Page 62 of Reaper's Desire

Someone could have seen us on that balcony. Someone could already have what they need to make this worse than it already is.

I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes, trying to think through the exhaustion and the fear and the rage that's threatening to consume me. I need to pull back. I need to make it clear that she's nothing to me, that I'm protecting her for reasons that have nothing to do with caring, and that when this is over, I'll walk away without looking back.

It's the only way to keep her safe.

I go lie down on the couch in the living room, staring at the water-stained ceiling, listening to Isabelle breathe in the next room. I can hear every shift of the mattress, every soft sigh, every movement she makes. My body aches with exhaustion and want, the two sensations so tangled together I can't separate them anymore.

I remember how she felt on that balcony. The heat of her mouth, the softness of her skin, the way she gasped when I touched her breast. I remember the weight of her in my arms, the way her legs wrapped around my waist, the desperate need in her voice when she begged me not to stop. We were so close. So fucking close to crossing that line again, to giving in to what we both wanted.

I've been fighting the desire, the connection between us. But now I can't fight it anymore. Now I have to bury it completely, kill it before it kills her.

Katya died because she once meant something to me. Because three years ago, I spent a few weeks in her bed and she made me laugh. It wasn't love—not even close. Just a brief moment of human connection in a life that's defined by isolation and violence.

And they tortured her for hours before cutting her throat. What will they do to Isabelle? The woman I can't stop thinking about. The woman I've killed for. The woman who looks at me like I'm someone worth knowing, someone worth saving, someone who could be more than just a weapon.

They'll destroy her, and it'll be with a creative brutality that makes the video of Katya look merciful by comparison.

And they'll make me watch.

I close my eyes and try to breathe through the fear, but it's everywhere now. In my chest, in my throat, in my fucking soul.What they'll do to Isabelle if I'm not careful—I can't let that happen. It's the only way to keep her alive.

The bedroom door opens.

I sit up immediately, my hand moving to the gun on the coffee table before I register that it's just Isabelle. She's wearing a long, soft-looking sleep T-shirt again, the fabric hanging loose on her frame. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and her feet are bare. She looks so fucking beautiful, it makes my chest ache.

"Can't sleep?"

"No." She moves into the living room, her arms wrapped around herself like she's cold, despite the fact that it's very warm in this apartment. "You?"

"I don't sleep much."

"I've noticed." She sits down on the other end of the couch, tucking her legs beneath her, and I can see the exhaustion in her face. "Julian, about what happened on the balcony?—"

I cut her off immediately. "Don't."

Her mouth purses. I can see her gearing up for a fight. "Don't what?"

"Don't bring it up. Don't try to continue it. Don't—" I stop myself, jaw clenching so hard my teeth ache. "It was a mistake."

She stares at me, and I can see the hurt flickering across her face. "A mistake."

"Yes."

"That's not what it felt like." She presses her lips inward, tightly against her teeth. "When you were begging me toearn your cockwith your fingers in me, it didn't feel like?—"

Fuck. This has to stop now. "It doesn't matter what it felt like." I stand up, needing distance, needing to not be this close to her. "It can't happen, Isabelle. I've told you that."

"You've told me a lot of things." She stands too, moving closer, and I can see the frustration building in her eyes.The hurt turned to anger. "But your body tells me something different. The way you look at me tells me something different. What we had on that balcony—that was real. That was?—"

"It was nothing." The words come out as harsh and brutal as I can possibly make them. "It was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again."

"Why?" Her voice rises, frustration and hurt bleeding through the anger. "Why do you keep pushing me away? I know you want me. I know you feel this, too. So why?—"

"Because you're just a spoiled, selfish girl who can't hear the wordno!" I snap, finding the one thing that I know will hurt enough to make her stop. "You want something, and you've always gotten it. Well you had me, Isabelle, and that was enough. I don't do more than one night, and you got two. Be happy with that, and stop being such a fucking brat!"

Her eyes go wide, and I see so much raw, aching hurt in them that I know in that instant that I've made myself into a monster to her anyway, even though I haven't fucked her again. She looks as if I've ripped her heart out, tears welling up in her eyes as her face flushes red, and I remember what she said to me on the balcony.

You see me.