10 Days to Ruin (Ozerov Bratva Book 1)
10 Days to Ruin: Chapter 25

The trailhead sign mocks me in cheerful Comic Sans: Fun & Adventure Awaits! Stay on marked paths!

I’m not so sure about the “fun” part.

As for adventure?

Well, some of us are about to venture a little farther than others.

I adjust my rhinestone-studded visor and crank my daisy-shaped speaker to max volume. Dua Lipa may be dancing the night away, but I’ll be lucky if I make it out alive.

“Ready?” Sasha’s leaning against a boulder, arms crossed, dressed like he’s about to summit Everest in a henley and jeans. Meanwhile, I look like a disco ball threw up on a Lululemon clearance rack.

“Born ready,” I lie, flicking dirt off my gold spray-painted stilettos. “Just… admiring nature’s beauty before we embark.”

His gaze drags down my neon-pink leggings, snagging on the bedazzled SNACKS pouch strapped to my thigh, which contains nothing but chewing gum. “You do know this is a mountain, not Coachella.”

“Details, shmetails.” I pull out my glitter-coated phone, angling for a duck-lipped selfie. “Woooo!”

And then we’re off.

The first mile is all performative misery. I fake-stumble over pebbles, whine about nonexistent blisters, and serenade him with endless off-key renditions of I’m Just Ken.

But Sasha’s reactions are… underwhelming. He hikes ahead, a shadow carved from granite, testosterone, and suppressed rage, offering only an occasional muttered retort.

That doesn’t stop me from trying to push his buttons.

Mile 0.1: Tripping dramatically over a twig: “Who put all this wood out here?”

Mile 0.3: Pulling out my phone: “Wait, we need to document this for my new outdoor lifestyle blog. Should I use Valencia or Perpetua?”

Sasha: “Use airplane mode. Your battery’s at 12%.”

Mile 0.5: Blasting “Toxic” through the daisy speaker: “Sing with me! ‘I’m slippin’ under⁠—’”

Sasha, muttering: “This is what Judas hears in hell.”

Mile 0.7: Applying lip gloss mid-stride: “Do you prefer ‘Mojito Meltdown’ or ‘Cosmopolitan Crush’?”

Sasha, glancing at the sheer cliff drop beside us: “At this point, the sweet embrace of death.”

Mile 0.9: Stopping abruptly: “Wait. Is that a bear?”

Sasha, not breaking stride: “Squirrel. Keep moving.”

Mile 1.0: Collapsing onto a rock: “I require hydration. And a pedicure. Not necessarily in that order.”

Sasha tosses me a canteen. “Drink.”

I take a sip and choke for real. “Is this vodka?!”

But it doesn’t take long for fake misery to become very, very real.

By mile three, my thighs are screaming. My Juicy Couture fanny pack digs into my ribs, and the edible glitter on my cleavage has fused with sweat into a dystopian shimmer.

Meanwhile, Sasha shows no signs of cracking.

Time to ramp things up.

“Wait!” I trudge to where he’s paused at a fork in the trail. The map I printed off Google—then spilled kombucha on—flutters in my grip. “We need to… uh… go left.”

He arches a brow. “Left leads to a ravine.”

“Exactly! Best views!”

“And where does right take us?”

“Bear mating grounds. Very dangerous. Much growling.”

His lips twitch. “You’re holding the map upside down.”

Shit. I take off down the trail at breakneck pace. If I’m lucky, that’s exactly what will happen. Sasha curses under his breath and chases after me, but I call back over my shoulder, “It’s a… topographic inversion. Modern cartography is really innovating these days.”

The only reason he doesn’t grab my arm and drag me back to the main trail is because I’m dodging and weaving between trees and hanging vines. I’m grateful for the cover until, ten minutes later, we’re bushwhacking through underbrush so thick that even the mosquitos look pissed. My stilettos snap. My speaker dies mid-Single Ladies. Sasha’s shirt snags on a thorn and starts tearing at the hem, much like my sanity.

“This is your idea of a shortcut?” He swipes blood from a scratch on his jaw.

“Uh… YOLO?”

“YOLO,” he repeats flatly. “Is that Greek for I’m trying to get us killed?”

The sun dips behind the peaks, scorching the sky in ruddy streaks. My phone’s down to 2% battery. The ravine I swore would be breathtaking gapes below us, hungry and endless and filled mostly with dirt-covered rocks.

But when I turn around to pick up the proper trail again…

Oh.

Oh, no.

“We’re lost,” Sasha says, too calm.

“We’re… adventuring!”

“Ariel.”

“Exploring?”

He steps closer. Pine needles crunch under his boots like tiny bones. “Look at me.”

I don’t want to. His eyes will be icy. Disappointed. Terrifying.

But when I glance up, his gaze is… not that. On the contrary, it’s more, like… curious. Amused? “You did this on purpose,” he states flatly.

“Did what? Embrace the spontaneity of⁠—”

“You wanted us stranded.”

My mouth opens. Closes. So much for selling the story, you dummy. Couldn’t even pretend to be surprised?

Then Sasha does something that actually does surprise me. He laughs.

