Day 9
_KIRA_
Thursday, 10:00 AM
The car door slams behind me, and a cool gust of wind sweeps through the villa's courtyard. I toss the key to one of my men.
The sky above is heavy, taut—suspended between two tempests. The kind of weather that heralds a storm… or a confrontation.
I move forward, silent, until my steps stop dead.
Nicke.
He's there, in the pool. Shirtless. His black shorts the only barrier between his skin and the electricity in the air. Water beads down his shoulders, trailing slowly over his abs like a natural provocation. He says nothing. Just looks at me.
Like he's either going to devour me—or chain me.
He climbs out of the water without hurry, grabs a towel he doesn't bother to use, then sits on the lounge chair, leaning forward slightly, elbows on knees. His eyes track me without a word.
"You weren't here last night," he says finally, voice low, tense, sharp as a scalpel.
I stare back, unblinking.
"I spent the night at HQ. The meeting ran late, then my ankle started throbbing again. I went to the hospital for a check-up. Lucas insisted I stay—he said I was walking funny."
He stands abruptly, like a spring released. Slowly, he walks toward me. His eyes drift from my bandaged ankle to my face. He's not just angry.
He's furious.
"Functional," he mutters. "That mudak hurt you, and you disappear without warning." He stops a few inches away. I can feel the damp heat of his skin… and the tension.
It's coiled. Ready to explode.
"I don't need permission," I say, gaze locked on his. "You're not my superior. You're not my keeper."
"No," he breathes. "But you belong to me. Whether you admit it or not."
My stare hardens.
"I'm not some fucking—Pff. I have a mission," I sigh, trying to derail this.
"What mission?" he grits through his teeth.
"Finding the man who attacked me. He resurfaced in the States. EXUS is sending us—we leave the continent tomorrow."
A heavy silence falls.
His fists clench—not impulsively, but with cold precision. Like he's calculating the most impactful moment to strike.
"You're not going alone," he says at last.
"You didn't listen. You're coming too. It's official—EXUS put you on the mission."
He raises an eyebrow, not hiding his suspicion.
"EXUS assigned me? Without my consent?"
"You know how it works. They don't need your consent. We're allies. After Lega Echi, it's obvious."
A cold gleam flashes in his eyes, but he doesn't move. He absorbs it. Calculates. Gauges.
"They're not sending their men… just us?" he asks, weary.
"Probably because we're the same," I answer. "We kill without hesitation." I swallow the more revealing words I almost said.
He steps closer, scrutinizing me like he's searching for flaws in a structure he knows too well.
"And you? You signed me on without flinching?" He tilts his head, arms crossed.
"I knew you'd come either way. Better to have you officially in the plan." I reply. He gives a quick, humorless smile.
"You wanted control. You don't trust me," he cuts. I lose myself in his icy eyes.
"I wanted to stop you from showing up and shooting before I even spoke." I defend.
He nods, almost admiring.
"You finally figured me out, Moya Zlaya," he murmurs, closing the distance.
He reaches out. His fingers slide across my cheek—not gently. It's like a caress, but one that brands, claims.
"If I'm going, it's not for EXUS. It's because that bastard touched you. And I want to be there when he pays." His voice is calm—lethal.
A blade you don't see until it's already buried deep.
"You want him dead?" I ask, trying not to focus on his hand trailing lower.
"No. I want him to bleed. I want you to torture him. I want him to beg. To be your plaything." He says, his eyes far from the conversation.
He leans in, his breath brushing my skin. He's not seducing. He's warning me—of his presence, of his intentions. Intentions I loathe.
And crave.
"I won't watch your every move, Kira. But I won't let anything touch you without consequence. Not here. Not there."
I stay still. Every heartbeat echoes like a muffled alarm in my chest.
"You're possessive," I whisper.
He doesn't respond right away.
"Just methodical. You protect what you control," he murmurs coldly, biting his lip.
I nod, heart racing, balance slipping.
He steps back, grabs his towel, walks away unhurried—as if this entire scene had been just a formality. Just before he reaches the glass doors, he stops.
"Get ready," he says without turning. "Out there… the mission won't be the only dangerous thing."
I press my thighs together, a wave of frustration and desire crashing through me. I bite my lower lip, this time to hold back a scream of rage.
He's a fucking sexy spycopath—and I hate how vulnerable he makes me feel.
"You think I'll let you control me with threats?" I hiss, my voice trembling with boiling fury.
He doesn't turn, but I can almost feel his mocking smile.
"I'm not controlling you, Kira. I'm protecting you—from my so-called rivals."
His voice is cold—but there's a sincerity that cuts deep. I feel trapped between the urge to shove him away… and to surrender to this unbearable tension.
"Protect? You mean possess. That's what you do best."
He says nothing. And that silence slices through me like a blade. I know he's right. I am in danger—but I refuse to give him that power.
"Get ready," he murmurs again. And this time, there's no ambiguity.
I watch him disappear, heart heavy—knowing the mission is just a pretext. What's at stake here isn't just survival.
It's a battle to keep control over myself… even if it means facing the demons he awakens in me.
Thank you for reading