16
IVAN
“Calm down.”
Cora’s panic is natural. But it’s an inconvenience. There’s no time for it.
I turn back to look at Yasha. “I need you to—”
“I’ll clean this up.” He inclines his head in Cora’s direction. “Take care of her.”
We’ve been working together so long that we have a natural rhythm. Yasha sets about dragging the man’s body onto the floor. I turn back to Cora. She’s pressed in the corner of the greasy kitchen, her face a sickly shade of white. It’s a mirror of how we met last night, but the stakes are ten times higher.
“Come with me.”
I grab her arm, but she flinches away from me. She cowers against the steel appliances. Her knees start to give way, her body sinking toward the floor.
I hold her just above the elbows and pin her against the wall with my hips. She tries to fight, but she isn’t even looking at me. She has no idea what she’s fighting against.
“Cora.” She is blinking past me, watching Yasha do his work. I shift into her line of sight and grab her chin to bring her gaze to me. “Cora.”
The name suits her so much better than Francia. The way it rolls off of my tongue is familiar. Lyrical. Almost sweet to the taste.
Her lashes flutter. Finally, she’s looking at me. Her green eyes clear and focus. “You killed him.”
“He tried to kill us first. I think it was justified.”
“You…” She shivers. “You shot him in the head.”
“It’s a better death than he would have gotten elsewhere. He failed his mission. Whoever hired him would have killed him, but much more slowly.”
Cora blinks again, her mouth opening and closing. Then, without warning, she slams a fist into my chest. “Who are you?”
“You stole my line.”
Her jaw sets as color returns to her face, her lips turning a soft shade of petal pink. “You killed a man, Ivan. At my job! What the fuck is happening?”
She raises her hand to hit me again, but before she can, I pin her wrist to the metal oven above her head. I press forward so we’re flush, my face no more than a couple inches from hers. I can feel the warm exhale of her shock on my chin.
“Don’t ever raise your hand to me, Cora.”
“Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”
“I killed him, but I haven’t touched you. Not without your eager and express permission.” I hold her steady with my hips, refreshing her memory in case she’s forgotten about last night. “I’m being gentler with you than I should be. Don’t test me.”
Her eyes search my face. Whatever she finds there makes her ease back. Her body goes slack beneath my weight, until I’m satisfied enough to release her hand.
“Good. Now, come with me.”
This time, when I say it, she listens. Cora walks with me out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Glass cracks under our feet. I have to sweep shards off of a booth before we can sit down.
Cora sinks into the flaking maroon vinyl and drops her face into her hands. “This is the worst day ever.”
“First time being shot at?” I ask conversationally.
She scowls at me from between her fingers, unamused. Then she drops her hands. “Can I leave now? I don’t want to be a part of…of whatever this is.”
“That man was sent here to kill you. You’re already a part of this.”
“Yeah, but…” She lowers her voice and leans closer. “He’s dead now.”
I lean in, mocking her whisper. “The person who hired him isn’t. He’ll come for you again.”
That realization hits her like a physical blow. She snaps back against the booth, eyes wide. “Someone is after me?”
“All signs point to yes.” I flick a few shards of glass off the table. “You’ve pissed someone off in a major way.”
“How? Why? Is this because we…because we…”
“Fucked?” I offer up.
She grimaces. “Because we slept together? Is one of those women coming after me because they think I want to marry you? If so, just tell them I have zero interest.”
I press a hand to my chest in faux offense. “Ouch, Cora. Words are weapons, too, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. “We shouldn’t be joking right now. This is serious!”
“If I stopped joking every time I had to kill a man, I’d never joke again. What a terrible place the world would be without a little humor.”
She stares at me, disgust mingling with her horror. “People at the party said you were a criminal, but I didn’t really believe them. I thought you were involved in, like, financial crimes. Embezzlement or something like that.”
“I am.”
“Of course you are,” she mutters before continuing. “But this is… This is more than I bargained for. I should have left last night. I should have walked out of your office and disappeared.”
“But you didn’t. It’s just like I told your would-be assassin back there: everyone makes choices and everyone faces consequences.” I hold out my arms. “I’m your choice and this is your consequence, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess,’” she hisses. “I’m not your princess. I’m not anything to you. We slept together one time. I’m not going to let that ruin the rest of my life. I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
She stares at me, a silent battle of wills. Then she starts to slide out of the booth.
Before she can reach the edge, I lift my leg and plant my foot on the seat, blocking her path. “Don’t mistake my sense of humor for weakness, Cora. Don’t test me. You will not win.”
“And what are you going to do? Chain me up?”
She says that as if it isn’t a distinct possibility. I just killed a man in front of her. Chaining her up barely registers on the spectrum of terrible things I’ve done.
But just as I start to answer her, an idea comes to me.
A bad idea. Possibly the worst one I’ve ever had.
I could chain Cora up. That would be one way to handle things. But the assassin admitted he shattered the windows to try drawing Cora outside so he could get a clear shot. I’m not going to draw out whoever is coming after her by keeping her locked away.
She needs to be visible.
She needs to be with me.
“Actually, I believe you’ll be the ball and chain.”
Her nose wrinkles. “What are you talking about? What does that mean?”
The woman is difficult already. This plan won’t make her any easier to handle. But until I can guarantee her safety and figure out who she is, I don’t see that I have another choice.
Choices and consequences. Consequences and choices.
I’m making a choice. I’m more than ready to suffer whatever follows.
“It means you and I are getting married.”