Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“You’re fucking crazy,” he mutters in Russian, scooping his laptop and books against his chest and hustling out of the bar.
I pick up another French fry and pop it in my mouth.
When Lara returns, she sends me a suspicious look. “Where is Denis?”
I eat another fry. “He had to go.”
The puddle of blood on the bar catches her eye, and she gasps. “What did you do to him?”
I stare back blithely. I know I need to switch gears. I’m not going to woo my wife by being an asshole or scaring her, but my blood is still hot. The need to protect her with violence still too strong.
Eric walks over with our beers, and I toss a spare napkin on top of the puddle of blood.
“Thanks, man.” I pull a twenty out of my pocket, but he shakes his head.
“On the house. I’m looking forward to working with you again this year.”
“Me too, man.” I lift my beer as if to toast him. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I drain half my glass and set it down to study Lara.
Her face is pale, but her lower jaw juts out in defiance. She doesn’t touch her beer.
“What did you do to him?” she repeats. The words start out angry, but her voice breaks on the word do, and then her eyes fill with tears.
Blyad’.
I didn’t mean to make her cry. I stand and reach my hand out to her. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
She jerks her hands protectively to her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I slide back onto my barstool. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
We stare at each other. There is no contest of wills I won’t win. I am the fucking prince of control.
Control is the only way to anticipate everything that might go wrong. To protect everyone who needs my protection. It’s how I learned to deal with the guilt of having someone I loved gunned down while trying to protect me when I was a child.
Lara must see that in my face because she gives an exaggerated huff and stands. “Fine. Take me home. Seeing how you own me and everything.”
She strides toward the door–a gorgeous bundle of rage and fear.
I should be sorry she’s upset. I am sorry. But the man in me who needs to maintain control of everything to keep the people I love alive is satisfied.
My wife is where I need her to be.
Safe, under my watch.
Chapter Eleven
Lara
I should be glad Baron gave me space when we got home, and I stomped upstairs to our bedroom.
I was at first. But then I felt strangely abandoned.
Now, a few hours later, I feel terrible about putting Denis in a bad situation. I knew he was attracted to me. I also knew I was married to a dangerous man. I was acting out without thinking about the collateral damage of my toxic girl behavior.
I’m also just hungry. I guess I’ll have to go downstairs at some point. I head down the stairs. Phoenix is working on a laptop on the couch in the same place he was when I came home.
In the kitchen, the two enormous guys, Alexei and Feliks, shovel ravioli into their mouths.
“Hey,” I greet them. “Is there any left?”
“I’ll get it for you.” Feliks surges to his feet.
The deference everyone shows Baron, and me by proxy, continues to surprise me. I can’t figure out if it’s out of fear or respect. But actually, no one seems jumpy or nervous. The inhabitants of this house are comfortable here.
Feliks dishes me a plate of food and puts it in the microwave to heat while I try to decide whether I’m relieved or disappointed not to find my controlling, apparently violent husband down here.
Is he mad at me? We didn’t speak on the ride home. I half-expected a war. Some kind retribution for making and keeping a date with another man. I was ready for it
I wrapped my anger around me like a blanket, planning to use it as a shield for whatever he threw at me, but he left me alone.
The microwave dings, and Feliks pulls out the warm plate and hands it to me.
“Get her a fork, dumbass. She doesn’t know where anything is here,” Alexei chides his younger brother.
Feliks opens a drawer and pulls out a fork. “Sorry.” He hands it to me.
“Thank you.” Not wanting to sit with them, I head out to the couch and drop into a seat near Phoenix to eat.
He glances over. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
I look over, surprised by the question. Is he for real?
“No. I’m not.”
Phoenix’s shoulders round more over his laptop, as if my anger landed as a physical assault.
I instantly regret being combative. Maybe he is genuinely concerned.
“Sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“No, I get it. You’re in a new place with a bunch of strangers, and you have no idea if you’re safe or not. I know how that feels.”