Page 39 of Vicious Betrayal

"I know the difference."

She sits back and looks at me for a long moment. "The point of this assignment was never to develop genuine feelings. If those feelings compromise your judgment about what to give us and what to protect⁠—"

"My judgment isn't compromised."

"Oksana." Her voice isn't unkind, exactly, but it is sharp. "I've done this a long time. You're thinking about protecting him. I can tell. You don't want to talk to me about this."

"I don't want to betray anyone," I say flatly. "I don't want to do any of this. But I don't have a choice."

Even as I say it, though, I'm thinking about his hands on me and the scent of his sweatshirt that I still haven't given back, the sound of rain on the glass as he talked about Ireland and asked me what I wanted, the first person to ever do so. I think about how it felt to realize he's the only person who's ever given me their undivided attention because just having me there was enough to occupy it. How comfortable I felt with him. How safe he makes me feel, even though he's a dangerous, dangerous man.

I swallow hard. "My family's safety depends on the outcome of this assignment. My judgment is fine."

She doesn't push it further, but the look on her face doesn't change. And as I'm leaving afterward, I know she's right. But it doesn't change anything. I can't help how he makes me feel, and that I can't resist it. I've learned how quickly comfort and any happiness that a person makes out of their life can be snatched away, how quickly things can change because of something entirely out of your control.

I can't help how he makes me feel, but I'm going to betray him anyway. It makes me feel sick, like the worst kind of traitor, and I don't know what to do. No matter how this ends, I'm going to hate myself.

I'm going to lose something, no matter what. But I have to choose my family. I have to choose my blood over a man I barely know, even if he makes me feel more valued than anyone else ever has.

Right?

11

OKSANA

His way of making it up to me is with a motorcycle ride. I meet him at his house, and he's already in his leather jacket, holding his helmet in one hand when he greets me. He told me to wear jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a jacket, and I suspected this might be what he had planned. Hoped for it, even, because I love being on the back of the bike with him.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to ride one again after this. I feel like it'll always remind me of him, of the scent of his skin and cologne mingling with the sharp chill of the wind, the Chicago lights blurring around us.

"You good with this for a night out?" he asks, and I nod enthusiastically.

"I couldn't think of anything better."

The look on his face when I say that, like he doesn't know how he found someone like me or why I'm with him when I could be anywhere else, makes my chest clench tightly. "You're just saying that," he says gruffly, and I shake my head.

"No, I really mean it. I love being on the bike with you. Don't tell me where we're going; I want to be surprised."

Cormac pulls me in, his arm around my waist, and kisses me roughly. "You're not real," he murmurs against my mouth. "You're going to vanish one of these days, and I'm going to wake up and realize it was all a dream."

I bite his lower lip lightly. "If it is, then it's a good one," I murmur. I try not to think about how, at the end of all of this, I'm going to turn it into a nightmare.

He takes me out to the bike and helps me with the strap of my helmet. I get on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and it feels like we're suddenly in our own private world as he revs the engine. Nothing can touch me here, with him. Not my father's potential expectations or my family's troubles or the FBI's demands. This is just us, my arms locked around him and the piney scent of him filling my senses, the warmth of his body sinking into mine even as the cold of the wind picks up around us.

We ride all the way out to the waterfront. It's a beautiful, clear night, the moon reflecting off of the still water. Cormac parks the bike and helps me down, and then slides his fingers between mine as we walk out to the edge.

This is exactly the kind of thing I was thinking at the meeting with Reyes that we shouldn't have. The way I feel with him on the bike is dangerous. This is dangerous. This isn't just sex; this isn't the kind of thing you do with someone you're just fucking. This is the kind of thing that could compromise me, if I'm not already. The kind of thing that will make me choose in the end between a man I care for more than I should, and the family that I owe everything I have to.

"You look like you're thinking about something," he murmurs, and I quickly shove those thoughts away before he can, by some chance, read them on my face.

"Just that I like this." I gesture out at the water. "You're better at spontaneity than I expected."

Cormac shrugs. "I used to be better at it than I've been."

"What changed?"

He looks at the water. "Routine, I guess. You get into a rut, and that starts to feel like all there is. It's honestly been a long time since I've even had anyone to think about wanting to be spontaneous with, even just casually. I've been focused on work for a long time. I think after a while it just starts to take over." He glances at me. "Then something unexpected happens."

My heart skips in my chest. His fingers lace with mine as we look up at the moon, and I can't help but think about how this man has pushed himself out of his comfort zone because he wants me. More than that, he wants to make me happy, clearly… to go above and beyond for me, because we're already fucking. He doesn't have to take me on a moonlit walk to get me in bed, and he knows it. But he's doing it anyway.