Chapter 4: Blood Oath on the Balcony
The cigarette had burned down to the filter.
Raven didn't remember lighting it. She didn't remember stepping onto the balcony, either, but here she was—barefoot on cold concrete, the city sprawled beneath her like a circuit board of light and shadow. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, turning the skyline into something abstract. Neon bleeding into storm clouds. Skyscrapers dissolving into gray.
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days of learning how Nikolai Volkov moved through the world. How he read a room. How he decided who lived and who disappeared. He'd taught her to strip a rifle in under thirty seconds, to spot a tail three blocks back, to smile at a man while calculating exactly how much pressure it would take to crush his windpipe.
But he hadn't taught her how to stop thinking about the farm.
The cigarette burned her fingers. She dropped it, crushed it under her heel, and lit another.
The door behind her opened. She didn't turn.
"You're up early," Nikolai said.
"Never went to sleep."
He stepped onto the balcony. The wind caught the hem of her dress—black silk, one of his, too big for her—and tugged at the ink on her ribs. The tattoos shifted like they were alive. Snakes and roses and a single word in Cyrillic she'd never asked him to translate.
He stopped beside her. Didn't touch. Just stood there, coffee in hand, watching the city wake up.
"You've been quiet," he said.
"I've been thinking."
"Dangerous."
She laughed. It came out hollow.
"Everything I've told you," she said. "About my father. The farm. The things I did."
"Yes."
"It's not the whole story."
He didn't react. Just took a sip of coffee. Waited.
"I wasn't alone," she said. "There were others. Kids like me. Kids he took in trades, kids he bought, kids he made. We grew up together. Learned together. Survived together."
She took a drag. Exhaled. Watched the smoke disappear into the gray.
"When I left, I didn't just leave him. I left them. I told myself it was survival. That I couldn't save anyone but myself."
"And now?"
"Now I know where they are."
She turned to face him. The blue eyes were steady. Unreadable.
"I kept tabs," she said. "Quiet. Careful. But I kept tabs. There's a network out there—kids who escaped the same way I did. Scattered everywhere. Running everything."
She started counting on her fingers.
"There's a guy in Kiev. Name's Dmitri. Runs crypto laundering through a shell company that looks like a gaming startup. He can move money through twelve countries in under an hour without leaving a trace."
Nikolai's eyebrow lifted. Just slightly.
"Then there's Mara. She's embedded in a hospital system in Chicago. Wipes records. Birth certificates. Death certificates. If you need to disappear, she can make it happen. If you need someone else to disappear, she can make that happen too."
She paused. Lit another cigarette.
"There's a forger in Tulsa. Name's Cade. Documents, passports, IDs. Best in the country. He owes me—I got him out when he was fifteen. His father was going to sell him to a buyer in Mexico. I made sure that didn't happen."
"How?"
"Doesn't matter."
He didn't push. Just waited.
"There's an arms dealer in Tulsa too. Marcus. He owes my father a debt. Sixty grand. My father's been trying to collect for two years. Marcus has been stalling. If I call in the marker, I can flip him."
"Flip him how?"
"Turn the debt into leverage. He pays me instead. Works for me instead. His inventory becomes mine."
Nikolai set his coffee down on the railing. The cup clinked against glass.
"And the girls?"
She smiled. Not warm. Something sharper.
"There were six of us. Girls. On the farm. We looked out for each other. Took beatings for each other. Kept secrets for each other."
Her voice dropped.
"Four of them made it out. One's in Seattle running a security firm. One's in Miami working for a cartel. One's in New Orleans doing something with boats that I've never asked about. And one..."
She stopped.
"One?"
"One stayed. She's still there. Still on the farm. Still under his thumb."
The wind picked up. Tugged at her hair.
"I think about her every day," Raven said. "Every single day. I think about what he's doing to her. What he's making her do. And I think about how I left her behind."
"You were eighteen."
"I was a coward."
"You were surviving."
"Same thing."
He reached for her. Hand on her hip. Pulled her closer.
"You're not that girl anymore," he said.
"I know."
"So what are you going to do?"
She looked at him. The man who'd killed forty-seven men. The man who'd held her while she cried. The man who'd promised to burn it all down.
"I'm going to use them," she said. "Every single one. Dmitri moves the money. Mara wipes the records. Cade makes the documents. Marcus provides the weapons. The girls—they're my eyes and ears. My soldiers."
"And the one who stayed?"
"I'm going to get her out."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But I will."
He studied her. Long. Hard. Like he was trying to see through skin and bone and every lie she'd ever told.