It’s a low, dangerous sound that curls my toes in their ruined heels. “Next time?” he advises. “Pick a mountain without cell towers.”

He holds up his phone. The screen glows with a GPS dot pulsing safely on the main trail.

My stomach plummets. “You… knew?”

“I know you.” He tucks the phone away. “Now, come. Sunset’s in twenty. We need to replace shelter before then.”

“‘Shelter’?” The word squeaks out. “B-but… we’re going back, right?”

“Back where?” He gestures to the labyrinth of shadows swallowing the trail. “You led us three miles into nowhere, ptichka. We’re staying put until dawn.”

Nonononono.

No, sir.

No, ma’am.

This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to strand him, not strand both of us.

But one look in Sasha’s face says he’s not joking.

Welp, alrighty then.

Unexpected outdoor sleepover with the man I’m dying to get away from, here we come.

We start the climb up the mountain in search of something resembling shelter. Sasha’s phone flashlight beam cuts through the deepening gloom, exposing gnarled roots that claw at our ankles. I’m down to one heel; the other dangles from my hand like a wounded bird.

His back becomes the focus of my attention. Every muscle shifts and stretches with his stride. Shadows pool in the hollows of his shoulders. Keeping him in sight is the only reason I continue putting one foot in front of the other.

Focus, Ariel. Unlovable and unbearable, remember? Just because we’ve veered sliiightly off-course doesn’t mean you abandon the whole plan.

When Sasha kneels to inspect a craggy rock formation for suitability, I stop and inspect him at the same time. Moonlight etches the scar around his neck into something else, something more.

“Here.” He juts his chin at a shallow overhang. “Home sweet home.”

“That’s a dirt floor cave.”

“Your five-star suite awaits, princess. In you go.”

Frowning, I hobble inside. If we’re being honest, it’s more of a lip in the rock than a cave. The space is barely big enough to sit without our knees touching.

Which they do. Immediately and unavoidably. He folds his brawny body next to mine and electricity crackles in the centimeter between his thigh and mine.

As I’m settling in, unstrapping my various packs and pouches, Sasha reaches down and pulls a knife from his boot.

I freeze.

Maybe my plan worked too well. I annoyed him to the point of homicide. This is where I die.

He stills, eyes narrowing. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a man tried.”

Something dark flits across his face. Then he moves in a blur so fast I can’t help but scream. He raises the knife high…

… and then offers it to me butt-first. “Fine. You hold it, if it makes you feel safer.”

I take it with trembling fingers. I may or may not be just a bit on edge right now.

“Th-thanks,” I stammer. “I was just a little⁠—”

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Sasha! Where are you⁠—”

But he disappears without an answer, melting into the woods.

While he’s gone, I try my best to recalibrate. It’s just one night in the woods; what’s the big deal? He can stay on his side of the Four Seasons Cave Resort and I’ll stay on mine. And if a few bug bites and a crick in my neck from using a rock as a pillow is all it takes to convince him I’m not worth this much hassle and buy my freedom, I’ll pay that price every single time.

Seconds become minutes, though. My anxiety starts to creep back in. When I hear a thumping noise and crackling in the underbrush, I brandish the knife, ready to use it if⁠—

“You should at least pretend you know which end to stick an enemy with,” drawls Sasha as he reappears. He dumps an armful of wood on the ground in front of the cave.

I scowl at him. “I’d figure it out fast enough.”

“Mm,” is all he says. He starts building a fire with practiced ease.

I swear it’s less than five minutes from the moment he starts until tiny little flames are consuming the pine straw kindling. Sasha sits back against the stone wall as the fire dances and grows.

“That was… mildly impressive,” I admit, fiddling with the knife in my lap. “Who taught you that? Smokey the Bear?”

He stares into the heart of the fire, face wreathed in shadow. “My mother,” he answers at last. “After…” His jaw clenches. “Bad nights.”

The air shifts. Shrinks. Suddenly, Sasha’s face tightens. I look over my shoulder like there might be a bear coming at us, pissed we stole his living room.

But there’s nothing. “What? What is it?”

He shrugs off his shirt, revealing a thin thermal tank top underneath that clings to every ridge of muscle. “Arms up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re shivering.”

“Am not!”

He steps closer. The cold bites harder. “Arms. Up.”

In the end, it’s not a choice. He’s right—the sun is long gone and the air is cooling with every second that passes. My one-shoulder sports bra will not be doing much in the way of heat retention, unfortunately.

So I obey reluctantly. The henley engulfs me, smelling like cedar and recklessness. It’s still warm from his skin.

Are you crazy?! Don’t think about his skin! Don’t think about⁠—

“Hungry?” He pulls a protein bar from his pack.

“No.” It’s a lie, but if I let him clothe and feed me, I’m going to lose my head.

“Is it because it doesn’t have glitter in it?” He toes the snack pouch on my thigh with his boot. “Or because it isn’t bubblegum-flavored?”

I set my jaw. “Both.”

He unwraps it, takes a deliberate bite. “Suit yourself.”

Then he settles back against the rock.

I sit as far away as I can, anxious and jittery. Night falls fast here—no city glow to soften the edges. Stars punch through the blackness, brighter than I’ve ever seen them. Sasha tends the fire with a poking stick, his face completely impassive.

