**Chapter 3: Unwanted Sparks**
The motel's AC unit rattled like a dying beast, but it was Viktor's presence that kept me awake. He hadn't moved from the doorway in hours, a silhouette against the flickering neon sign. Every time I dared to glance at him, my traitorous pulse quickened.
*He's a stranger. A criminal, probably. Stop it.*
"You're thinking too loud," he said suddenly, voice rough from disuse.
I jerked upright. "Can't sleep."
"Here." He tossed a protein bar onto the bed. "Eat. Fear burns calories."
I caught it, frowning. "Is this your idea of a love language?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. *Idiot.*
Viktor turned, his scar catching the dim light. "Careful, *malyshka*. Teasing men like me ends one of two ways."
"And what kind of man are you?" I challenged, desperate to mask the heat creeping up my neck.
"The kind who'll burn the world for someone he…" He paused, jaw tightening. "…For someone who matters."
The unspoken word—*loves*—hung between us like a live wire.
By dawn, we were on the road. Viktor drove with lethal precision, one hand on the wheel, the other scrolling through a burner phone.
"Monica hired a PI," he said, tossing the phone to me.
The screen showed a grainy photo of *me*—leaving the motel at sunrise, Viktor's coat still draped over my shoulders. The caption read: *Target with unidentified male. Escalating risk?*
"She's scared," Viktor said, a feral edge to his voice. "Good."
"Scared enough to kill me?"
He glanced at me, his gaze lingering on my lips. "Not while I'm breathing."
We stopped at a secluded cabin deep in the woods—a "safehouse," Viktor called it. The air smelled of pine and gun oil. He moved through the rooms like a ghost, checking windows, setting alarms.
"You've done this before," I said, hovering in the doorway.
He didn't look up from the pistol he was cleaning. "I've been a lot of things. Bodyguard. Mercenary. Widower."
The last word cracked something in me. "Your wife… was she part of this? Of Monica's…?"
The gun clicked as he reassembled it. "No. She died because I hesitated." His eyes met mine, raw and unguarded. "I won't hesitate with you."
That night, I found him on the porch, shirtless, a bottle of vodka in hand. Moonlight carved his torso into a map of scars and old wounds. My breath hitched.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he growled.
"Shouldn't *you* be less…" I gestured vaguely at him. "…*This*?"
A low chuckle. "You're blushing."
"Am not!"
He stood, closing the distance between us in two strides. My back hit the wall, his heat searing through the thin fabric of my borrowed shirt.
"Curiosity is dangerous, Ashley," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Especially when I can't decide if I want to protect you… or ruin you."
I swallowed. "What if I want both?"
His knuckles brushed my cheek—a whisper of a touch—before he stepped back, his mask of control slamming into place. "Go to bed. We hunt tomorrow."