Chapter 5: Kneeling in the Penthouse Foyer
The door clicked shut behind them.
The penthouse swallowed the sound whole. Marble floors stretched in every direction, veined with silver and black, polished to a mirror shine that caught the neon bleeding through the windows. The city sprawled beyond the glass—a constellation of lights and shadows, indifferent and eternal.
Raven didn't stop walking. Her heels clicked against the stone, sharp and deliberate, each step echoing through the cavernous foyer like a countdown.
Nikolai hung his jacket on the hook by the door. Slow. Measured. His eyes never left her.
She reached the center of the room. Stopped. Turned.
The dress she'd worn to Dmitri's—black lace, barely there—clung to her skin like a second layer of shadow. Her hair was still damp from the shower at the safe house. The tattoos on her ribs shifted as she breathed, snakes and roses moving like they were alive.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Neither spoke.
Then she moved.
Three strides. Four. Her hands found the collar of his shirt and yanked him down. Hard. His mouth crashed into hers. Teeth. Tongue. The taste of whiskey and adrenaline and something darker underneath.
He groaned into her. Hands finding her hips. Pulling her close. She bit his lower lip. Drew blood. He didn't flinch.
She broke the kiss.
Her chest heaved. Her eyes were wild. The blue had gone almost black.
She didn't say a word.
She just sank to her knees.
The marble was cold against her bare skin. She didn't care. Her fingers found his belt. Undid it. Unzipped him. Pulled his cock out with both hands.
He was already hard. Thick. Heavy in her palms. She looked up at him—those blue eyes, so he could watch exactly what she was doing—and then she took him in her mouth.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Her tongue flat along the underside. Tracing the vein that ran from base to tip. Lips sealed tight on the upstroke. One hand working his shaft. The other cupping his balls.
He hissed through his teeth. Fingers tangling in her hair. Not pushing. Just holding.
She moaned around him. The vibration traveled up his spine. His hips jerked forward. She took him deeper. Until he hit the back of her throat. Until she gagged. Until tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
She didn't stop.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Raven—"
She pulled back. Licked the tip. Tasted the salt of him. Then took him again. Deeper this time. Her throat working around him. Her hand pumping in rhythm with her mouth.
He cursed in Russian. Low and guttural. Words she didn't understand but felt in her bones.
His hips moved. Involuntary. Desperate. She let him. Let him fuck her mouth. Let him use her. Her nails dug into his thighs. Her moans vibrated around his cock.
"Fuck—I'm going to—"
She didn't pull away.
She wanted it.
He came with a groan that sounded like her name. Hot and thick down her throat. She swallowed every drop. Licked him clean. Then sat back on her heels.
He was breathing hard. Chest heaving. Eyes closed.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Stood up on shaky legs.
"You're my perfect match," she said.
His eyes opened. Found hers.
"I guess it's why I went all crazy the first night you met me."
She walked past him. Toward the hallway. Toward the shower. Her fingers found the zipper of her dress. Pulled it down. The black lace slid off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.
The phoenix on her shoulder blades caught the light. Wings spread. Rising from flames.
She didn't look back.
---
The shower was glass and steam and scalding water.
She stood under the spray. Eyes closed. Head tilted back. Let the heat wash away Kiev. Dmitri's face. The blood on the marble. The taste of Nikolai still on her tongue.
The glass door opened behind her.
She didn't turn.
His hands found her waist. Pulled her back against his chest. His cock, half-hard again, pressed against her ass.
"You didn't think I was done with you," he said.
She smiled. Water streaming down her face.
"I hoped you weren't."
He spun her around. Pressed her against the tile. Mouth on her neck. Teeth on her collarbone. Hands everywhere—her breasts, her hips, the inside of her thighs.
She gasped. Fingers gripping his shoulders.
He lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock slid inside her. One stroke. Deep. She cried out. The sound swallowed by steam and water and the roar of the shower.
