peering down at me, as if attempting to commit the image to memory. And when he slid in beside me in an almost feline manner, my body ached in anticipation. As he shuffled in close, I stopped breathing.

With his body flush against mine, he whispered into the dark, “Put your arms around me.”

In the lifetime I had known him, in over twenty-five years, I had never heard Vik make such a vulnerable request.

I did not need to be asked twice.

One arm snaked around his shoulders while the other cradled the back of his head, and when he nuzzled what little cleavage I had, there was nothing sexy about it. No. In that moment, he merely sought comfort, and I provided. As my fingertips gently stroked his damp hair, he closed his eyes and rested with his head on my chest, knowing he was safe with me.

“I just need to be close to you.” The tentative words rumbled against the curve of my breast were a spark, igniting the flame of the fire I had threatened to douse over and over again. “Don’t give up on me.”

I couldn’t speak, but of all the puzzling thoughts that ran through my head then, I chose to focus on the only one that meant something. And as I looked down at him tenderly, a tired smile glanced my lips.

Regardless of our time apart, irrespective of our current disconnect, Vik was here.

That counted for something, didn’t it?

He came home.

He came home to me.

18

Nastasia

The sound of my front door opening followed by a clinical, “Nastasia, Lidiya would like you to come and join us for breakfast,” had me lifting my head and squinting into the darkness. When I crawled over the body beside me to check the clock, I took in the time and quietly mock-cried.

Dude. It was only 9:00 a.m.

“Mina is making pancakes,” Lev said as he climbed the stairs. “They are a strange color and aren’t very good, but please refrain from telling her so.”

As I straddled the warm body and stretched my arms up over my head, I snuffled out a laugh, knowing Lev would only mention such a thing if he had made the mistake of doing it himself.