I huddle in his shirt, guilt in my stomach curdling and churning alongside something hotter.

“Why aren’t you mad?” The words escape before I can stop them.

He glances up, firelight carving his face into something ancient. Feral. “Would you like me to be?”

“I mean, I’d understand if you were. I sabotaged this.”

“And?”

“And… you should be furious! Yell! Threaten to leave me for the bears to eat!”

The fire crackles. His eyes hold mine. “I wouldn’t do that.”

I want to ask which part precisely he wouldn’t do, but before I can, there’s a loud boom⁠—

And it starts to rain.

Not rain, actually—pour. The heavens crack open and let loose on us like this storm is personal. The fire is immediately snuffed out with a mournful sizzle.

I scoot backwards, but there’s only so far to go. And besides, water leaks in from a crack in the ceiling, dripping ice-cold betrayal onto my scalp. It’s been thirty seconds and my teeth are already chattering.

Sasha curses in Russian, yanking me against his chest. His heartbeat thunders through my cheek.

“Hypothermia,” he barks over the storm. “Take off your clothes.”

I snort. “Smooth. If you think that’s gonna work, then⁠—”

“They’re wet. So it’s either that or die of exposure. Now, Ariel.”

We strip to our underwear, modesty sacrificed to survival. His tank top clings to every ridge of muscle, every old wound. My neon bralette feels absurd. Vulnerable.

He arranges our clothes near the dead fire, then pulls me back against him. I’m rigid as a plank of wood in his arms. Skin to skin, his breath hot on my nape, he murmurs, “Don’t make this weird.”

“You’re literally spooning me in a cave.”

“And you’re shivering too hard to insult me properly. We’re all suffering.”

The rain continues to pour. His arms tighten. My mind scrambles for hatred—but my body…

My body remembers his hands in the steam room. His laugh at Zoya’s. Blue eyes in an alleyway, saying things he’d clearly never said out loud before.

I try to hold out, but before long, I sink against his chest. Only because nuzzling into Sasha is the difference between life and death. It has nothing to do with the way his arms stay strong around me. Corded with muscle. Warm.

Safe.

Minutes or maybe hours later, the storm peters out. Through a gap in the foliage, we watch as the dark clouds roll on and the night sky reveals itself. I begin to regain feeling in my fingers and toes.

But the feeling of This can’t be real remains, stronger than ever.

“Better?” His breath warms my ear.

No! I want to cry. Worse. So much worse.

Instead, I nod, throat tight. His heartbeat thuds against my spine, perfectly in sync with mine. Above us, through the opening in the treetops, the Milky Way bleeds across the sky, indifferent to our stupid, human messiness.

I focus on them, hoping I can forget, too.

“That one’s Orion,” I whisper, pointing.

“Mm.” His chin brushes my hair.

“And there’s Ursa Major. The Big Dipper.”

I can feel his attention fix on me. “Who taught you that?”

“My sister. During… bad nights” I answer, in a funny-but-not-funny reversal of our conversation about the fire and his mother. “When my mom and dad were fighting a lot, we’d sneak out on the roof to stargaze. It was New York, so, y’know—not much in the way of stars. Mostly satellites and airplanes. But she’d make up constellations. And some nights—rare nights—we really could see stars.”

His arms tighten. Silence stretches, swollen.

I’m half-naked against his chest, bearing my soul in the middle of the dark, deserted wilderness. Vulnerable in a way that’s more terrifying than the storm.

“Tell me something real,” I say suddenly. Whatever game this is, I’m losing. Badly. I need to even the score.

He stills. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Just, like, a secret. A memory. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

The wind howls. Just when I think he’ll shut me out, he speaks. “When I was twelve, my father locked me in a freezer for talking back.” His voice is detached. Borderline lifeless. “Told me I could come out when I stopped crying.”

My chest cracks. “Sasha…”

“I told you about the first time I killed a man. The smuggler in the alley. The jammed gun, the broken bottle. What I didn’t tell you is that I threw up afterward. In an alley behind a kebab shop.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You asked.”

“But why these things?”

He’s quiet so long, I’m sure that this time he really won’t answer. Then⁠—

“So that tomorrow, when you look at me again, you’ll remember what I really am. Not the man who builds fires or holds you close to keep you warm. Not the man who lets you lead him on a wild goose chase up a mountain even when he knows that’s exactly what you intended to do. I’m not that, Ariel. I’m something else.”

I twist in his arms, searching his face. “What are you?”

“A monster.”

The stars blur. “Sasha⁠—”

“Sleep, Ariel.” He tucks my head under his chin. “We’re here ‘til dawn.”

I want to argue. To dissect every scar, every sin. To demand that he prove himself wrong. But his thumb strokes circles on my hip, and the fire’s last sputtering embers paint him in gold. And suddenly, I’m a child again—terrified of the dark, clinging to the first warmth I’ve felt in years.

His breath evens.

His grip, though, never loosens.

And somewhere in the heart of the night, between the howl of coyotes and the rush of wind surging through the ravine, I realize the terrible, horrible, undeniable truth:

I don’t want these ten days to end.