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“Mom?” Again, Roan’s tone was loaded with a hundred more things than what he actually said.
“What the hell ishedoing here?” Phillip asked, his glare landing on me.
“Him?” Roan scoffed, throwing the look right back at his father. “What the hell areyoudoing here?”
“I thought this was a dinner with Fritz and Anita,” he snarled, turning his wrath back to his wife.
“Phillip, please. Just sit. Let’s celebrate as a family. Roan had a—”
“A family?!” Phillip interrupted, his gaze whipping back to Roan and I. “Great. So not only is my son fucking gay, he’s decided to embarrass himself even further by slumming with criminals. Won’t that make a great picture for the Christmas card?”
Standing slowly, I pushed my chair out and smoothed the front of my jacket. I heard Roan whisper “Oh shit,” as I circled the table and stopped in front of his father, drawing myself up to my full height. “I will only say this one time, so listen to me carefully. If you ever disrespect him again, I’ll rip your fucking tongue out.”
Phillip’s upper lip curled and he swayed closer with every word. “Oh, am I supposed to be afraid of you? You think because you’re covered in prison tats and have a Russian accent that you’re scary? You clearly have no idea who the fuck I am. And you? You’re nothing. Your life is worth less than his, if that’s—”
I’d heard enough.
Without warning, I smashed my forehead into the bridge of his nose, silencing whatever venom he was about to unleash. Clearly the whole family had a problem listening or following orders, although in Roan’s case I’d learned to make an exception.
The surrounding tables gasped and silverware clattered.
Phillip swore loudly, clawing at the table for a cloth napkin to stop the river of blood gushing out of his face. I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his cheek against the table, heaving all of my weight on top of it.
Snatching the closest steak knife, I leaned down and held it in front of his face, twisting it so the blade caught the light. “Do you want to know what happened to the last man who didn’t listen to me? I peeled his face off while he was still alive. Keep it up and you’ll lose more than your fucking tongue.”
“Sasha, don’t,” Roan said softly. He was on his feet, holding his hands up, entreating me with every part of his expression. “Not here…”
“You’re going to regret this,” Phillip hissed, spitting blood all over the pristine table cloth.
“You first.” I stabbed downward as hard as I could. The steak knife bit into the table a centimeter from his nose. Laurel and a few other females shrieked.
Roan slipped his hand into mine and tugged me toward the door. “We gotta go. Now.”
It was easy enough to make our way through the restaurant. People scattered as soon as they saw us. Well, when they saw me, anyway.
Once we were outside and a safe distance away, Roan jerked me to a halt. Before I could even ask what he was doing, he pushed me up against the building and his mouth was on mine. As soon as my lips parted, his tongue slid in, circling mine and tracing the roof of my mouth, the lines of my teeth, anywhere he could in a desperate frenzy.
One of his hands slid down my chest, along my abdomen, and straight to my rapidly hardening cock. He gripped it through my trousers, stroking it while grinding his own hard-on against my thigh.
A very unpleasant image of Sergei popped into my head. It was bad enough I’d been affectionate with Roan at the theater, I didn’t need word getting back to my boss that I was seen getting jacked off in downtown Chicago by another guy.
Pushing him away as gently as I could, I swallowed, trying to catch my breath. “What was that for?”
“For being you.”
I didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean, but I basked in the radiance of his smile. For the second time that night, pride warmed the center of my chest.
“Let’s go home,” Roan said, intertwining his fingers with mine and leading the way down the sidewalk.
19
ROAN
“You mademe drive an hour and a half to afarm?” Sasha groaned, climbing out of his Mercedes and slamming the door.
“Well, with the way you drive, it was more like an hour. And it’s not a farm, it’s an orchard.” I fell into step next to him, making our way through the unpaved parking lot toward the giant barn that housed the orchard’s main store.
“Same difference.”
