I checked the peephole, and the sleep was instantly stripped from my brain. My blood, already warm from the night's passion, turned to ice.
Standing in the hallway was Volkov. He looked like a statue of granite, his face illuminated by the harsh, clinical light of the Peninsula's corridor.
"Fuck," I hissed under my breath. "This guy again."
I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to shake the fog of exhaustion, then exhaled slowly before swinging the door open. I didn't open it all the way—I wasn't about to let him get a glimpse of Sasha's sleeping form—but I stepped into the gap, filling the frame with my bare chest.
"Okay, boy, what do you want?" I growled, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice. "It's four a.m. for fuck's sake."
Volkov's eyes didn't flicker. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the scratches on my torso and the disheveled state of my hair. A slow, mocking curl touched the corner of his mouth.