He fucked her against the wall.
Hard. Fast. No preamble. No gentleness. Just raw, desperate need.
Her back scraped against tile. Her nails raked down his back. Drawing blood. He groaned. Bit her shoulder. Sucked hard enough to bruise.
"Harder," she said.
He gave her harder.
The water pounded down on them. Steam filled the enclosure. She couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just feel. Just him. Just the stretch and fill and the way he hit something deep inside her that made her vision white.
"I'm close," she gasped.
"Come for me."
"I—"
"Now."
She did.
Body clenching. A scream ripped from her throat. Pleasure crashing through her like a wave.
He followed.
Pulsing inside her. Groaning her name. Holding her so tight she thought her ribs might crack.
They stayed there. Panting. Trembling. The water turning cold.
He pulled out slowly. Set her down. She leaned against the wall. Legs shaking.
He kissed her forehead.
"Bedroom," he said.
"What?"
"Bedroom. Now."
---
The sheets were black silk. Cool against her overheated skin.
She lay on her stomach. Face turned to the side. Watching him through half-lidded eyes.
He stood at the foot of the bed. Naked. Still wet from the shower. Water dripping down his chest. His cock already hard again.
"You're insatiable," she said.
"So are you."
He climbed onto the bed. Knees straddling her thighs. Hands on her ass. Kneading. Spreading her.
She felt exposed. Vulnerable. She didn't care.
He leaned down. Kissed the small of her back. The dimples above her ass. The tattoos on her spine. Then lower. His tongue found her cunt. Licked a slow stripe from clit to asshole.
She moaned. Fists clenching the sheets.
He did it again. Slower this time. Then again. His tongue circling her clit. His fingers spreading her open. His mouth everywhere.
"Fuck—Nikolai—"
He didn't stop.
He ate her out like she was the last meal he'd ever have. Tongue flat against her clit. Then circling. Then sucking. His fingers slid inside her. Two. Then three. Curling upward. Finding that spot that made her see stars.
She came on his face. Shuddering. Crying out. Soaking the sheets.
He didn't give her time to recover.
He flipped her over. Pulled her to the edge of the bed. Stood between her legs. His cock, thick and leaking, pressed against her entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
She did.
He pushed inside.
Slow. Deep. Eyes locked on hers. He didn't move. Just stayed there. Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"You."
"Be specific."
She swallowed. "I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want you to use me. I want to feel it tomorrow."
He smiled. Dark. Predatory.
"Good girl."
He pulled out. Thrust back in. Hard. She gasped. He did it again. And again. Each stroke brutal. Deliberate. The bed frame slammed against the wall. The headboard rattled. She grabbed his wrists. Held on.
"You're mine," he said. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Say it again."
"I'm yours—I'm yours—"
He fucked her harder.
She wrapped her legs around his waist. Pulled him deeper. Her nails raked down his chest. Drew blood. He groaned. Bit her neck. Left marks.
"I'm going to come," she said.
"Not yet."
"I can't—"
"You can. Wait."
He slowed. Long, deep strokes. Torture. She whimpered. Begged. He ignored her.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come—"
"Not yet."
He pulled out. Flipped her over. Pulled her onto her hands and knees. Entered her from behind.
She screamed.
He fucked her like an animal. Hips slamming against her ass. One hand in her hair. The other gripping her hip. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Wet. Loud. Obscene.
"Now," he said. "Come now."
She did.
A wave. A flood. A scream so loud her throat hurt. Body clenching around him. Shaking. Collapsing.
He followed.
Pulsing. Groaning. Collapsing on top of her.
They lay there. Tangled. Sweating. Breathing hard.
He rolled off her. Pulled her close. Kissed her shoulder.
"We need to talk about the farm," he said.
She laughed. Hoarse. Exhausted.
"Now?"
"Now."
She turned her head. Looked at him.
"You're serious."
"I'm always serious."
She sighed. Rolled onto her back. Stared at the ceiling.
