Physically. Misha couldn’t hurt them physically. He could do plenty of damage to Riley’s battered heart. Hell, he’d already fucked up Riley so much that Riley couldn’t decide which was worse: saying goodbye to his principles or going on without Misha. It should’ve been a simple decision.

It wasn’t.

“You kill people for a living, Misha.”

It wasn’t really an accusation; it was a reminder to himself, because being so close to the man made Riley want to forget everything but how

right it felt to be with Misha. As though it didn’t matter that the son-of-a-bitch had freely admitted to being a professional killer. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? This wasn’t something small and petty. It was, quite literally, a matter of life and death. Riley was willing to overlook a hell of a lot for love, but not murder.

How many was a “shitload of people” anyway?

More than a ship load, I bet, McClane muttered incongruously. And he did it on purpose.

“On purpose?” Riley repeated, wondering what McClane was talking about. He suspected he wasn’t going to like the answer. Why the hell was it that, lately, everybody he loved seemed to have a body count in the double and triple digits?

Misha straightened and leaned back a little, but he didn’t move away and he kept his hands on Riley’s body, fingers brushing gently over his sex-sensitized skin. Riley couldn’t take his eyes off him, completely mesmerized by the way Misha was staring at him. He hadn’t realized how much Misha kept hidden until he didn’t anymore. Jesus H. Christ. Misha was looking at Riley as though Riley was his entire world.

The man was never going to let him go.

It was unnerving. Terrifying on so many levels. And yet… it was also unexpectedly reassuring. There was an odd peace in knowing Misha wouldn’t leave him, would follow wherever Riley went. Hard to tell if it was love or obsession. Hard to care about the difference right then.

Apparently, Riley was a bit fucked in the head when it came to Misha. Not that this was news.

“Yes, Riley. I kill people. On purpose,” Misha agreed belatedly, patiently, patently undisturbed by the idea. “It’s what I’ve been trained to do and I’m good at it.” His gaze softened. “Doesn’t mean I can’t learn to be good at something else.”

Riley’s right eyebrow climbed up in disbelief. “Like what?”

He’d expected Misha to flounder, but not for the first time Misha surprised him.

“No idea.” Misha smiled, brittle but true. “I’m still working on that part.” He huffed out a shaky breath. His grip on Riley’s shoulders tightened.

“I saw that fucking diner blow up and I thought you were dead, Riley. I thought you were fucking gone. I thought they’d killed you.”