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My frustration peaks at the sight of them flirting. Her father might have broken off the engagement, but she belongs to me until I say otherwise.
I slip into the corner, counting on the shadows to hide me as I observe the scene in the VIP area. A nagging feeling forces me to take a closer look at the guy. He’s familiar, but I can’t place him right now.
His lips twitch in a smirk as he stands up. She follows him. He hooks an arm around her waist, causing something painful to tug inside my chest. I clench my teeth as they disappear from view.
Katarina will be my wife. No one touches her.
When I push past the crowd to follow them to the back exit, the noise and lights come rushing back to me. I hold my breath and follow them. I’m careful when I reach the door, opening it just a crack to see if they’re there.
Away from the music, I can hear their conversation.
“You should start to feel it any moment now,” the man says, his voice strangely familiar.
“Feel what?” Katarina asks, her words slightly garbled.
“The drug that I put in your drink, of course,” he sneers with a soft chuckle.
My blood boils with fury at the sound of Katarina falling to the ground. With a death grip on the handle, I wrench the door open and burst into the alleyway. The light from the side of the building is enough to reveal two figures.
“No need to worry,” he tells her. “Just relax. I promise to show you a much better time than your brother did my sister.”
He makes a move to lift her limp body from the ground.
“Yakov Gargarin,” I hiss, my tone icy. I recognize him now, seeing the monster he hides behind his handsome features.
He snaps his gaze to me. Katarina’s body slips between his fingers. It’s as if he’s forgotten about her.
“Volkov,” Yakov snarls. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Everything that involves Katarina Sokolov concerns me,” I casually reply.
“Well, I should’ve known better than think it would be this easy.” He sighs and takes a step backward.
“Leave now, Yakov,” I warn in a low voice. “Go, or I will change my mind and tear you apart.”
“This is my vengeance,” Yakov says, gesturing at Katarina. “Igor took Ana’s innocence. Someone has to pay.”
“Find a different way,” I tell him. “Katarina is mine.”
For a moment, Yakov seems as though he will give up and leave. But then defiance flashes in his eyes and he lunges for her limp form.
I don’t give him the time to lay a finger on her. I punch him so hard in the face that I hear the bones in his nose break.
I’m used to people underestimating me. No one thinks that a billionaire in a tailored suit knows how to throw a punch. They think that I spend my days in front of monitors, but they don’t stop to consider that money can buy the best martial arts trainers. I’ve been practicing Krav Maga for over ten years now. Though I don’t like to get my hands dirty, I do what’s necessary.
As someone who knows how to take a hit, Yakov recovers quickly. He flashes his bloody teeth as he charges at me.
Before he can wrap his fingers around my throat, I shift my hips and jab my elbow in his. Yakov makes a gurgling sound and stumbles backward, holding a hand to his neck.
I keep my fists up to protect myself and roar, “If you don’t leave now, I won’t hold myself responsible for what comes next.”
“You’re the one who’s going to run,” Yakov coughs out, getting his act together enough to punch me.
But there’s not enough force behind his blow. I dodge it easily and step to the right to get out of his reach. For someone so massive, Yakov is rather impulsive. Though I’m sure his father trained him properly, he would benefit from spending some time learning how to control his emotions. They can be a fighter’s downfall.
“I have no fear, you fool,” I say, throwing another jab and striking his nose a second time. Bruises bloom beneath his skin.
I kick him in the gut, sending him flying. His back slams against the wall. Something cracks, but Yakov doesn’t whine or moan in pain. It’s almost as if he enjoys it. Or maybe he’s become numb.