"Everything that is mine is yours now," she said. "Every asset. Every contact. Every debt. I'm giving it all to you."
He didn't move.
"You knew," she said. "Didn't you?"
"I suspected."
"How?"
"Because you're too smart to be alone. Too dangerous to be unarmed. And too loyal to leave people behind."
She laughed. Real this time.
"You're not just a pretty face."
"No," he said. "I'm not."
He kissed her.
Not soft. Not gentle. Like he was claiming something. Like he was answering a question she hadn't asked.
She kissed him back. Hands in his hair. Body pressed against his. The cigarette fell. Neither of them cared.
He backed her against the railing. The glass bit into her spine. The city sprawled beneath them—a kingdom of light and shadow, indifferent to the two people fucking on a balcony like the world was ending.
He lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands found the hem of her dress. Pushed it up. Exposed her.
"No underwear," he said.
"Haven't needed it."
He laughed. Dark. Hungry.
His cock was already hard. Pressing against her through his pants. She reached between them. Undid his belt. Freed him.
"Fuck," she breathed.
He was thick. Hot. Leaking at the tip.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
"Do it."
He pushed inside her.
One stroke. Deep. Brutal. She cried out. The sound swallowed by wind and rain and the distant hum of the city.
He didn't move. Just stayed there. Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed against hers.
"You're perfect," he said.
"I'm broken."
"Same thing."
He started to fuck her.
Slow. Deep. Each thrust deliberate. Each stroke hitting something that made her vision blur.
"You're going to build an empire," he said. "With me. Beside me."
"Yes—"
"You're going to burn it all down. Your father. His farm. Everything he made."
"Yes—"
"And then you're going to stand in the ashes and know you earned it."
She clawed at his back. Nails raking down skin. Drawing blood.
He groaned. Bit her neck. Sucked hard enough to leave a mark.
"I've been waiting my whole life," he said. "For someone who could stand beside me instead of beneath me."
"I'm here."
"You're here."
He moved faster. Hips slamming into her. The railing digging into her ass. The wind cold on her bare skin.
"So fucking perfect," he said. "So fucking mine."
"I'm yours—"
"Say it again."
"I'm yours—I'm yours—"
She came.
Hard. Around his cock. Body clenching. Vision white. A scream ripped from somewhere deep.
He followed.
Pulsing inside her. Groaning her name like a vow. Like a prayer. Like something sacred.
They stayed there. Breathing hard. Trembling. The city sprawling beneath them like it belonged to someone else.
He pulled out slowly. Set her down. Kissed her forehead.
"Come inside," he said.
She followed.
---
The bed was a mess of sheets and sweat and the faint scent of sex.
Raven lay on her stomach. Nikolai sat beside her, back against the headboard, tablet in hand. The glow of the screen painted his face in blue light.
"Start with Kiev," he said.
She propped herself up on her elbows. Looked at the screen.
"Dmitri Volkov."
"Volkov?"
"No relation."
"Good."
She pointed at the screen.
"His shell company. Novastar Gaming. Based in Cyprus. Three-layer obfuscation. He can move a hundred million through twelve countries in forty-eight minutes."
"Forty-eight minutes is too slow."
"It was forty-eight last year. He's gotten faster."
Nikolai typed. The screen filled with names. Lines. Connections.
"Who else?"
"Mara Chen. Chicago. She's in the billing department of NorthShore University Hospital. She can access every patient record in the system. Birth. Death. Admission. Discharge. If you need someone to disappear, she makes it happen."
"She's a ghost maker."
"She's a miracle worker."
He typed.
"Cade Morrison. Tulsa. Documents. Passports. IDs. He can make you anything you want to be."
"Reliability?"
"Hundred percent. He owes me."
"Debt?"
"Rescue. His father was selling him. I intercepted."
"How?"
"Doesn't matter."
He looked at her. She looked back.
"You're going to tell me eventually."
"Probably."
He typed.
"Marcus Webb. Tulsa. Arms dealer. Owes your father sixty grand."
"Give or take."
"Leverage?"
"His wife. His kids. His mother. He has a lot to lose."
"So do we."
She smiled.
"That's why we're going to win."
He leaned over. Kissed her shoulder. Her neck. Her jaw.
"You're terrifying," he said.
"Terrifyingly good at my job."
"You don't even know what your job is yet."
"Then teach me."
He set the tablet down. Rolled on top of her. Pinned her wrists above her head.
"I'm going to teach you everything," he said.
