Page 19 of Savage Don

You won’t regret it.

Something tells me I will.

Still, as my gaze turns back ahead, and the darkness behind me fades for the lights and sounds of the party house, I convince myself that the only way I’m ever going to truly become free is if I learn to enjoy myself.

Tonight will be my first lesson.

What’s the worst that could happen?

4

Ray

I fucking hate frats.

The undeserved arrogance. The smug sense of superiority. The noise and the filth… the shitty memories. It’s all wrapped into a disgusting package that I’d sooner set on fire and throw into an ocean than ever join.

Not that any of these kids are looking for an almost forty-year-old man to set foot in one of their house party’s.

Good. Because I’m not looking for that either. I’m just here to observe. To watch. To stalk.

And if necessary, to protect.

Francesca is too precious of a package to let out of my sight. Usually, she’s under near-constant supervision. At home, it’s from her father’s men. But when she’s off escaping to school, it’s me who’s watching her. Studying her. Waiting for the right moment to spring my plan into action.

That time is near.

I can still feel the soft warmth of her touch on my hand. Clenching my fingers into a fist, I hold onto that warmth as I prowl through the shadows across the street from the frat house.

Sigma Phi.

They don’t have the best reputation on campus—at least, not from what I’ve overheard. But it could have been any frat house and I still would have been surprised to see Francesca walk inside.

I thought I knew her better than that by now. But I guess this girl is full of surprises. That’s not a bad thing. It will keep this whole process a lot more interesting.

Finding a fire escape, I climb up onto the roof of the faculty building across the road from the raggedy mansion. The place is starting to fill up now, and I keep a hard eye on all new entrants.

Don’t any of you dare even think about getting near the raven-haired girl. She’s mine.

I’m peering through one of the windows upstairs, trying to keep tabs on Francesca’s whereabouts, when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

“What is it?” I quickly answer.

“Where are you?”

It’s Maksim. The Barinov’s commander-in-chief.

What I once was to the Irish mob, he is to his Russian masters. A workhorse. Muscle. Brains. All wrapped into one super soldier.

But I’ve been promoted. I’m no longer a soldier, or even a general.

I’m so much more than that—at least, I am for now.

“On a job,” I reply, catching a glimpse of Francesca’s raven hair on the second floor of the party mansion. Fuck. She’s so beautiful. It’s almost dangerous.

“… You’re following the girl, aren’t you?”

“Am I not supposed to?”