"There's a girl," she said. "Her name is Sophie. She's still there. Still on the farm."
"How long?"
"Ten years. Since she was twelve."
Nikolai was quiet. Then: "She's alive?"
"I don't know. I haven't been able to reach her. She's not on the network. She's not anywhere."
"You think your father—"
"I think he's keeping her close. She was always his favorite."
"Why?"
"Because she never fought back. Because she did everything he said. Because she's broken in a way the rest of us never were."
She turned to look at him.
"I'm going to get her out."
"Okay."
"Just okay?"
He reached for her hand. Laced his fingers through hers.
"Okay," he said. "We'll get her out."
She stared at him. Something cracking open in her chest.
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing this?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at her. Those blue eyes. Unreadable.
"Because you're mine," he said. "And everything that's yours is mine. Including your ghosts."
She didn't know what to say. So she kissed him.
Soft. Slow. Different from before.
When she pulled back, he was smiling.
"Get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow we start planning."
She nodded. Closed her eyes.
Sleep came fast.
And in her dreams, she was running through cornfields. Fire on the horizon. Sophie's hand in hers. Running toward something instead of away.
---
The morning came hard.
Raven woke to sunlight slicing through the curtains and the smell of coffee. She was alone in bed. The sheets were cold.
She sat up. Looked around. The bedroom was immaculate—no trace of the night before except the marks on her body. Bruises on her hips. Scratches on her thighs. The faint ache between her legs.
She smiled.
Found his shirt on the floor. Pulled it on. Followed the scent of coffee.
He was in the kitchen. Shirtless. Sweatpants low on his hips. Pouring coffee into two mugs.
He looked up when she walked in.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He handed her a mug. She took it. Drank deep. The heat burned her tongue. She didn't care.
"Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in years."
He nodded. Leaned against the counter. Crossed his arms.
"The network," he said. "We need to activate them. All of them. Dmitri was just the beginning."
"I know."
"Who's next?"
She thought about it. Drank more coffee.
"Mara," she said. "Chicago. She's the one who can make people disappear. If we're going to move against my father, we need that."
"Okay."
"And the forger. Cade. We'll need documents. New identities. For Sophie. For anyone else we pull out."
He nodded.
"What about the girls in Seattle? Miami? New Orleans?"
"They're soldiers. When we're ready to move, we call them in."
He watched her. That unreadable look again.
"You've thought about this."
"I've been thinking about this for ten years."
He set his mug down. Walked toward her. Cupped her face in his hands.
"We're going to do this," he said. "You and me. Together."
"Together."
He kissed her.
When he pulled back, she was smiling.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing. Just—" She shook her head. "I never thought I'd have this."
"Have what?"
"Someone who sees me. All of me. The ugly parts. The broken parts. And doesn't run."
He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She believed him.
---
They spent the day planning.
The tablet was back. Maps. Names. Connections. Mara in Chicago. Cade in Tulsa. The arms dealer—Marcus—still stalling on his debt. The girls in their far-flung cities.
"We need to move on Mara first," Raven said. "She's the linchpin. Without her, we can't disappear anyone. Including ourselves."
"Agreed."
"She's careful. Paranoid. She doesn't trust easily."
"Neither do you."
"I trust you."
He looked at her. Something soft in his eyes.
"Then we go to Chicago," he said. "We meet Mara. We bring her in."
"And if she says no?"
"She won't."
"How do you know?"
He smiled.
"Because you're going to convince her."
---
The jet was fueled and waiting.
Raven stood by the window. Looking out at the city. The sun was setting. The sky was bleeding. Red and orange and gold.
She thought about Sophie. About cornfields. About fire.
Soon.
She felt him behind her. His arms wrapping around her waist. His chin resting on her shoulder.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No."
"Scared?"
"Terrified."
He kissed her neck.
"Good. That means you're smart."
