Page 23 of Worshipped by the BRATVA Grump

“What was that about?” I ask when he returns to the living room, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. I’ve never seen him dressed so casually. It’s weird, almost like he is an entirely different person. Though he is still intimidatingly huge.

He sits on the couch and pulls my feet into his lap, rubbing my soles with his thumbs. The tension melts out of me.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. Bodhan messaged, the ladder is done and they’ve pulled all the paper from the windows. The signage is being delivered tomorrow on schedule and he thinks you might want another coat of paint on the back wall.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re changing the subject. Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you,” he says.

“Then don’t. Tell me the thing I don’t need to worry about.” I push myself a little further up the cushions into an upright position.

“The man who caused the accident was paid to. He crashed into my car on purpose to hurt me, or send a warning to my family.” He looks at me the whole time he says it. But he says it flatly, clinically. Like if he tells a horrifying truth in such a bland manner, it would make it less horrifying.

I take a slow, deep breath and then let it out again.

“I see,” I say, pulling my feet from his hands and tucking them beneath me.

“They wouldn’t have known you were in the car. And Eduard is sorting it out now.”

“Sorting it out?” It comes out irater than I intend, but we could have died. Other people could have died. “Why did they want to hurt you?”

He shrugs and I feel the hold on my temper begin to fray at the edges.

“You tell me right now or I will walk out of here and never come back. Is this because your bratva? Or is this some other shit I don’t know about?”

“It’s linked to being bratva, but only because a deal went bad. Being bratva doesn’t inherently make me bad.”

I let out a short laugh, but it isn’t humor.

“I knew it. I knew if I fell for you, I’d end up out of my depth.”

“That’s not the case,” he argues, “This was more like bad timing.”

“Mech—” I throw the blanket from my lap and stand up a little too quick, causing pain to flare in my head. “Bad timing nearly killed us.” I walk from the room and find my boots, tugging them on while trying to ignore the ache in my head that has turned into pounding.

“Where are you going?” he asks, following me.

“I need to go home. I need to be alone.”

“You can’t be alone right now, you have a concussion.”

“Then I’ll stay with a neighbor.” I slam the door behind me, regretting it the second the sound hits my ears.

Tears blur my vision, and I’m angry at myself for getting emotional, then I blame it on the concussion while I thumb through my phone looking for my neighbors number.

She answers pretty quickly, which surprises me.

“Mrs Klein?” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as watery to her ears as it does to mine.

“Yes dear?” she says.

“Would it be possible for you to pick me up? I was in a car accident.”

“Of course,” she wails, causing me to wince. “Where are you, I’ll be right there.”

I tell her roughly where I am and she promises to set off right away. Even so it could be a while before she gets here.

Within an hour I’m tucked up in her spare room with a tray of sandwiches and a steaming cup of herbal tea.