Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)

This must be it. The ground. Death. Whatever lies on the other side of the pain and fear.

Except I’m not moving.

And when I reach out my fingers, I find that the afterlife is soft and plush against my fingertips.

That doesn’t make sense. None of this does. I can still hear the bone-crunching thud of impact, the way the air rushed out of my lungs. And beneath it all, a deep voice saying my name again and again…

I blink my eyes open slowly, my vision watery until I can make out the inky-black sky overhead. And the skylight framing it.

I fist my hands in blankets on either side of me as I take in the wooden beams above me, the rough timber ceiling.

“You’re awake.”

His voice is baritone and familiar, but nothing is safe anymore. I can’t trust anything or anyone.

My body tenses before my brain can stop it. Pain immediately sears through my arm. My leg. My head. I cry out, stars swimming in my eyes, still trying to twist away from the weight I feel on the edge of my bed.

“Nova, stop.” His voice is firm, but the hand he curls around mine is gentle. He gives my fingers a tender squeeze.

I don’t see any restraints, but my body is heavy like there are invisible weights pressing me into the mattress. I try to pull my hand away, but I wince as a band of pain locks around my bicep.

“The more you struggle, the more you’ll hurt.”

I finally turn to look at him. His beard is longer than I’ve ever seen it, like he hasn’t slept in days. His silver eyes are fire-bright, burning as he studies me. There’s an intensity there that can only be hate.

But when I move my lips around his name to explain myself, to beg him for my life, my mouth is too dry. Nothing comes out.

“You’re thirsty.” He grabs a glass from the nightstand and then cups a large hand behind my head. Slowly, like he thinks I’ll snap in half, he lifts me towards the glass that he presses against my lips. “Small sips.”

It’s ice-cold water. I drink until there’s nothing left.

With the same care, Samuil lowers me back to the bed. “I had to call a doctor. You were—” He clears his throat, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he does. “He treated your ankle and reset your arm. He also cleaned your cuts and put you on an IV with painkillers and antibiotics. You’ll be okay.”

For now.

I wait for him to finish that sentence. To explain that he’s only healing me so I can be properly interrogated and then disposed of.

Instead, Sam pulls the blanket higher on my chest, cocooning me in warmth that makes me feel drugged.

Maybe I am. Maybe the IV is full of some poison that’ll knock me out.

Ilya didn’t find poison enjoyable, but maybe Sam doesn’t care about the thrill of the execution. Maybe he just wants me gone.

Maybe I’ll go to sleep and never wake up.

“You need to rest,” Samuil says, his voice a faint rumble in the distance. It’s the last thing I hear before my eyes close, and I drift away.

There’s laughter in the trees. And crackling snarls following me as I run and run.

Every time I look over my shoulder, it’s another face—another monster. Ilya and a Labradoodle named Berry and my father.

And Sam. Always Sam.

He’s calling my name, his voice hauntingly familiar.

I’m so tired. So sore. I want to stop. I want to see him.

When he calls my name, I call back to him.

“Samuil.”

I wake up with his name on my lips. The last few days flicker through my mind in a lowlight reel I want to turn off.

The dog attack, my father threatening Grams, Ilya kidnapping me, running for my life through the woods not once, but twice. My heart kicks into an unsteady rhythm, and each ragged breath hurts.

Then a leg brushes mine.

I still, slowly looking over my shoulder again, and it’s Samuil. But his eyes are closed, his expression smooth and calm.

And I’m not afraid.

Maybe I should be, after everything. Part of me tries to be. Run. Scream. Fight. But I don’t have the energy for anything other than relief that he’s keeping me warm, a shield between me and the unfinished wood wall against his back.

As I’m tracing the square of his jaw, the thick, dark tangle of his beard, his eyes flicker open.

Immediately, his face sharpens and shifts. His eyes flare with heat and scan my face like he’s already looking for the answers I don’t know how to give.

I want to look away—I’m not strong enough to see how much he despises me. But I’m also too weak to look anywhere else.

I’ve missed him. And no matter what happens next, I’ll never be able to bring myself to hate him back.

“I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.”

But only because they beat you to it, right? Because someone else broke the toy that was yours to shatter?

Then he leans in slowly.

My breath catches in my throat as he closes the distance between us and brushes my hair away from my face so he can press a kiss to my forehead.

His warm breath washes over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe,” he whispers. “Somewhere I can protect you.”

He’s lying.

He has to be.

My brain churns sluggishly, trying to make sense of how we ended up here.

“Sam…” My voice breaks.

He shakes his head. His hand curls around my cheek. “You need to rest.”

His lips brush against my forehead a second time. I close my eyes, letting myself believe for a few seconds that all he wants is to keep me safe. Buying into the fantasy that my betrayal and the gun I saw sitting in Samuil’s lap when I walked into the cabin mean nothing.

Maybe we can stay here forever—away from the darkness of his world and the uncertainty of mine. Maybe the Andropovs and Katerina and Ilya and my father will fade away, meaningless outside of how it feels to be with Samuil like this.

But they matter. They’ll come for me. They’ll kill me.

If Samuil doesn’t do it first.

A sob skitters through my chest despite my efforts to choke it down. “Samuil, I didn’t— I wasn’t⁠—”

He shushes me again, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone in time with his breathing. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

I want to believe him.

But hope is a dangerous thing.

“Sleep, krasavitsa.”

With no other option in front of me, I obey.