"You promised."
"I keep my promises."
He kissed her. Long. Deep. The taste of whiskey and cigarettes and something darker underneath.
When he pulled back, his eyes were serious.
"Tomorrow," he said. "We start with Dmitri. We need to know if he's still loyal."
"And if he's not?"
"Then we find someone who is."
She nodded. Swallowed.
"Nikolai?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
He stared at her. Something shifting behind his eyes.
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "We haven't even started."
He kissed her again.
And in the dark, with the city humming beyond the glass and the rain still falling, Raven felt something she hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
It was terrifying.
She held onto it anyway.
---
The tablet was forgotten.
He fucked her again.
Missionary this time. Slow. Deep. Eyes locked on hers. Like he was trying to memorize every sound she made. Every breath. Every flutter of her pulse beneath his lips.
When she came, it was quiet. Intimate. A shudder that rolled through her like a wave.
He followed. Collapsing beside her. Pulling her close.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"Tomorrow," she echoed.
They lay there. Tangled. Breathing. The city woke beyond the glass. The world kept spinning.
And somewhere in the Ozarks, a monster was living his life, unaware that his daughter was coming home.
Raven closed her eyes.
Smiled.
It was time to burn it down.
The morning came slow. Gray light bleeding through the curtains. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the city scrubbed clean and shimmering.
Raven woke first.
She lay still for a moment, listening to Nikolai breathe. Deep and even. The kind of sleep that came from a clear conscience or no conscience at all. She hadn't figured out which one he had yet.
Her body ached. The good kind. The kind that reminded her she was alive.
She slipped out of bed. Pulled on his shirt from the floor. Padded barefoot across the cold concrete floors toward the kitchen.
The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made her skin prickle.
She shook it off. Kept walking.
The kitchen was all stainless steel and black marble. A coffee maker sat on the counter, sleek and expensive. She opened the cabinet above it, found the beans, the grinder, the filters.
She measured. Ground. Poured water into the reservoir.
That's when she felt it.
A shift in the air. A pressure against her skin. Like static electricity building before a storm.
She'd felt this before.
On the farm. In the shed behind the main house. The night her father's enforcer came to teach her a lesson about running. She'd felt it seconds before he grabbed her. That same electric wrongness. That same primal knowing.
Someone was here.
Her heart rate spiked. She didn't turn around. Didn't react. Just kept her hands moving. Steady. Calm.
The gun was on the counter. Three feet to her left. A Glock 19. Nikolai's. Loaded. Ready.
She grabbed the coffee pot instead.
Her fingers moved fast. She filled the carafe with water. Poured it into the top of the machine. Set it back on the burner.
The intruder was close. She could feel them. Just on the other side of the island. Straight ahead. If she turned, she'd see them.
She didn't turn.
She started the coffee machine. The gurgle and hiss filled the silence. She put the coffee bag back in the cabinet. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then she grabbed the gun.
Her fingers wrapped around the grip. Familiar. Cold. The weight of it grounded her.
She turned.
The man was six feet away. Black tactical gear. Suppressed pistol raised. Eyes wide with surprise.
He hadn't expected her to be armed.
She raised the Glock. Fired.
The shot was loud. Deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet caught him center mass. He staggered back. Dropped his weapon. Clutched his chest.
She fired again.
He crumpled. Hit the floor with a heavy thump. Blood spreading beneath him. Dark. Wet. Final.
The smell of gunpowder filled the kitchen. Mixed with the rich scent of brewing coffee.
She stood there. Gun still raised. Breathing hard. Eyes fixed on the body.
Nikolai burst through the bedroom door. Gun in hand. Eyes wild.
"What the—"
He stopped.
Looked at her. Looked at the body. Looked back at her.
She smiled.
"You're welcome."
He stared.
"He was creeping around like a fucking cockroach," she said. "I handled it."
Nikolai lowered his gun. Walked toward her slowly. His eyes swept the body. The entry wounds. The precision.
"Two shots," he said.
"Center mass. Double tap."
"You've done this before."
"I've practiced."
He crouched beside the body. Checked for a pulse. Found none. Started going through pockets.
"Who is he?"
"No idea."
He pulled out a wallet. Flipped it open. His jaw tightened.
"What?"
He held up a driver's license. The name meant nothing to her. But the address—
"That's one of Dmitri's safe houses," she said.
"I know."
"He sent someone to kill us."
"He sent someone to kill you."
She lowered the gun. The implication sank in. Slow. Cold.
