If I fall, I’m handcuffing her with me on the way down.
I’ll start with the secret she’s been trying to hide from the organization.
I might have to take drastic measures for this. All because fucking Sasha decided that she would be at the front line of the action and get herself kidnapped.
“We helped each other down there,” she argues. “She’s not as bad as we originally thought—”
“She wants to get to the top at any cost, and if that means exposing both of us, she’ll do it. Whether now or down the line doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“Shh.” I place a finger on her mouth, and her lips quiver against it. “Unless it’s to promise to never, and I mean never, be a martyr again, don’t speak.”
A moment of silence stretches between us, and I find myself studying her face. The color has returned to her cheeks despite the dried tears staining her face. Short of the bandage wrapped around her arm. She’s fine—physically, at least.
When she whispered that she was sorry during that attack, I thought that was the last time I would see her. I didn’t think about it as I ran in the middle of that rain of bullets just to get to her.
Due to my upbringing, I always had a plan A, B, C, and sometimes D before I took any action. Running toward Sasha was the first time I’ve acted without a plan.
And that’s fucking disturbing, to say the least. I could’ve gotten both of us killed without meaning to.
Sasha slowly removes my finger from her mouth. “I can’t promise that, because our definitions of a martyr are different. If I have to protect you, I won’t hesitate, even if you try to stop me.”
“Sasha—”
“You can’t change that. I’m afraid it’s final.”
This little fucking shit.
She holds my hand in both of hers. “In return, I promise to be more careful. I can’t exactly protect you if I’m dead. We’ll agree to disagree on the execution method.”
“No, we won’t. As I’m your boss, you’re under obligation to follow my orders.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works. Have you seen any of my other men challenging my orders?”
“No, but they’re fake bodyguards sometimes. I can’t believe they don’t intervene whenever Yulia starts being a bitch and tries to slap you.”
“That’s because I ordered them not to. And did you just call my mother a bitch?”
“Well, she is.” She winces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that in front of you. That was completely out of line.”
She sounds sincerely apologetic, and I can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of my lips.
Sasha taps my chest. “See? You also think of her as a bitch.”
“No, I don’t. That woman is everything nefarious and soulless. Calling her a bitch is putting it lightly.”
She inches closer so that her body warmth mixes with mine. “Have you…always had this strained relationship with her?”
“She’s hated me since the beginning. When I was an infant, she refused to take care of me and attempted to kill me a few times. The only reason she didn’t succeed is because she didn’t get the chance. My father shadowed her as if knowing her exact intentions. And I think he did. When he was mad at me once, he told me I should be thankful to him for keeping me alive. Apparently, he locked her away and tied her up during most of her pregnancy with me after she threw herself down the stairs and attempted to stab her belly—and me, in retrospect. After her continued efforts to kill me, even post-birth, my father entrusted me to a nanny and three bodyguards who were ordered not to allow Yulia and her murderous shit near me.”
She shivers, and fresh tears gather in her eyes. Why would she cry for me when I never cried for myself?
“No one should be treated like that by their mother. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I accepted the fact that she has some sort of vendetta against me.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I won’t pretend I know how you felt growing up without the affection of the woman who was supposed to love you unconditionally.”
“Does that mean you had an affectionate mother?”
She hesitates for a beat, then nods. “She was so kind and pure and always busy.”
“Now I know where you get that trait from.”
“I’m not always busy.”
“You definitely are. You’re also a nosy busybody who doesn’t follow orders.”
“I don’t respect irrational authority, okay? It’s what Mama taught me. She had time to tutor me and check on my educational progress while also taking care of the house. I swear she did more in a day than I do in a month. Despite having helpers, she couldn’t stay still.” A nostalgic smile covers her lips. “I used to drive her crazy with my antics. I would return to the main house with a dirty dress, hair, and shoes because I was playing football with my cousins, and she’d be like, ‘Malyshka! What did I say about dirtying your clothes? At this rate, you’ll never be a lady!’ If only she knew how right that statement was.”
Interesting. For many reasons.
One, she chose to talk about a part of her life I’m unfamiliar with without much pushing from me.
Two, not only was she a rich young lady, but apparently, she lived in a big family mansion, because she referred to her home as the main house and they had helpers.
Three, her mother is dead, because she talked about her in the past tense.
Actually, she’s never mentioned any family members until now. Are they in Russia? Why does she never call or visit?
“If you hate being a man, why don’t you return to being a woman?” I ask.
She blinks. “And stay as your guard?”
“That probably won’t be possible, but I will find you another position.”
My woman, for instance.
I pause. What the fuck was that thought all about? Did I just think of Sasha as my woman? Yes. Yes, I fucking did.
Despite all the question marks buried around her like a deadly minefield.
“I can’t,” she lets out with a small sigh. “It’s dangerous to be my original gender because…well, I’d be a target.”
“To whom?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know anymore.”
So that’s the extent of what she’ll reveal.
For now.
One day, I’ll know everything there is to know about her.
I slowly remove my hand from hers and stand up. “If you’re better, go take a shower.”
She’s caught off guard and seems to only now realize that she’s actually entirely naked. Her face turns a deep shade of crimson as she uses the wall to stand up.
“Do you need help?” I ask.
“What? No, no, why would I?”
She remains there, probably waiting for me to leave, and only after I make sure it’s out of embarrassment and not actual weakness, I exit the bathroom.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is on the list of the top five hardest things I’ve ever had to do, right below not fucking her a week ago when she was splayed out naked on my bed.