Page 52 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
Sasha’s hand lands on my back, and he strokes a hand over my hair. In his arms, I feel safe, even from my own despair. I missed him. Fisting handfuls of his shirt, I bury my face into the base of his throat. He always smells so clean like pine trees and mint.
“Adelina.” He presses a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head back. Those eyes that I once found so unsettling search mine. “It’s just a dream.”
“I know.” I sniff.
Warmth unfurls in my chest, and I hadn’t realized how lost I felt without him. It’s stupid. As though he instinctively knows what I need, he takes a seat on the bed and props his back to the headboard. He’s fully clothed, over the covers, but he’s here. I rest my cheek against his chest, and he wraps his arm around me.
“Enrique shot Gabi in my dream,” I mumble.
He inhales deeply, and I rise and fall with the action. “That will not happen.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, I can’t.”
I’m glad he doesn’t lie to me. I’ve had enough of lies. “You didn’t tell me you killed Alberto.”
He’s silent, his chest hitching for the tiniest of beats.
“Gabi told me.”
“It was supposed to be Enrique. I made a mistake.” His heart beats hard and strong beneath my ear, but I hear the tiny skip.
I grip his shirt again, and I can sense his disappointment with himself.
“It will not happen again.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I don’t.”
I sit up and face him. The dim light from the bedside lamp gives his pale skin an ashen tone.
“You’re human, Sasha.” His jaw tics, and I get the impression that he’s offended by the notion. “You’re human,” I repeat, reaching out and touching his face. My fingertips trail over the stubble on his jaw, committing every hard line to memory. A calloused palm slides over the back of my hand and traps it against his face.
“I cannot afford mistakes with you, malyshka.” With his free hand, he gently swipes a thumb beneath the dressing on my shoulder. “I failed to kill Enrique, and the death of his brother has made him retreat from my grasp. While he lives, he hunts you. I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. This was all set in motion a long time ago.”
His brows tug together. “Your father bartered you like a disposable trinket.”
A spike of pain lances through my chest at the blunt truth in his words, but I can’t argue with the truth. Whether he intended to go through with it or not, Daddy made the agreement. I would never sell my child like that. Not for the first time, I question everything I ever knew about my father.
Sasha lifts his hand, swiping his thumb over the skin just below my dressing. “You are not disposable, malyshka,” he says, closing his eyes as though he’s just made a heinous confession.
I’m not sure whether it’s to himself or me.
Una’s words ring through my head. Bianchi wants you alive, but my brother is entirely disposable.
“We can’t keep doing this Sasha.”
His thumb stills on my shoulder, and I pull his face toward me. “You can’t stand between the Elite and me.”
“You’re wrong. That is exactly where I will stand.”
Frustrated tears prick my eyes, and tilt my head back, trying to fight them off. “You aren’t disposable, either.”
“I’m a soldier.”
“Not to me!” My voice comes out far more harshly than I intended. “You’re not just a soldier to me,” I whisper. “If you die…” I suck in a sharp breath. We were thrown together. I hated him, and now…now I can’t imagine not having him.
“I will not argue with you again—”
I grab his face in both hands and slam my lips over his. For a moment, we both freeze. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I need him to understand, to break out of that rigid mold and just…feel. I want him to feel what I do right now; that we are inexplicably bound somehow.
Slowly, he comes to life. His hands land on my waist, and I expect him to push me away, but instead, he pulls me closer. I fall forward and my body plasters to his.
For a moment we’re just two lonely people who need each other. Sasha is an island, living in eternal solitude. I’m lost, cast adrift in a stormy sea. In this moment he’s my haven, my refuge. He allows me in, cocoons me, saving us both.
Heat blossoms in my chest, and my stomach knots. I can’t get close enough to him. He’s tentative and careful until suddenly, he’s not. Fingers thread through my hair, and he wrenches my head back, demanding access, taking. My breath hitches, and the taste of him invades my mouth. His other hand grips my hip so hard, I can already feel bruises forming. I’m burning, and he just keeps stoking the flames, higher, higher… My legs part and my hips roll.