Dmitri. The crypto launderer. The one she'd vouched for. The one she'd called loyal.
"He knew I'd come for him," she said. "He didn't want to be flipped."
"Looks that way."
"Fuck."
Nikolai stood. Pulled out his phone. Typed something quick.
"Cleanup crew will be here in twenty minutes. We need to move."
"Where?"
"To Kiev."
She looked at him. "Now?"
"Now. Before he runs. Before he warns anyone else."
She nodded. Set the gun on the counter. Her hands were steady. Her heart was not.
"Nikolai."
"Yes?"
"I killed a man in your kitchen."
"I noticed."
"Does that bother you?"
He walked toward her. Stopped inches away. Cupped her face in his hands.
"You protected us," he said. "You made a decision. You executed."
"I didn't hesitate."
"Good."
He kissed her. Hard. Fast. The taste of adrenaline on both their tongues.
"Get dressed," he said. "We leave in ten."
She pulled away. Headed for the bedroom. Stopped at the doorway.
"The coffee's almost done."
"I'll pour it to go."
She smiled. Just a little.
And in the kitchen, with a dead man bleeding on the marble floor and the smell of coffee filling the air, Raven felt something settle into place.
This was who she was now. Who she was always meant to be.
A killer.
A partner.
A weapon.
She went to pack.
---
The jet was small. Sleek. Black leather and chrome. Nikolai sat across from her, phone pressed to his ear, speaking Russian in low, clipped tones.
Raven watched the clouds through the window. The coffee was cold. She didn't care.
She kept replaying it. The turn. The aim. The trigger pull. The way the man's face had changed when he realized she wasn't a victim.
She'd made a choice. No hesitation. No guilt.
Just action.
That's what Nikolai had taught her. That's what the farm had prepared her for.
She thought about Dmitri. About the games he was playing. About the betrayal that had sent a man to her kitchen.
She wasn't angry. She was something else. Something colder. Something patient.
He would learn. They all would.
She heard Nikolai end the call. Felt his eyes on her.
"You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
"About what comes next."
He leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. Eyes intense.
"We land in Kiev in four hours. Dmitri has an apartment near the Pechersk district. We'll hit him there."
"Just us?"
"I have people on the ground. Three men. Trusted."
"You trust anyone?"
"I trust you."
She looked at him. Something shifted in her chest. Warm and dangerous.
"What's the plan?"
"We give him a choice. Work for us. Or die."
"And if he chooses wrong?"
He smiled. Dark. Predatory.
"Then you get to practice your double tap again."
She leaned back. Closed her eyes. The jet engines hummed beneath her.
She thought about the farm. The girls. The one who stayed behind.
Soon.
She'd burn it all down.
But first, Kiev.
---
He fucked her in the jet's bedroom.
Turbulence caught them mid-stroke. Threw her against the bulkhead. He caught her. Pinned her there. Kept going.
Her cheek pressed into the cold metal. His body a wall of heat behind her. His cock buried deep.
"Fuck," she breathed.
His hand wrapped around her hair. Pulled. Hard.
"Tell me what you want."
"You. Just—fuck—just keep going—"
He did.
Fast. Rough. The kind of fuck that left marks. That said everything words couldn't.
Her fingers scrambled for purchase. Found nothing. Just smooth walls and rattling fixtures and the roar of the engines drowning out her moans.
"Harder—"
He gave her harder.
Slamming into her. Grunting with each thrust. Skin slapping. Breath ragged.
"Come for me," he said. "Now."
She did.
Body clenching. A gush of wet heat. A cry torn from somewhere raw.
He followed. Groaned. Held her hips so tight they'd bruise.
They stayed there. Panting. Sweating. The jet hummed around them.
He pulled out. Turned her around. Kissed her bruised lips.
"Kiev in an hour," he said.
"Good."
"Ready?"
She smiled.
"Born ready."
He laughed. Pulled her toward the shower.
Above them, the clouds parted. Below them, the world rushed by.
And somewhere in Kiev, a dead man walking was about to meet his reckoning.
The wheels touched tarmac at Boryspil before dawn.
Kiev spread beneath them like a circuit board half-shorted, lights flickering in the pre-morning haze. Nikolai hadn't slept. Neither had she. They'd spent the last hour in silence, his thumb tracing circles on her knee, her eyes fixed on the window.
The private hangar was empty except for a black Mercedes and three men.
Nikolai didn't introduce them. Just nodded. They nodded back. The kind of men who spoke in gestures because words left trails.
The drive into the city took forty minutes.
