Chapter 731: Tears of Fury

Natalya’s smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Just friends?" she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. "Or friends with benefits?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s already dead. Don’t waste time talking about dead people."

Claire’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, her entire body shaking with barely contained rage. "You bitch," she hissed, her voice a blade. "I’ll end you."

Natalya just laughed, her voice cold and unfeeling. "Oh, Agent Starling," she said, her tone dripping with mock pity, "you really think you’re in any position to make threats?"

The way Claire was reacting—the way her face had crumpled, the way her voice had broken—it felt like she had some feelings for me after all.

Polina didn’t look at me, didn’t react at all, her expression carefully neutral. But I could see it—the way her fingers twitched, the way her breath hitched just slightly.

Claire’s body tensed like a coiled spring, her muscles locking as she prepared to lunge at Natalya. But before she could move, Diana stepped forward, her gun leveled at Claire’s chest with lethal precision. "Don’t," Diana warned, her voice cold and unyielding.

Yelena’s hand shot out, grabbing Claire by the shoulder and yanking her back with a force that left no room for argument. "Not now," Yelena hissed, her voice a low, deadly growl. "We’re outnumbered, and she’s baiting you."

Claire’s voice was raw, her eyes burning with tears and fury. "This is not over," she snarled, her body trembling with barely contained rage.

Natalya’s smirk was infuriating, her voice dripping with mocking amusement. "Wait," she said, her tone sickeningly sweet. "I was just kidding." She turned to Diana, her expression shifting into something almost bored. "Bring him in."

Diana’s finger twitched near the trigger of her gun, but she didn’t lower it. Instead, she touched the Bluetooth device in her ear, her voice barely audible. "Bring him in."

A crackle of static, and then Polina’s earpiece lit up with the same command. She didn’t look at me, but her voice was firm, her grip on my arm tightening just slightly. "Let’s go."

Polina’s hand pressed firmly against my back, propelling me forward into the room. The second the door swung open, Claire’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes locked onto me—alive, unharmed, whole. For a heartbeat, she just stared, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps, her lips parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Then, with a choked sob, she lunged.

Her body crashed into mine with a force that nearly knocked me off balance. Her arms wrapped around me like steel bands, her fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt, clutching at me as if I were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. "You’re fine," she gasped, her voice breaking, her breath hot against my neck. "They didn’t hurt you, did they?"

I could feel every inch of her pressed against me—her chest heaving, her body trembling, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt. And God, her breasts—full, heavy, crushed against my chest as she clung to me, the softness of them molding to the hard planes of my body.

The pressure was intense, her nipples firm against me even through the layers of clothing, as if her body was reacting to the relief, the fear, the need to confirm I was real. I could feel the way they shifted slightly with every ragged breath she took, the way her body seemed to melt into mine, like she was trying to fuse us together.

I forced my expression into one of confusion, my hands instinctively lifting to her shoulders as I gently pushed her back just enough to look into her face. Her cheeks were wet, her lashes clumped with tears, her eyes red-rimmed and wild. "Claire, what’s happening?" I asked, my voice carefully bewildered as I reached up to wipe the tears from her face with my thumbs. "Why are you crying? Did she do something to you?"

Her breath hitched, her hands still gripping my shirt like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go. "She—she said you were—" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, her throat working. "She said you were dead."

I let my eyes widen in shock, my voice carefully controlled. "What? No, I’m right here. I’m fine." I cupped her face, my thumbs brushing away the last of her tears. "I’m not going anywhere."

Natalya’s chuckle cut through the moment like a blade. "Oh, don’t thank me just yet," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "It was really a good show, wasn’t it?"

Claire’s grip on me tightened, her body tensing as she turned her glare on Natalya. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice shaking with fury. "Some kind of sick joke?"

Claire’s body went rigid against mine, her grip tightening almost painfully as she pulled back just enough to glare at Natalya over my shoulder. "What do you mean by this?" she demanded, her voice shaking with fury, her chest still pressed flush against mine, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

Natalya waved a hand dismissively, her smirk infuriating. "Relax. It was just a joke," she said, her tone mocking. "No need to be that serious."

Claire didn’t let go of me. Not even for a second. If anything, her hold tightened, her body still molded to mine like she was afraid I’d vanish if she loosened her grip. "You bitch," she snarled, her voice raw, her breath hot against my skin.

I could feel the way her heart pounded against my chest, the way her body trembled—not just from anger, but from something deeper, something primal. The way her breasts pressed into me, the heat of her, the need—it was almost too much. Too real. Too intimate.

The heavy door of Natalya’s safe house clicked shut behind us, the sound echoing like a final judgment. The night air was cool, biting, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiled in my chest.

Claire walked ahead, her shoulders rigid, her steps sharp and unyielding. Yelena followed, her usual swagger replaced by a quiet, lethal focus. I brought up the rear, my mind still reeling from the twisted game Natalya had just played.

We piled into the car—Yelena behind the wheel, Claire in the passenger seat, and me in the back. The engine roared to life, and we pulled away from the cabin, the tires crunching over gravel as we disappeared into the night.

The city lights blurred past us, but inside the car, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, with rage and relief and something darker, something that felt like betrayal.