I’ve been falling for a voice on the wire for six months.
Tonight the voice walked out of the dark with my real name in his mouth.
Oh God.
Cracking a shell company at three a.m. wasn’t on my bingo card.
Yet here he is.
Six-foot-three of suited Russian.
Dark eyes that don’t blink. Jaw cut from winter.
Bratva ghost on the other side of every line I coded.
He says he should have scrubbed me and walked.
He says I’m already his to keep alive.
"Little ghost. You can stop running. I’ve got you."
I should have run.
I forgot.
But wait.
Someone put a bullet through the wall behind my head.
He stepped between me and the next one.
He caged me to the wall and said my name.
The way his hand never leaves my pulse…
The way his Russian goes filthy at my ear in the dark…
The way he kisses me like he’s terrified he meant the whole damn thing…
This fierce Bratva daddy is making me want to stop being a ghost.
If only loving him didn’t mean every man in his world wants me wiped off the wire.