She turned in his arms. Looked at him. Really looked.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For not trying to save me. For letting me save myself."
He stared at her.
"I'm not a hero," he said.
"I know."
"I'm not good."
"I know."
"I've done terrible things."
"So have I."
He kissed her. Hard. Fast. The way you kiss someone when you don't have words.
When he pulled back, she was smiling.
"Let's go," she said. "Chicago's waiting."
They walked out together.
The door closed behind them.
The city swallowed them whole.
And somewhere in the Ozarks, a monster was still breathing.
But not for long.
Chicago sprawled beneath them like a wound that wouldn't heal.
The jet cut through cloud cover, engines humming a low, steady dirge. Raven sat in the leather seat, knees pulled to her chest, watching the city emerge through the window. Grids of light. Webs of streets. Millions of people living millions of lives, none of them knowing what was coming.
Nikolai sat across from her, tablet in hand, scrolling through something she couldn't see. His jaw was tight. His coffee had gone cold two hours ago.
She thought about Sophie.
Twelve years old. Braids. The way she used to sing under her breath when she thought no one was listening. The night she'd stopped singing, Raven had known something had broken inside her. Something no amount of running could fix.
The plane banked. Raven's stomach lurched.
"You okay?" Nikolai asked.
"Fine."
"You're lying."
"Obviously."
He set the tablet down. Leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. That look—the one that saw through skin and bone and every lie she'd ever told.
"Talk to me."
She didn't want to. She wanted to sit in the silence and let the dread eat her alive. But he was patient. He always was.
"I keep thinking about the last time I saw her," Raven said. "Sophie. She was standing in the doorway of the barn. It was raining. She had this look on her face—like she knew I was leaving and she wasn't going to stop me."
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen."
"And her?"
"Twelve."
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Immovable.
"I told her I'd come back," Raven said. "I promised."
"You were a kid yourself."
"That doesn't matter. I made a promise."
Nikolai was quiet. Then: "You're keeping it now."
She laughed. Hollow. Bitter.
"Ten years late."
"Better late than dead."
She looked at him. The hard lines of his face. The blue eyes that never wavered.
"You're too practical," she said.
"Someone has to be."
She unfolded her legs. Stood. Paced the narrow aisle. Her reflection in the window—dark hair, sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes—looked like a stranger.
"I don't know what I'll find when I go back," she said. "I don't know if Sophie's even alive. I don't know if she'll want to see me. I don't know anything."
"You know you have to try."
"That's not enough."
"It's all you have."
She stopped pacing. Turned to face him.
"Tell me something," she said.
"What?"
"Something true. Something you've never told anyone."
He stared at her. Long. Hard.
"I killed my father when I was sixteen."
The words landed like stones in still water.
"Why?"
"He was going to sell my brother. Damien. To a man in Moscow. A man who liked boys."
Raven didn't move.
"I found out three days before it was supposed to happen," Nikolai said. "I waited until he was drunk. Walked into his study. Put a bullet in the back of his skull."
"Did you feel anything?"
"Relief."
She walked toward him. Stopped in front of his seat.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For telling me."
He reached for her hand. Pulled her down. Onto his lap. She straddled him. His hands found her hips. Her arms wrapped around his neck.
"You're not alone," he said. "You never were."
She kissed him.
Soft. Slow. The kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't.
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"I want you," he said.
"Here?"
"Here."
She didn't argue.
She undid his belt. Pulled his cock out. Already hard. Thick. She stroked him once. Twice. Watched his eyes darken.
Then she stood. Pulled her shirt over her head. Unbuttoned her jeans. Pushed them down. Stepped out of them.
No underwear.
His hands found her ass. Pulled her back onto his lap. His cock pressed against her stomach. Hot. Heavy.
"Ride me," he said.
She did.
Sank down onto him. One stroke. Deep. Both of them groaned.
She started slow. Hands on his shoulders. Hips rolling. His cock filling her. Stretching her. The angle hitting something that made her breath catch.
