Now this gnawing sense of panic that I’ve lost him grows stronger every day.
At least Zane came over, and we had a long, painful heart to heart about his bad choices this year. I guess the good thing is that he’s been scared back to sanity. He swears he won’t touch cocaine or gambling ever again.
I hope it’s true.
He also told me Nikolai had stayed by his side the night at the hospital, driving him home at two in the morning. Which means Shanna’s right. Nikolai cares.
Maybe he even loves me.
God, I definitely love him. I don’t know how or why I kept pretending I didn’t. Yes, I have qualms about his profession, but I actually have zero doubts about him, the person. I’ve always been able to trust him to do the right thing. He’s had my back in every situation.
Too bad I didn’t have his.
The fear that I’ve irreparably screwed things up tears me up. I don’t even pretend to believe the tale I kept telling myself that he doesn’t care. That it was just about sex. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have let me go. He wouldn’t have sat with Zane in the hospital. He wouldn’t have killed for me.
I give Story a call from work, pretending it’s about getting the Storytellers booked at the Red Room.
“Chelle, I like you, but I’m not sure I can keep doing business with you now,” she says flat-out.
My heart starts beating faster. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m the type who’s super loyal to her friends, and at the moment, my friend is hurting because of you.”
I grip the edge of my desk for support. “Nikolai?” I croak. I try to find my voice. “He’s hurting?”
“Straight up—you broke his heart. He’s been holed up in his apartment drinking and sleeping for days. We’ve been bringing food down and checking just to make sure he’s alive. We had to call his brother to come back to deal with him. It’s not cool.”
“He hasn’t answered my text,” I tell her miserably. “Should I… do you think I could come down there tonight? Would Maykl let me in?”
Story pauses, then says, “No, Oleg says they have poker night tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
No, not tomorrow. Every minute of the two of us being broken-hearted feels like an epic tragedy. “Where is the game?”
“That’s probably not a good idea,” Story says.
“Please. My heart is broken, too, Story. I need to work things out with him. I can’t wait another day. Please?”
There’s another pause, and then Story says, “Oleg says you’d have to come before it starts. Like eight or eight-thirty.”
“No problem. I’ll be there. Where should I go?”
“He’s going to text you the information when he gets it.”
“Thank you. So much.” I fight back tears because I hear Janette talking outside my new office. Losing it at work would be a bad thing.
It seems fitting that I’m going to the place where I first met Nikolai to start over.
At least I hope it’s a do-over and not a done.
Nikolai
I feel like shit. Even though I showered, shaved and ate, my head aches, and my body feels like it’s made of lead.
Adrian, Dima and Oleg set up for poker night at the hotel I picked last-minute while I stand at the window and look out.
I’m awash in desolation. This isn’t the life I want to lead. This sense of emptiness. Purposelessness.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
A knock sounds at the door, and for some reason, none of the other assholes move to answer it. “Who the fuck is it?” I demand, looking pointedly at Oleg.
He opens the door a crack and looks out, then looks at me and tips his head toward the door.
“Who?” I demand.
When he stares back at me without answering, I suddenly know.
My body lights on fire. I don’t know if it’s with anger or purpose. I stride to the door and yank it open.
Chelle looks kissable.
Fuckable.
Too damned cute.
I hate that I love her so much.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
She pales, her big golden eyes trained on my face, her freckles standing out. “I, um, came to play poker with you.”
I shake my head. “Go home.” I start to go back inside, but she catches my hand and tugs me out into the hallway. The same place we began this whole thing.
“I was going to wager my body,” she says quickly, like she’s trying to get it out. She unbuttons her coat to show me her tits pushed up in a sexy little black bustier.
I’m shaking my head. We’re not doing this again. No way.
“Because I already lost my heart,” she blurts.
I go perfectly still. Swallow.
Then I lose my mind. I barrel into her and shove her up against the wall, claiming her mouth with a searing kiss.
I grab her ass and hoist her up, and she wraps her arms and legs around me, kissing me back.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers between kisses. “I’m sorry I left.”
“I love you, Chelle,” I tell her, even though it feels like jumping out of a plane with no chute. “I missed you so goddamn much.” I grind the bulge of my erection in the notch between her legs as I kiss her neck, her jaw, her forehead. “But I don’t want you back unless you’re staying,” I rasp.
She stares at me in shock. It’s too much to ask, I know that. My girl thinks way too much about things, and she’s already not sure about me and the bratva.
She sucks in a breath. “I want to,” she whispers.
It’s enough.
“I love you, Nikolai.” There’s more conviction in those words, and the grace of them bathes my body in comfort. In surrender.
That’s more than enough. It’s all we need. We love each other. The rest we can figure shit out.
“Come home with me,” I murmur, and she nods. “Now?” she nods again.
I look at the door to the hotel suite.
Fuck them. They can handle the games.
I have my girl.
I carry Chelle into the elevator and hit the down button. She’s mine now. No matter what, she’s mine.
I won’t let her go a second time.
23
Chelle
* * *
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Nikolai murmurs. I’m wrapped in his arms in the elevator on the way up to his apartment.
“You didn’t scare me,” I say. “I scared myself. The situation scared me.” The image of the dead bodies flickers in my mind, and I realize what tripped me into my freak-out. “I found my dad after he shot himself.”
“Oh, Chelle.” Nikolai cups half my face, while the other cheek remains pressed firmly against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“I honestly think I’d blocked the image of it out until this moment. But the feeling was the same. The sickness and fear.”
“I’m sorry, zayka.” The elevator opens, and we step out. I look up at him. “You’ve seen a lot of death.”
He nods.
“That scared me, too.”
“I know. I…” He hesitates with his keycard against the lock. “My place is trashed. You should probably wait out here while I clean up quickly.”