Page 3 of Gilded in Blood

Shit. How did he find out about that? “I… uh, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Go on then, tell me what it is. Explain to me why you were in a club when you were supposed to be in your room, either reading or sleeping.”

I roll my eyes. Listening to my brother, one would think he’s a saint. It’s not like I went to a strip club. “Last I checked, there’s no law against going to clubs, besides it’s the weekend.”

“But there’s one against smashing bottles on a man’s head! When did you become violent?”

“He asked for it. Did Sarah tell you what he did? Surely you didn’t expect me to do nothing.”

He lets out a long, exhausted breath on the other end. ‘You’re supposed to be the good sister! The quiet one. The one who doesn’t end up needing bail at two in the morning. What exactly has gotten into you in Manchester?”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. I keep walking slowly down the street, hoping to get a cab, phone pressed to my ear, letting his lecture wash over me like background noise.

Calina’s the outspoken one, the firecracker who says exactly what she thinks. Me? I’ve always been quieter. Reserved. People, my family included, sometimes mistake that for timidity or weakness. And I let them.

He keeps going, barely pausing for breath. “This is not why you’re in England. You’re supposed to be studying, not out causing trouble. Right now you should be in your bed, safe, not sitting in some freezing cell like a common criminal⁠—”

I tune him out, focusing instead on the cold night air biting at my bare legs. The expensive dress feels even more ridiculous out here. After a solid minute of him ranting, I yawn loudly into the phone.

“Mikhail… are you done? Because I’d really like to go home and get some of that rest you mentioned.”

He makes a frustrated sound. “Done? No, I’m not done. Stop acting like this is nothing! Do you realize the gravity of what you did? What would have happened to you if I didn’t have someone to come bail you out?”

“Stop shouting,” I drawl. “It’s not like I killed the guy. He deserved it. I know you’ve killed men for less.”

I’m no stranger to what goes on in the Bratva. My brothers torture and kill men they feel deserve it all the time. I just happen to have borrowed a little leaf from their book tonight.

Mikhail groans, the sound long and pained. “God, what am I going to do with you?”

A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips. “How did you know I was behind bars, anyway? Talking about bailing me out like you’ve got a whole extraction team on standby.”

“Sarah called me,” he says, still irritated. “Crying, completely hysterical.”

I roll my eyes again, harder this time. Sarah. We’ve had this conversation before. She needs to stop running straight to my brothers every time something goes sideways. I love her, but she panics too easily.

“Thankfully,” Mikhail continues, “I already had someone in England who could handle it quickly. He’s there to take you home, to the States.”

My steps slow. “Take me home? Why?”

The connection starts breaking up badly, his voice cutting in and out. “—Ilya… sent him… bail… dorm…”

“Mikhail.”

I walk a little further down the street, lifting the phone and turning in a slow circle, trying to catch better signal. “Mikhail? Hello? I didn’t catch that—why am I going home? Who did you send?”

Static fills the line again, and then the call drops completely. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen, muttering a curse under my breath as I keep walking, trying to find even a bar of signal.

My heel catches awkwardly on the curb, and I stumble forward, almost face-planting right in front of a sleek, expensive-looking sports car parked at the curb. Black, low-slung, the kind of machine that looks like it costs more than most people’s houses. Its headlights are narrowed like eyes in the dark, as if it’s watching me.

But the car isn’t what holds my attention.

Leaning against the driver’s side is a man. A very tall man. Broad shoulders that stretch the fabric of his dark tactical jacket, powerful arms crossed over a wide chest, legs casually crossed at the ankles. Dark hair, sharp, hard features, and an aura of pure danger.

If someone had asked me to describe the perfect “tall, dark, and handsome man ” he would be it. The kind of man who makes the air feel thinner.

Our eyes meet.

His gaze is intense, piercing, like he’s looking straight through my skin and into every secret I’ve ever kept. From where I stand, I can’t quite make out the true color of his eyes. For a second, it steals my breath. Heat crawls up my neck.