Drew
Russia smelled like snow, smoke, and danger—three things that never left you alone if you weren't careful. I stepped off the private jet, the chill cold biting through my coat, and immediately my mind went back to her.
Zoey.
I hadn't left her side for more than a few hours in days, but here I was, thousands of miles away, dealing with men who didn't understand the word loyalty, only power.
And yet, every decision I made, every step I took, was for her.
I thought about the way she'd looked at me last night—eyes wide, uncertain, trying to read me. I'd told her she was safe, but safe was a word I didn't fully understand anymore.
Not in my world.
Safe was temporary. Safe was fragile. Safe was non existent . And with the enemies circling on every side, safe was a luxury I wasn't sure I could afford.
I pulled my coat tighter and walked through the airport terminal, blending in with the crowd. My men would handle the introductions; I had bigger things to worry about.
I called it a "business trip," but it was more than that. Russia had always been a powder keg, and now, my other cartel was teetering on the edge of chaos.
Betrayal, greed, violence—it was all there, just waiting for the right spark. And if I wasn't careful, that spark would engulf everything, including her.
I couldn't let that happen.
I found a quiet corner and dialed my phone. It rang twice before Ethan picked up.
"Status?" I demanded, my voice low, cutting through the static.
"All quiet… so far," he said. But I knew his tone didn't match the words. Men like him always knew more than they let on.
"Zoey?" My fingers
around the phone. "She's fine?"
"She's fine. Discreet eyes, as you asked. No one suspects a thing." Ethan spoke over the phone
"Good. No mistakes, Ethan. Not this time. If anyone—anyone—gets close to her… you know what to do."
"Yes, boss." he said
I ended the call and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. My chest tightened. I hadn't felt this… exposed in a long time. Zoey had a way of finding the cracks in me, the places I kept hidden from everyone else. And now, I was somewhere I couldn't just sweep her from danger with a snap of my fingers.
A knock at the hotel door pulled me from my thoughts. I motioned for it to be opened. Two men, Russian, professional, exuding a quiet menace, stepped in.
"Drew," one said. "We have a problem."
I could feel the storm building already. Trouble had a way of finding me, no matter where I went. And now, more than ever, I wished I could be back home, watching over her.
But I couldn't.
And that was the problem.
I walked to the window and stared out at the city. Snow fell in thick sheets, hiding the streets, blurring the danger, and yet it didn't hide anything from me. My mind raced, calculating, planning. I would fix this, I always did.
But I couldn't shake the thought of her lying alone, unaware of how close the world had gotten to tearing her apart.
I gritted my teeth. Whatever happened here, whatever men I had to silence, whatever fire I had to walk through—I would survive.
Because she was worth it.
And if anyone thought they could touch her while I was away, they were about to find out just how dangerous I could be.
The cold Russian wind bit through the collar of my coat, but it didn't touch the fire simmering inside me. I should've been focused on the meeting ahead, on the cartel negotiations that could decide who lived and who died. But all I could think about… was Zoey.
Her laugh, soft yet sharp, haunted me. That reckless way she tossed her hair back when she thought I wasn't looking, the way her eyes lingered on me when she shouldn't have. I shook my head, trying to push it away.
Focus, Drew.
But every time I did, her voice whispered in my mind, daring me to let down my guard.
I stepped into the dimly lit warehouse where my men were waiting. The air smelled of gasoline and tension. They didn't notice the storm inside me; they only saw the calm, untouchable exterior I had perfected over years.
Negotiations began, voices rising, threats thrown like knives across the table. I could handle the business, I always did. But my mind kept drifting… back to her.
Then my phone buzzed. I hadn't even checked it yet. A single message:
"She's restless. I think she knows something."
My body tightened. I hadn't told anyone to check on Zoey—not directly. Only a whisper to Marcus. Yet somehow, she could feel the invisible eyes around her.
I clenched my fist. She's dangerous. Not because she could hurt me—no, that thought was laughable. She was dangerous because she made me feel things I'd spent a lifetime suppressing. Desire. Anger. Need. All at once.
The meeting dragged on, the Russians talking over one another, but I was only half there. My thoughts were with her, imagining her standing in my apartment, hair tangled, clothes disheveled, the way she'd look if I were to take her right here, right now. My pulse hit a dangerous rhythm, and I had to step outside before someone noticed.
The night was bitter, but I didn't feel it. I dialed Marcus, my voice low, sharp. "Keep her close. She can't get into trouble… or away from me."
And then, I imagined her looking up at me, that dangerous smile on her lips, and I realized something terrifying—and thrilling—at the same time. I didn't just want to protect her. I wanted her. Every reckless, impossible part of her.
Russia could wait.
Drew
Russia could wait.
That thought alone should've scared me.
Nothing ever waited in my world—especially not unfinished business soaked in blood and money. Yet there I was, standing in the frozen dark, my pulse betraying me over a woman who had no idea how deep she'd already carved herself into my bones.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and returned to the warehouse, my expression locked back into steel.
The men straightened the moment I entered. They could smell authority the way wolves smelled fear.
"Enough talking," I said, my voice calm but lethal. "We settle this tonight."
