To a man who cut out my own brother’s tongue. He was both hero and villain, and I didn’t know how to mix the two together.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one staring either.
Several girls held up cell phones and snatched quick pictures, while a few guys sneered in his direction out of pure jealousy. The man looked like a Viking god. Of course, they were jealous.
I held my head high as I made my way over to him.
He didn’t look up. When I was a foot away, he just tucked his phone back into his pocket and grinned, all white even teeth, a small dimple in the corner of his left mouth made itself known. How had I never noticed that before?
“I’m disappointed.”
“Huh?”
“So many girls were taking pictures I almost started posing, and yet you’re not even appreciating the goods by doing the same thing.”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
He crossed his arms and grinned. “Did you check your bag?”
“What?”
He motioned for me to turn, then very slowly unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a brand new iPhone. He handed it to me then lifted the hair by my ear and chuckled. “My number’s labeled Satan.”
“Would have guessed that.” I barely got the words out; it was like I couldn’t get air into my lungs. He was too close, he smelled too good, and it was confusing. It didn’t help at all that he wasn’t wearing his gloves.
I liked them. In a way it was a barrier between us, a visual way for me to understand that there was distance separating us.
I needed that.
Maybe as much as he did.
“Shall we?” He held out his hand.
Frowning, I took it, noticing that he seemed to clench his teeth like my touch was painful.
“You don’t like touching me.” I said it like a statement.
He stared down at our hands and quickly looked away; a forced smile fell across his full lips. “For reasons I’ll never share. So, don’t ask.”
“Is it me or all women?”
“All humans,” he said quickly. “Skin is too warm, I don’t like it, I don’t like to feel it… drives me fucking crazy.”
“And yet you’re not wearing gloves.”
“Maybe I’m conducting an experiment,” he said in an amused voice. “Hold your hand for longer than five minutes and prove to myself that I can handle the pain.”
I tried to jerk my hand away.
He held my fingers firmly in his grasp. “I’m not being an ass, I’m being honest. Maybe that does make me an ass, but it is painful, make no mistake about that. Touching you is like holding my hand in the flames as they lick my skin and singe it off, as they promise warmth only to burn me alive.”
We reached the car.
He dropped my hand like it was hot and opened my door. “You hungry?”
“No.” Yes, but I didn’t like this weird version of him, where he cared, where he picked me up from school. I preferred scary, scary I knew how to deal with, not that he wasn’t petrifying.
Case in point, there was a dagger on his seat and it still had blood on it. His gaze followed mine, and he quickly picked up the knife, cursed, and wiped it off with a black cloth he drew out of his pants pocket, and then finally put both in the back.
I gaped. “Do I want to know?”
He was silent for a couple of breaths, and then he started the car. “Probably not, it’s just business.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Doubtful. The business your father and brother do isn’t just illegal, it hurt my friends, my alliances. Ergo, that’s not just business, it’s fucking war.”
“Who drew first blood? You or them?”
He hesitated and shook his head as he pulled out of the driving spot. “Does it really matter? She made a deal with me, a deal she shouldn’t have made, and I did what I could to protect her, but she went in too deep, tried to go over my head, it’s not my fault Mil De Lange is dead, it’s hers.”
I hung my head. “That’s not what I was told.”
“Well…” He turned the car to the right. “You weren’t there.”
I stared down at my hands. “You were?”
“I was the one who set it up, who drew them out, drew her out. Of course, I was there, had Phoenix not shot her, it was my job to follow through.”
“She made a mistake. People make mistakes.”
“Her mistakes cost the De Lange family everything. Her mistakes had to do with greed. Just curious, but did you know the worth of the Abandonato dynasty?”
I bit my bottom lip and shook my head.
“Twenty billion dollars.” He said it slowly. “Not million. Billion. And Chase offered her part of, not just that fortune but his private fortune from his own mother, from her fashion line. Mil refused to take anything. Her biggest sin was her pride.”
“And yours? What’s yours?” I asked a bit breathless as I leaned in.
He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Betraying myself and the Italians by protecting a dead girl because I can’t seem to get her out of my fucking head.” He took another turn and then queried, “Burgers?”
I snapped my mouth shut and jerked back against the leather seat as he pulled up to a local burger place and actually proceeded to get out of the car and then open my door for me.
What game was he playing?
My heart was still hammering in my chest from his words. I couldn’t even read the menu by the time we made it back inside, for once I was thankful he was so bossy and controlling, he ordered me a burger and then a milkshake like I was twelve.
I wanted to be insulted but I was hungry.
We sat in silence.
Him on his phone.
Me sucking down the shake like I really was his kid.
It was painful.
The silence.
“So.” That’s what I filled the void with. So. “What did you do today?”
