Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(51)

Leaving it at that, she watched him move around the kitchen as he went back to the stove, enjoying the way he immersed himself in what he was doing. She already knew he was skilled at what he did, but she didn’t think anyone could hold a candle to what he did when he put his mind to it.

Something was quite intimate about Luka cooking for her, even if cooking was something he always did. Besides professionals, she didn’t think anyone had ever cooked for her. Funny thing was that she didn’t think Luka thought of it the way she did—like it was a big deal—but it was for her. She couldn’t remember a time when someone had cooked for her the way Luka did, and for that matter, she didn’t think she had ever gone out of her way to do something like this for anyone but herself.

By the time he finished, she was looking forward to what he’d created, eager to see what his passion was all about. She almost volunteered to help, but he was in a world of his own and she didn’t want to take him from it. When the food was plated and offered to her, she waited for him to join her before picking up her knife and fork.

Remembering the way he’d looked when he got back, and the ensuing conversation, Alex thought it best not to bring up her feelings about him again, instead focusing on him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex asked softly, peering up at him as she took a bite out of the buttered roll. “What happened when you left, I mean.”

His expression practically screamed no, but after a few moments, he said, “A job went bad.”

“Bad as in…oh, that kind of bad,” she answered herself when he leveled her with a stare that spoke volumes.

She pushed food around her plate before finally scooping some up and placing it in her mouth, chewing methodically as she tried to think of how best to breach this subject. It was quite obvious that when he said a job went bad, he had more than likely needed to kill someone. She had never thought about what it did to him mentally because he always seemed so jovial, but a brief image of his haunted gaze the night she had seen him come back to Mishca’s apartment, his hands and clothes covered in blood, flashed through her mind.

“Is it…hard for you? Doing…that?”

He chewed methodically, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he spoke. “Depends. I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a ghost of a smile, “but it’s not as black and white as you think. There’s not just a bullet to the head and it’s over. Some need to be kept alive and I have to get information from them. Others are given a reprieve from me and they die quickly. Then, of course, there are the few that I take my time with. It’s not whether or not I enjoy it. It’s not even whether or not I hate it. Hurting people is the only thing I know.”

Alex didn’t like the way he said that. “But it’s not. As you said, it’s not just black and white. I’ve seen the violence you’re capable of.” When he quirked a brow, she quickly explained, “You’re Mishca’s top enforcer, Luka. Sometimes a name slips up here and there, and later I might see the result of a visit you paid that person during a press conference.”

They both knew who she meant when she said that.

“But I’ve also seen the good in you, more times than you realize. And it’s not just what you do for me, but what you do for everybody. When Mish was in the hospital after being shot, you were there for Lauren. I even heard once that when you were in charge of the Gilded Room, you were actually nice to the girls, nicer than anyone else.”

He drained his glass of water. “And this is what you like in me then, this soft spot of mine for helping women.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I just like you.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because you’d wreck me?” Alex asked, stifling the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, Luka, we’ve already had this conversation. I don’t see how it’s fair that you can say I don’t know you enough to like you, but what do you know about me? Why do you think I’m so weak?”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” he retorted with a shake of his head. “I don’t think you’re weak at all.”

“If you think I can’t handle you and everything that comes with you, then, yeah, you think I’m weak.”

He glanced down at his watch. “It’s late, and I have an early morning.”

The conversation, it seemed, was over.

Rinsing her dishes and leaving them in the sink, she headed upstairs, returning to the room that had once been her prison. She headed into the bathroom first to wash her face, noticing the damage to the interior for the first time. If she had to guess, it looked like he had taken his fist to the wall a few times, and maybe even in his shower since some of the tiles were cracked. She hadn’t been lying when she said his rage didn’t scare her, but maybe that was just because she hadn’t truly witnessed it firsthand.

But either way, she was done fighting with him for the night.

Hitting the light, she headed back into his bedroom, coming up short when she saw him entering, still in his shirt, but he’d replaced his jeans with shorts. When he noticed her frozen in the doorway, just staring at him, he tilted his head toward the bed, a silent command for her to get in.

She did so without hesitation, though wondered if he was supposed to be joining her here. It was his bedroom and he obviously could do what he wanted, but after being cooped up together for three and a half days, she didn’t think he would want to be in a bed with her again. At least not this soon. When he slipped in beside her, she tried to remember to breathe.