Silence followed. Good. Silence meant they were listening.
By the time the meeting ended, alliances had shifted, threats had been buried under polite handshakes, and one man had been quietly escorted out—never to return. Order restored.
For now.
But peace never lasted.
Back at the hotel, I loosened my tie and poured myself a drink I didn't want. My reflection stared back at me from the window—controlled, dangerous, untouched. A lie I'd worn for years.
Zoey saw past it.
That was the problem.
My phone buzzed again.
Marcus: She didn't come home alone.
The glass stopped halfway to my lips.
Explain, I typed.
Seconds stretched. My jaw tightened.
Marcus: A man approached her outside the café. Clean. Not local. I intervened before it went further. She's safe.
But Drew… this wasn't random.
Rage surged so fast it surprised even me. The room felt too small, the air too thin.
Someone had tested me. Worse—they'd gotten close enough to let her feel it.
I slammed the glass down and grabbed my coat.
"Find out who he is," I said when Marcus answered.
My voice was deadly quiet. "Trace him back to whoever sent him. I want names."
"And Zoey?" he asked.
A pause.
"Put more eyes on her," I said. "But keep your distance.
She doesn't feel trapped. She doesn't get scared."
Because if she got scared… I'd lose control.
I ended the call and leaned my forehead against the cold glass. Images flooded my mind uninvited—her defiant chin, the way she argued with me like she wasn't standing in front of a man who could destroy worlds.
The way her voice softened when she thought I wasn't listening.
She was brave. Reckless. Unprotected.
Mine.
The word settled heavily in my chest.
I didn't sleep that night. Instead, I booked the earliest return flight. Russia was stabilized—for now—and whoever thought using Zoey as leverage had just signed their death warrant.
Zoey's pov
Something was wrong.
I felt it in the way the air shifted when I stepped outside, in the way strangers lingered a second too long.
Drew hadn't said anything before he left—just that unreadable look, heavy with things he refused to explain.
I hated that look.
I locked my apartment door and leaned against it, heart racing for reasons I couldn't name. My phone buzzed.
Drew: Are you safe?
My breath caught.
Zoey: Yes. Why?
The reply took longer than usual.
Drew: Stay inside tonight. Don't argue.
That did it.
Zoey: You don't get to disappear and then give orders.
Three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.
Drew: Zoey… please.
The word please from Drew felt like a confession. My anger faltered, replaced by something warmer—and more dangerous.
Zoey: Come home, I typed before I could stop myself.
The response came instantly.
Drew: I'm on my way.
I stared at the screen, pulse hammering. Whatever Drew was running from—or toward—was finally colliding with me.
And somehow, deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.
Drew's pov
The moment I walked through the door, everything else ceased to exist.
Zoey stood there like she'd been waiting for me to materialize out of thin air—barefoot, hair a mess, eyes wide with a mix of relief and defiance that hit me straight in the chest. She didn't say my name. She didn't have to.
I dropped my bag. The door shut behind me with a soft click that sounded final.
"You came," she said, voice barely steady.
I crossed the space between us in three long strides. "I told you I would."
She opened her mouth—probably to argue, to demand answers, to tell me how reckless I was—but I never gave her the chance.
I cupped her face and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was weeks of restraint snapping all at once.
She gasped against my mouth, surprise lasting only a second before she kissed me back just as hard, fingers fisting in my coat like she was afraid I'd disappear again. Heat flared—sharp, consuming—and I groaned low in my throat without meaning to.
This was a mistake.
I deepened it anyway.
Her body pressed into mine like it belonged there, like it always had. I backed her up until her spine met the wall, my hands braced on either side of her head, trapping her there—not to scare her, never that—but because I needed to feel her, solid and real.
Her lips were soft and demanding all at once, kissing me like she was trying to make a point. Like she wasn't afraid of me at all.
Dangerous woman.
She pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against mine. "You don't get to do that," she whispered.
My voice came out rough. "You don't get to tell me not to."
Her laugh was breathless, reckless—and then she kissed me again, slower this time, hotter. Her hands slid up my chest, and every nerve in my body lit up like she'd struck a match.
I dragged my mouth to her jaw, her neck, inhaling her like oxygen. "Zoey," I warned, even as my grip tightened, even as my control slipped.
She tilted her head, giving me access she knew damn well I'd take. "You came home," she murmured. "Don't pretend you don't want this."
I pulled back then—just enough to look at her, really look at her. Flushed. Eyes dark. Lips swollen from my mouth.
Want didn't begin to cover it.
"This," I said quietly, my thumb brushing her lower lip, "is me losing control."
She met my gaze without flinching. "Then stop holding back."
Something in me broke.
I kissed her again—slower, deeper, burning instead of consuming—pouring every unspoken promise into it. Protection. Possession. Want. All tangled together, all dangerous as hell.
When we finally separated, breathing hard, the world felt unsteady. Changed.
I rested my forehead against hers. "I should stay away from you."
She smiled—soft, knowing. "You won't."
No.
I wouldn't.
And that realization was far more dangerous than anything waiting for me in Russia.