He didn’t look up just shrugged and said. “Had a visit from the past. One of the sluts my dad married and forced me to call ‘mom’ said she had info. Wouldn’t talk, so I made her regret coming to me for protection.”
I sucked harder on the straw, gulping, “What did you do?”
“She’s alive.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Your body language was all over the place, interested, closed off, then embarrassed that you were actually curious.” He still wasn’t looking at me.
I reared back.
“And now you’re wondering how much I’ve noticed up until now. Did you want me to read you, or is it too early in our marriage for that?” Again, he didn’t look up.
I glared. “We’re not married.
“Until you’re safe, you say, ‘why yes husband, I would love to know more fascinating details about my body language and blatant curiosity when you put your hands on me, tell me more.’”
I almost threw my milkshake in his face.
He grinned down at his phone. “Don’t throw it, I like this shirt.”
“I don’t.”
“You stared two seconds longer than normal this morning, then another ten seconds this afternoon before you approached me, you didn’t take a picture, then again you didn’t really need to, did you dorogaya?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe I was thinking of all the ways I could escape from you.”
“Doubtful.” He finally set his phone down and placed his forearms on the table, they were strong, muscle on top of muscle, with smooth skin. “You know the consequences if you run. I won’t hesitate to kill you before they do. They’d torture you. I’d put you out of your misery.”
I shuddered and looked away. “Is that where I say, ‘thank you for your mercy’?”
“No. I just don’t feel the need to lie to you about everything. The truth may be more painful, but it’s more real, and I think you need real as much as I do.”
“Now you open up? After
two days with me? Are you sampling the drugs you sell at the club now?”
His eyes flashed. “I don’t do drugs, nor do I sell them.” He shrugged. “I may move them here or there, but that’s only because someone has to do it, and I’d rather be that someone than one of the cartels.”
Our food came.
He’d ordered giant burgers for both of us and started immediately setting out ketchup, fry sauce, and mayo.
I watched in fascination as he dipped a fry into each and then ate it.
It occurred to me then, I’d never seen him do anything so human.
He was eating and I noticed that I hadn’t seen him really devour his food like this in front of me before.
It felt strange, watching him do something I imagined he never took part of, what did I think? He drank people’s blood.
“Watching me eat can’t be that entertaining,” he said between bites. “Unless you just like watching my mouth and imaging what it would feel like sucking one of your—”
I threw a fry at him.
Then froze. Literally held my breath.
He didn’t reach for his gun.
He didn’t move either.
Slowly, he lifted his head and tilted it to the side in a graceful catlike manner, his face hard as stone. And then he picked up the offending fry and very leisurely dipped it in ketchup.
I felt my body heat in all the wrong places as he held it in front of his lips, his eyes at half-mast as his tongue slid out and licked the bottom of the fry.
I gripped the edge of my wooden barstool, unable to look away as he twisted the fry in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, and then his lips sucking so perfectly that it was a crime. An actual crime, his mouth. He shoved the fry in and licked his lips then went about licking his thumb slowly, then his forefinger.
“Do that again and I’m not using a fry.”
“’Kay.” And I meant it.
I wouldn’t survive his touch.
I wouldn’t even know how to.
And I’d hate myself, wouldn’t I?
If I gave in.
If I let him touch me that way.
I’d be exactly what my brother and dad called me.
What he’d called me at dinner.
Not his wife.
His whore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Andrei
I was either suffering a mental breakdown.
Or I needed to take up a hobby.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
It was driving me insane.
I had to work that night. I worked every night, but I had to play my part, and I wouldn’t be able to see her innocent reactions to things like sucking a french fry.
I laughed at that as I tucked my half-open black linen shirt into my low-slung leather pants. I grabbed my family crest, placing it firmly on my right hand. A sickle with three bleeding stars hanging over it.
The Petrov Dynasty.
Broken.
Bleeding.
The last remaining star.
That’s what I was.
That’s what it represented.
I’d been the smaller star because I was the youngest heir, and now? Now the only one left. I couldn’t count Maya, Nikolai Blazik’s wife. She was a half-sister and that was it, and she wanted nothing to do with the Petrov name.
Not that I could blame her.
I should probably update the good doctor about the happenings in the club, and the mysterious arrival of Elena.
I’d checked on her twice.
Both times she was still writhing in pain.
She was weak, had always been weak. My father chose her because he liked her face and he knew he could control her and in return she could control me, his youngest child, his protégé.
I’ll never forget the days I had to fight her away from me.
The days she’d try to kiss me, to force herself on me when I was sixteen and finally started looking like a better option than my own father.
He should have killed her on the spot.
She carried a scar on her right thigh from my knife.
Maybe I’d extend it down her calf then burn the wound closed to remind her who she was dealing with.
Later.
Tonight, I was a club owner.
Tonight, I was the devil himself.
