Phantom Rider - The Reckoning | Book 2

#22 | Worlds Apart

Two months later

Bill's POV

"Balloons? Really?" I chuckled as I stepped into the house, taking in the sight of brightly colored, slightly lopsided balloons lining the hallway. There was an oversized "Welcome Home!" sign dangling proudly above me. It looked more like a kid's birthday party than anything else.

"What did you expect from three guys?" Gustav laughed, shrugging. "Admit it, it's cute. Give us kudos for the effort, alright?"

"Too cute, even. Thank you all," I smiled, giving Gustav a rough hug, then one to Georg as well. Tom followed behind, lugging my bags with exaggerated groans to let me know just how much he still did for me. I was grateful, and he knew it.

"Home it is, then," I said, smiling as I took it all in. After weeks behind hospital walls, it felt almost surreal to be back, to move freely, to feel my scars slowly mending. But most of all, just to be alive. The accident itself was a hazy blank, like a missing reel in a film, and the doctor had warned me I might never remember what happened. Maybe it was for the best - I had no interest in reliving whatever thoughts had run through my mind just before the crash.

I took my first steps up the stairs, feeling the ache in my legs and the pull of half-healed scars. It was a good ache - an ache that meant I was still here. But then, one memory broke through, completely unwelcome. That night in this same house. I tried to shove it away, to lock it back down, but it persisted. 

Tom and I had finally spoken about it, faced it head-on. He explained, I explained, and we left it where it belonged: in the past. Still, it didn't take away the sting of pain.

And Mila... she hadn't visited. Not once. 

The last time I'd seen her was a nightmare in itself - her almost bare skin under my brother's hands, her moans echoing through my mind in the worst possible way. That was the final image I had of her, burned into my memory, impossible to shake. I'd hoped, even in some small way, that I'd see her while I was healing, that maybe I'd get a chance to replace that memory with something else. Something... anything other than that.

In my unconscious dreams, she was different - untouched, lighter somehow, like a Mila that didn't exist here. It made her feel like a fantasy, a version of her I could only conjure in sleep. As I got into my room, the house silent behind me, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe she'd stayed in my dreams for a reason.

Mila's POV

I met Dylan for the first time as Nastja. To him, it was all he knew. I never told him my real name. For my own security reasons, and who cared anyway - my passport stated my full name as Anastasia, so technically it wasn't a lie.

Funny how much I tried to get away from this part of me, just to end up being Nastja yet again. Dylan held my hand, his warm, large palm shielding mine. Late evening walks after his working hours were now our tradition. Our. Never would I have believed I would feel it again - a connection with someone. Desire for someone.

"What are you thinking about?" His soft voice interrupted my inner monologue.

"You." I blushed, admitting the truth.

"Now you look as pink as those sakura blooms." He stared into me, not realizing his cheeks were also rosy, just like mine. Spring in Tokyo is so beautiful, and yet again - living in the dark, I barely noticed the season changes. I raced past all that. Now, we walked slowly, looking at trees, and it felt so good.

I was so sure I'd left Russia to claim myself again. Now I wondered if I'd been wrong all along.

Mila had been what I needed to stay alive, a wall of sharp edges I used to protect myself. But she was also someone who always suffered. I hadn't left to be Mila again - I left because Nastja, the softer, lighter side of me, was never going to belong in Bill's darkness-filled world.

So I tried to become the woman who could stand next to him—his Mila—only to realize he never needed me in the first place. Nor did he need Nastja.

Maybe I hadn't wanted Bill back then as much as I'd wanted to let go of who I'd become around him. I'd been fighting for some other life, the kind that didn't demand constant survival.

A gentle touch of Dylan's hand against mine snapped me back to the moment. He always did that - respected every boundary, always taking it one careful step at a time. No one had ever been patient with me. He waited, he never rushed anywhere. He didn't obsess.

His touch was light, so different from the fierce, possessive heat I'd once craved. I didn't feel a need to protect myself, to stay guarded and hard. I felt like I could just... be.

Dylan leaned in, his eyes full of a question, waiting. And when I didn't pull away, he pressed his lips to mine, soft and warm. The kiss was tender and sweet, a long kiss that made my head spin a little.

When we pulled apart, his smile was wide, and I couldn't help but smile back. The constant anxiety I'd carried, the weight of everything I'd run from, was dissolving in his presence.

"I like this," Dylan said, his voice full of an unexpected vulnerability. "I like being with you."

I nodded, still squeezing his hand. "I like it too," I whispered, and I meant it.

As we stood to leave, drifting through the soft, flower-covered streets, I felt lighter than I had in years. Maybe Nastja could stay. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't look over my shoulder. And for the first time, I felt like I didn't have to. 

Was I falling in love again?

Bill's POV - Next Day

I was not wasting any time. Woke up at 6. 

Went for a walk. Hate walking, yet my physical recovery demanded this. 

So I walked. So fucking boring.

Ate breakfast. Didn't smoke like I always would. My recovery demanded this too. 

No alcohol. No cigarettes. No fights. Nothing that would help me stop thinking for a second.

Where the fuck is she? Sergei was useless. "Mila doesn't live with me anymore. Mila doesn't work for me anymore," is all he said.

What does that even mean? Mila, the one hungry for action and power, left it all behind and vanished? Sergei was a good liar, he probably had his reasons. I didn't give a fuck about his reasons. 

It's my woman he was hiding. I knew her better than anyone - she was a liar too. To herself. 

She was also a creature of routines. If she is still in Tokyo, I'll find her in no time. 

So I drank my morning coffee and went out for a hunt. 

First, I searched all the cafes she loved to visit. I asked everyone if they had seen her. No one had. Then I went further - deeper into downtown. Carefully, silently asking around her past accomplices, avoiding conflicts, moving in shadows, no one had seen woman like her.

All the streets we rode - the empty highways, old parking lots. Days went by. Disappeared. Funny, this wasn't the first time, as if she almost wanted me to find her - Mila's type of game of chase. I didn't mind. If the prize for the chase were her, I would do it forever if she wanted me to.