WHEN HE DESIRES

WAREHOUSE

NOVEMBER POV

The warehouse is quiet.

Not silent — I can still hear the faint hum of the heater, the soft drip of rain leaking somewhere behind the walls, the occasional shuffle of Killian repositioning himself like a restless predator trying not to show his restlessness.

But quiet.

A thick, heavy quiet that feels like we’re suspended in time, tucked between danger behind us and danger ahead of us — danger that somehow feels safer with him than without him.

I sit on the edge of the cot, gripping the thin blanket so tightly my knuckles ache.

My whole body is tired.

Exhausted.

Drained.

But I’m also painfully, dangerously awake.

Because Killian is standing five feet away from me, leaning against a steel pillar like his body was built for the shadows.

He watches the entrance.

He watches the corners.

He watches the silence.

And he watches me.

God, he watches me too much.

Every few seconds his eyes flick toward me—dark, assessing, unreadable—and each time it sends a ripple through my already frayed nerves.

“You’re staring,” I mutter.

“No,” he says evenly. “I’m observing.”

“Same thing.”

“Not when I do it.”

I huff under my breath, lying back on the cot even though my heart is racing too fast to rest.

I’m not scared of him.

Not the way I should be.

I’m scared of the way my body reacts to him.

The way my pulse stutters when our eyes meet.

The strange sense of… equilibrium he brings into this fractured, chaotic moment.

No one has ever made me feel so guarded and threatened at the same time.

Killian Russ manages both effortlessly.

I turn my face toward the wall, away from him.

“Try to sleep,” he says quietly.

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he insists. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll sleep when I know what happens next.”

He’s silent for a beat.

Then — soft, steady, controlled —

“My men will mislead Romanov’s trackers tonight. By morning, Dimitri will believe you fled north.”

My chest tightens. “And then?”

“And then,” he says, “you’ll come with me to the city.”

" Why?” My tone comes out defensive.

He steps closer.

Not touching-distance.

But enough that the temperature around me shifts — awareness curling around my throat like a whisper of heat.

“I already told you,” he murmurs. “You’re under my protection now.”

“That’s not an answer,” I whisper.

He just shrugs. “It’s the only one that matters.”

I sit up quickly, frustration flaring.

“Killian, you can’t just decide things for me!”

He arches an eyebrow. “Would you rather Dimitri decide for you instead?”

I freeze.

Because no. God, no.

But that’s not the point.

I swallow thickly, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

“It doesn’t have to be this.”

“It already is.”

His tone is final.

Merciless.

Like he’s spoken a truth that cannot be undone.

He steps even closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s approaching something fragile and volatile at the same time.

When he speaks again, his voice is low enough that it feels carved directly into my skin.

“You don’t have to want my protection,” he says. “You just have to stay alive long enough to realize you need it.”

I look up at him, anger and fear and something darker tangled in my chest.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered. “Going through all this trouble for me. You know you can just send me away?”

Killian’s jaw tightens. His gaze sweeps across my face, lingering on my bruised cheekbone, the shadow of pain on my ribs, the exhaustion smudged under my eyes.

And then, for just a moment, something unguarded flickers behind his eyes. Like he sees something in me he knows intimately.

“My father destroyed my childhood,” he says quietly. “Dimitri Romanov tried to destroy yours.”

He pauses.

A muscle in his jaw ticking.

“And I don’t like people who mirror the monsters who made me.”

My breath catches.

I don't think he’s talking about debt anymore.

He’s talking about choice.

He’s talking about me.

He turns away first — thankfully, because I’m unraveling.

His next words are clipped, controlled, back to the version of him that terrifies and steadies me.

“Sleep, November. I’ll keep watch.”

I lie back down because my legs won’t hold me anymore.

The cot creaks softly under my weight. The blanket feels scratchy against my skin. The air is cold enough to make me curl inward for warmth.

And then—

Footsteps.

Soft ones.

I tense— until Killian’s coat drops over me.

I inhale sharply. It smells like dark wood and winter air and something faintly metallic — like steel warmed by touch.

“Killian—”

“Sleep,” he repeats, voice even softer than before.

I close my eyes.

And for the first time in years, despite fear and uncertainty and a man too dangerous for his own body,

I sleep.

The morning feels wrong the moment I opened my eyes. It's silent, way too silent and suffocating. Killian isn't standing in the position he was in when I fell asleep.

I push myself upright suddenly, rubbing at the ache, tightening my chest, as panic begins to settle in.

I scanned the empty warehouse. Not only was Killian not here, the four guards that were stationed inside the warehouse weren't here as well. My stomach caved in on itself, threatening to spill the dinner I had eaten.

I heard a creaking sound, then another. The sound was coming from the door opposite me and I noticed shadowed movements were coming from underneath the slightly opened door. I was tempted to call Killian's name just to be sure he was the one there, but something stopped me from doing so. As quietly as possible, I climbed out of the cot, cursing silently when the metal creaked. I held my breath, glancing at the door to see if the noise attracted anyone—it didn't. Letting out a slow breath, I grabbed my bag searching for my gun. It wasn't there.

And so was my cash. The room suddenly started to spin and I had to steady myself before I fainted.

He went through my things he took the only weapon I had to protect myself with. He took my means of transporting myself away from him, and now I'm stuck.

I was f*****g stupid to have let him deceive me like that after everything I've been through. Stupid, for believing him just because he said he knew my father.

He's a convincing liar I'd give him that, but I should have known better.

Dimitri had enemies everywhere and me being in the open like this, away from his 'protection' makes me a useful target a leverage against him if someone found out just how important I am to him. He could be one of those enemies and I just gave myself to him on a silver platter. I realized I didn't even know his last name, didn't ask for it. Another stupid mistake.

Either that or...

No. I shake my head, refusing to think about the other possibility of them working together. Dimitri is a very proud man. He'd rather bleed than ask for help from a fellow mafia family.

I tried calming my frantic heartbeat. If he thinks leaving me stranded and with no means of defending myself would stop me from leaving, he has to think again.

Grabbing my bag, I tiptoed as quietly as possible. Unfortunately for me, my ticket out of here just had to be close to where the creaking sounds and shadowed movements were coming from. As I got closer to the door I could hear hushed voices coming from within_ Killian's voice. I held my breath as I passed the door. Luckily no one noticed me. Just a little bit more, and I'm out of here. I don't have a plan or where to go when I do leave here. I just hoped that whatever it was he was doing kept him busy long enough for me to escape far away from him.

Creak.

This time the sound came from me. A soft gasp escaped my lips.

Shit. s**t. s**t.

The voices had gone completely quiet.

Run. I tell myself just as the door flies open.

I don't look back to see who was chasing me but I did hear footsteps chasing after me and whoever was chasing after me was much quicker than me. Cold fingers wrapped around my arm and I feel myself being jerked towards the direction of my pursuer and right into his broad chest.

"And just where do you think you're going love?" The voice asked. A chill ran down my spine. This wasn't Killian's voice. No. It was a voice I was very familiar with, a voice that had terrified me for years. I look up staring right into Dimitri's smirking face. A shrill sound filled the warehouse, and it took me a while to realize that the sound came from me.