Tonight, I couldn’t get distracted by past enemies or Alice.
Six thirty-two.
Damn it.
She was starting to be more than a number, and I hated that when I thought of her I said her name in my head… and I said it softly.
Like I had a heart that actually cared.
I put on my silver Rolex and grabbed my cell then made my way out into the kitchen.
Alice was there.
And she was wearing a pair of shorts that showed too much creamy thigh and a sweatshirt that looked vaguely familiar. I did a double take. Son of a bitch. I leaned over the couch. “You really need to stop stealing my clothes.”
She looked up from the book she was reading and then eyed me up and down, “Are you going out?”
“Out the door.” I pointed. “To do my job.”
She scrambled to her feet. “Can I come?”
“I don’t know,” I tilted my head and smirked. “Can you?’
She threw the book down on the couch. “Stop being crude. May I come?”
In theory she would be safe, but I couldn’t give her all my attention and she would want that and more.
I sighed and held up my hand, reaching for my phone to send out a quick group text.
Me: Party at the club tonight, Cristal on me, bring the wives. Say any shit to Alice, and I strangle you with your own tie.
Nixon: Who the fuck is Alice?
Phoenix: Thought her name was six thirty-two?
Dante: Black Widow, remember? Making things personal?
Tex: I’ve waited for this moment my entire life.
Chase: Wait, Alice… why does that sound familiar? Same chick you randomly enrolled? Hmmmm things heating up?
A chill washed over me.
Sergio: We were going out already, see you guys there in an hour.
I sighed in relief.
Me: Great.
Chase: What’s her last name?
I hesitated, eyed her, then stupidly typed into my phone.
Me: Petrov.
Tex: WTF?
Sergio: Wait.
Chase: That’s not how this works… guys tell him, you date, you eat food, you propose.
Dante: Um, this coming from the guy that tried to kill his own girl?
Chase: I had my reasons.
Phoenix: Interesting development. I think we need alcohol for this conversation.
Me: Not enough, on this planet.
Phoenix: Even better.
Nixon: I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my entire life.
Me: Gotta go.
I looked up to Alice. “The guys are bringing their wives and their own security as per usual. Ax will be roaming the VIP area, and I’ll have Vic stand guard at the door with Mateo.”
“Really?” She smiled so bright I almost dropped my phone.
“No, I’m getting your hopes up on purpose.”
Her face fell.
“Joke. That was a joke.”
“You don’t joke.”
“Mmm…” I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “You don’t really know me, now do you?”
I pulled back.
Her eyes narrowed. “I think that’s the great question isn’t it? One day you can be terrifying, and in a second you can be the most charming guy in the room, albeit the most deadly. Which of you is real? The club owner? The fierce protector? The fake husband? Bodyguard? Who are you?”
Stunned, I could only stare. Not many people saw the chameleon tendencies, the need to blend into every situation with flawless precision.
But she somehow did.
“All of them,” I snapped. “I’m whatever I need to be, when I nee
d to be it.”
“And with me?” she asked, stopping me in my tracks as I turned toward the door. “Who are you when you’re with me?”
Anger swirled inside my chest, that she would demand an honest answer from me, that I would even debate whether or not to answer in the first place.
“Who I could have been,” I finally settled on, “if I wasn’t a man possessed with darkness.”
“Andrei—”
“Wear something conservative. The last thing I want is to have to kick out paying customers because they think they can have you.”
“So I’m still yours.”
“Funny that you think I would ever let you go,” I called over my shoulder then slammed the door behind me and leaned against it for a few heartbeats as I tried to regain the control of my breathing.
Who the hell did she think she was?
She was in no position to barter, to demand, to even converse with me, and yet, it was impossible not to engage, not to tell her things, not to want her to ask them.
I walked down the hall, my steps decisively angry, and realized with blatant clarity, that I, Andrei Alexander Petrov, was well and truly.
Fucked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Alice
The thing about finally being given freedom, you actually want to start to take it.
Freedom is like waking up from a long nap, you stretch your arms, then your legs, and suddenly you realize you can actually get out of bed, so you stand, and then you walk, and then you run.
Despite his millions of faults.
He’d given me that, a gift.
It hit me when I was standing in my closet trying to pick from the hundreds of dresses he’d purchased for me, for no other reason than he was intrigued.
I wasn’t going to dive into what that meant.
I was just going to be thankful, that I wasn’t locked in a room on a Wednesday night.
And that I was going to be able to wear a pretty dress.
Well that, and the fact that he hadn’t said no.
I wasn’t sure what had shifted. He was still scary as hell, and he still made me want to back away and hide against the nearest sturdy structure, but something in the way he looked at me now, like maybe he trusted me? Or maybe he was just like he said, curious.
Whatever it was.
Debase (Elite Bratva Brotherhood Book 1) Page 13