Raven watched the streets blur past. Soviet concrete giving way to glass towers. Old women hauling shopping bags. Young men in tracksuits smoking outside corner stores. The city was waking up, indifferent to the violence about to walk through its doors.
Dmitri's apartment was in Pechersk. Sixth floor. Corner unit. Two exits. One balcony that overlooked a courtyard with no cameras and plenty of shadows.
Nikolai parked two blocks away.
"He has a security detail," he said. "Two men. Rotating shifts. The night guy leaves at seven."
"What time is it?"
"Six forty."
"So we wait."
"No." He turned to her. "You wait. In the car."
"No."
"Raven—"
"I'm not sitting in the car while you go in there alone."
"I won't be alone." He gestured to the men. "I'll have backup."
"I'm your backup."
He stared at her. The blue eyes hard. Calculating.
"You killed a man in my kitchen yesterday," he said. "You're running on adrenaline and caffeine. That's a dangerous combination."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're vibrating."
She looked at her hands. They were steady. But he was right. Something inside her was humming. A frequency only she could hear.
"I need to do this," she said. "I need to be there."
"Why?"
"Because Dmitri was mine. I vouched for him. I told you he was loyal."
"And he proved you wrong."
"Which means I need to look him in the eye when he answers for it."
Nikolai was quiet. The men in the front seat didn't move. Didn't breathe. The car felt smaller than it was.
"Fine," he said. "But you follow my lead. You don't speak unless I tell you to. And if things go sideways, you get out. No heroics."
"Deal."
He held her gaze for a beat longer. Then he nodded.
"Let's go."
---
The stairwell smelled like cabbage and cigarettes.
Raven followed Nikolai up six flights. The men stayed below, guarding the exits. Their footsteps echoed off concrete walls. Someone's television blared through a door. A baby cried. The sounds of ordinary life happening in ordinary rooms.
The sixth floor was quiet.
Nikolai stopped at unit 6B. Pressed his ear to the door. Listened for ten seconds. Then he pulled out a key.
Raven raised an eyebrow.
"I have resources," he said.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
The apartment was dark. Blinds drawn. The air thick with stale smoke and the chemical tang of old electronics. Screens glowed in the corner of the living room—six monitors displaying crypto tickers, code, security feeds.
Dmitri was on the couch.
He wasn't alone.
A woman straddled his lap. Blonde. Naked from the waist up. His hands on her hips. His pants around his ankles. They were fucking, slow and lazy, the way people do when they think the world can't touch them.
Raven stopped in the doorway.
Nikolai didn't.
He crossed the room in three strides. Grabbed the woman by the hair. Yanked her off. She screamed. Scrambled backward. Covered herself with her hands.
Dmitri's face went white.
"Nikolai—"
"Shut up."
Dmitri's mouth snapped closed.
The woman was crying now. Mascara running down her cheeks. She looked at Raven. Pleading. Like Raven might save her.
Raven didn't move.
"Get dressed," Nikolai said. "Leave. Tell no one."
The woman grabbed her shirt. Her shoes. Ran out the door. It slammed behind her.
Silence.
Dmitri sat there. Cock still out. Shrinking. Pathetic.
"Pull your pants up," Nikolai said.
Dmitri fumbled with his belt. Hands shaking. He was younger than Raven remembered. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Soft in the middle. Soft in the eyes.
"You sent a man to my home," Nikolai said.
"I—"
"Yes or no."
Dmitri swallowed. "Yes."
"Why?"
"I heard she was coming. I heard she was flipping people. I thought—"
"You thought what?"
"I thought if I eliminated her, you'd leave me alone."
Nikolai laughed. It was the worst sound Raven had ever heard.
"You thought killing her would make me leave you alone."
"I was scared."
"You should be."
Dmitri looked at Raven. His eyes wet. Pleading.
"Raven. We grew up together. We—"
"We didn't grow up together," she said. "You were a trade. I was a daughter. Different things."
"I was your friend."
"You sent a man to kill me."
"I was afraid!"
"Everyone's afraid."
Nikolai stepped between them. Crouched so his face was level with Dmitri's.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said. "You're going to give me all your access codes. All your accounts. All your contacts. You're going to transfer everything to me. And then you're going to work for me."
"I already—"
"You worked for yourself. Now you work for me."
Dmitri looked at Raven. "Please—"
"Don't," she said. "Don't look at me."
"Raven—"
"I said don't."
Nikolai pulled a knife from his jacket. Flicked it open. Held it to Dmitri's throat.
