𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | ✔

sɪxᴛʏ ᴛᴡᴏ

I tilt my chin down, averting my gaze when I feel something inside my chest. Grisha's fingers lift my chin, pulling my eyes back to his.

"Don't I get a response, baby?" he teases, his nose grazing against mine.

Electricity crackles. I blink at the feeling, at the simple touch, at the sensation.

"I..." Baby. Why does he still call me that?

"Cat got your tongue?" he teases again.

I scowl. "No, sh–." I almost tell him to shut up.

His breath fans my cheek. "Why do I think you were about to tell me to shut up?"

"Shut up, Grisha."

He chuckles. I see a dimple form in his cheek. I want to touch it, inspect it.

Suddenly he nudges me onto my back, startling me. "What are you doing?"

His eyes flit between mine, studying me. "Do you trust me?"

Slowly, I nod. "You never lost it."

Something lights up in his eyes– it's almost blinding– as if me trusting him is the most valuable thing to him.

"Do I have yours?" I swallow nervously.

"You have a lot more than my trust, Devi," he says, quietly.

Then he does something unexpected.

He sits up and lowers his head, until it rests on my chest, like how I once asked him. Like before. Blinking rapidly, I feel blown away and overwhelmed.

"Every night," he murmurs, "I can hear and feel your restless heart. Let me heal it. Heal you."

When he points it out, I realise how right he is. I've been so stressed, anxious, worried to even realise the way it's been affecting my body. I can feel my chest shake with palpitations.

"Heal me?" my voice cracks, breath hitches.

"Da," his voice is deep and raspy as one of his hands circles my waist, my skin welcoming his touch. Then the other slides across my hand, intertwining with my fingers, with my soul– it feels enraptured by him. He rests my other hand on top of his head, allowing my fingers to get lost between the soft strands of his hair. (yes)

The distant sound of thunder and our proximity triggers memories of Tokyo to play in my mind, something akin to a longing need blooming in my chest.

A content sigh parts my lips.

My eyes flutter. Slowly close. "Okay," I whisper.

The night is always the worst part of my day... until I let him in, then it becomes the least worst part.

...

The gates open.

Wide open eyes. Shocked gasps. Orders being called out.

Grisha walks in, his muscular shoulders set straight and relaxed, a cold stormy expression which grows even darker with the black suit wrapping around his physique. The way his blazer fits around his broad-shouldered toned torso like a glove is criminal, and so is the way his muscles are bulging from his sleeves. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone revealing little of his chest but giving you a view of his thick corded neck.

I also noticed the way his ass moves in those trousers he is wearing.

But currently, I stand next to him, feeling his hand hovering around my lower back. Everyone stares at it.

The woman he was supposed to kill, the woman who they hated is now... the opposite. Raising my chin slightly, I try not to let it affect me but my face is burning. They don't want me for any other reason than torture. Vengeance. Understandably. Very understandably.