"Fuck," she whispered.
He grabbed her hips. Guided her. Faster. Harder. The leather seat creaked beneath them. The engines hummed. The city grew closer.
"You feel so fucking good," he said.
"So do you—"
He pulled her closer. Mouth on her neck. Teeth on her pulse. She rode him harder. Desperate. The pleasure building. Coiling. Tight.
"I'm close," she said.
"Don't stop."
"I can't—"
"Don't fucking stop."
She didn't.
She came with a shudder. A gasp. Body clenching around him. He followed. Groaned into her shoulder. Held her so tight she couldn't breathe.
They stayed there. Tangled. Breathing hard.
When she finally pulled back, she looked at him.
"That was—"
"Yeah," he said.
She laughed. Real this time.
She climbed off him. Grabbed her jeans. Started dressing.
"We should clean up," she said. "We'll be landing soon."
He nodded. Stood. Tucked himself back in. Walked toward the bathroom.
She watched him go.
Then she sat down. Looked out the window.
Chicago was close now. The lights brighter. The shadows deeper.
She thought about Mara. About the hospital system. About the records that could make a person disappear.
She thought about Sophie.
And she made a promise to herself.
Not this time. This time, she wouldn't leave anyone behind.
---
The bathroom was cramped. Chrome and white tile. A mirror that showed her everything she didn't want to see.
She splashed water on her face. Ran wet fingers through her hair. Looked at herself.
The scars on her ribs. The tattoos that told stories she never spoke aloud. The eyes that had seen too much and stopped caring.
She heard the door open behind her.
Nikolai stepped in. Shirtless. Damp from his own cleanup. He stood behind her. Met her eyes in the mirror.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Liar."
"Honest."
She turned around. Leaned against the sink.
"You say things like that," she said. "Things that sound like they should be true. But they're not. Not for me."
"Why not?"
"Because I know what I am."
"And what's that?"
She looked at him. The words stuck in her throat.
"A weapon," she said. "Something sharp. Something dangerous. Something you point at your enemies."
He stepped closer. Cupped her face in his hands.
"You're not a weapon," he said. "You're a woman. A woman who's been hurt. A woman who's survived. A woman who's about to burn down the world to save someone she loves."
She closed her eyes.
"I don't know how to be anything else."
"Then learn."
She opened her eyes. Looked at him.
"You're the first man," she said.
"What?"
"The first man to give me an orgasm. In any capacity."
He stared at her.
"Not with the mouth. Not with the hands. Not with anything."
"Raven—"
"I've faked it my whole life. Every time. Every man. I didn't know it could be real. I didn't know it could feel like that."
He didn't speak. Just looked at her.
"The first night I met you," she said. "When you touched me. When you fucked me. I came. I actually came. And I didn't know what to do with it."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it scared me."
"What scared you?"
"That you could do that. That you could make me feel something I'd never felt before. That you could—"
She stopped. Swallowed.
"That you could make me feel at all."
He pulled her close. Held her. Didn't say anything.
She pressed her face into his chest. Breathed him in. Whiskey and soap and something darker underneath.
"I love you," she whispered.
The words hung in the air. Fragile. Dangerous. True.
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"I know," he said.
She laughed. Wet. Broken.
"That's all you're going to say?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Something. Anything. Tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me this isn't just—"
"It's not just anything."
She stopped. Looked at him.
"I love you too," he said. "I've loved you since the moment you told me to fuck off. Since the moment you held a gun to my head and didn't pull the trigger. Since the moment you walked into my life and burned it all down."
She stared at him.
"You never said—"
"I never say anything. You know that."
She kissed him.
Hard. Fast. The kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't.
When she pulled back, he was smiling.
"Chicago," he said.
"Chicago," she echoed.
They walked out of the bathroom together.
The plane began its descent.
And somewhere in the city below, a woman named Mara was about to meet her future.
Whether she wanted to or not.