"You're going to do what I say," he said. "Or I'm going to cut you from ear to ear and watch you drown in your own blood. Nod if you understand."
Dmitri nodded. Tears spilling down his cheeks.
"Good. Now get your laptop."
---
The transfer took forty minutes.
Dmitri worked in silence. Fingers flying over the keyboard. Every few minutes, Nikolai would lean over his shoulder and point at something. Dmitri would nod. Make adjustments. Keep going.
Raven stood by the window.
She watched the courtyard below. The shadows shrinking as the sun rose. A man walking his dog. A woman carrying groceries. Life moving forward, oblivious.
She thought about the farm.
About the girls she'd left behind.
About the one who stayed.
She wondered if Dmitri had ever felt that kind of loyalty. That kind of fear. That kind of desperate love that made you stay when you should run.
Probably not.
His kind of fear was different. Selfish. Small.
"You're done," Nikolai said.
Dmitri looked up. His face was pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Can I go?"
"No."
"What?"
"You're staying here. Under guard. Until I decide what to do with you."
"But you said—"
"I said you'd work for me. I didn't say you'd do it from here."
Nikolai pulled out his phone. Typed something. Two of his men appeared in the doorway.
"Take him to the safe house. Don't let him touch a computer."
They nodded. Grabbed Dmitri by the arms. Hauled him to his feet.
"Wait," Dmitri said. "Wait—Raven—please—"
She didn't turn around.
They dragged him out. The door closed. The apartment was quiet.
Nikolai walked up behind her. Stood close. Didn't touch.
"You okay?"
"No."
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
He was quiet. Then: "He's not dead. That's more than he deserves."
"I know."
"You want him dead?"
She turned around. Looked at him. The man who'd killed forty-seven people. The man who'd threatened to cut a man's throat in front of her. The man who'd asked, twice now, if she was okay.
"I want him to live," she said. "I want him to wake up every day knowing he's only alive because I didn't say the word."
Nikolai smiled. Slow. Hungry.
"There she is."
"What?"
"The real you. The one you keep hiding."
She didn't answer.
He reached for her. Pulled her close. His mouth found her neck. Hot. Wet. Teeth grazing skin.
"We should go," he said. "The safe house. Check on our new investment."
"Or we could stay."
"Here?"
"Here. For an hour."
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"You want to fuck in a dead man's apartment?"
"He's not dead."
"Close enough."
She reached for his belt. Undid it. Slid her hand inside his pants. Found him hard.
"Does it matter?" she said.
His eyes darkened. He grabbed her wrist. Pulled her hand away. Then he spun her around. Bent her over the couch. Hand on the back of her neck. Holding her down.
"You want it rough?"
"I want it real."
He shoved her skirt up. Ripped her underwear aside. No preamble. No foreplay. Just his cock, thick and hard, pushing into her without warning.
She gasped. Fists clenching the cushions.
"Fuck—"
He pulled out. Thrust back in. Harder.
"You like that?"
"Yes—"
"You like being fucked in a traitor's apartment?"
"Yes—"
"Say my name."
"Fuck—Nikolai—"
He fucked her harder.
Slamming into her. Each stroke brutal. Deliberate. The couch scraped across the floor. The monitors rattled on the desk. The smell of stale smoke and sex filled the room.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You—"
"Say it."
"I'm yours—I'm yours—"
He pulled her up. Hand on her throat. Mouth on her ear.
"You're my perfect match," he said. "You know that?"
She couldn't answer. His hips were relentless. Pleasure building. Vision blurring.
"Come for me."
She did.
A flood. A cry. A shudder that ripped through her whole body.
He followed. Groaned. Held her up when her legs gave out.
They stayed there. Breathing. Sweating. The monitors blinking behind them.
He pulled out slowly. Turned her around. Kissed her. Soft this time.
"We should go," he said.
"Yeah."
She pulled her skirt down. He fixed his pants. They didn't look at each other. Didn't need to.
He grabbed the laptop. She grabbed her bag. They walked out together.
The hallway was empty. The stairwell silent. The city outside humming with the chaos of morning.
He reached for her hand. Laced his fingers through hers.
She looked at him. Smiled.
"You're my perfect match," she said.
They walked down the stairs. Into the light. Into whatever came next.
The black Mercedes was still there. The men were still waiting. Dmitri was still alive.
For now.
Raven climbed into the back seat. Nikolai followed. The car pulled away from the curb. The city swallowed them whole.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. Closed her eyes.
The farm was waiting.
The girls were waiting.
And she was coming.