Page 173 of Marrying the Savage

“Men like you?”

“Independent men.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

His mouth curves. “Useful men who don’t kneel.”

“That sounds like something you say to women at bars.”

“Usually it works.”

“I’m married.”

“I noticed the city-wide panic.”

I glare at him.

He laughs again and starts walking, so I follow. We go upstairs to a balcony that overlooks the main floor. From here, I can see the whole club: the bar, the booths, the dance floor, the guarded hallway, the entrance. I count exits without meaning to.

Damir would notice that.

The thought comes so fast I almost hate myself.

Arman notices too, but he doesn’t comment. “Your uncle helped me once.”

That makes me stop. “My uncle?”

“Sergei Antonov.”

I stare at him. “My uncle did a nice thing? Color me surprised.”

Arman chuckles. “Nice is not the word I would use.”

“Good. I was worried I had entered an alternate universe.”

“He gave me money when I was starting.”

I blink. “Why?”

“Because I had something he wanted.”

“Of course. There it is.”

“Information,” Arman says. “A shipment route, years ago. I was young enough to need money and smart enough to know the route was worth more than one buyer would pay. Sergei paid best.”

“My uncle paying well for betrayal. How sentimental.”

“It was not betrayal. I owed no one loyalty.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

He smiles. “Maybe.”

I lean against the balcony rail, careful not to look too long at the drop to the floor below. It’s not a cliff, but my body is not interested in technical differences.

“What was he like then?” I ask.

“Sergei?”