Page 28

It would’ve made more sense for him to stand on the sidelines, cheering the other team. But he’d thrown himself into the mess, knife unsheathed, and taking a blow meant for me.

I crossed to the bathroom and yanked the door open, stopping short at the sight of Yuriy by the sink, shirtless. His back was to me, muscles shifting beneath the stretch of black ink that coiled across his skin. The dragon looked alive, its head resting between his shoulders, eyes narrowed, mouth open as if it were ready to breathe fire.

Up close, the detail was staggering. Each scale glinted under the bathroom light, every one deliberate, carved into him with precision. A rumor I’d once heard but dismissed came crawling back.

Each scale for every life he’s taken.

I’d killed enough to know what it cost a man. But this…The sheer size of the creature, how it wound from shoulder to hip, was proof that Yuriy Orlov didn’t just flirt with death. He wore it with the confidence of a reckless man who thought he was invincible.

His grin might be easy and his laugh infectious. He might have a way to charm people into his web, but beneath it all, he was waiting for the time to strike. The tattoo on his neck now seemed fitting. That spider lingering in the web was him.

Words died on my lips.

He angled his head and looked at me. “I’ll be done in five. Then the bathroom’s all yours.”

But I didn’t need the bathroom. I’d used the shower down the hall once we got home.

My gaze drifted over him, across the knot swelling on his forehead, down his throat, and to his naked chest, not surprised to find more ink and his nipples pierced. The ink didn’t hide the purpling bruise along his ribs. Heat flared inside my chest. He’d gotten hurt because of me.

“You shouldn’t have interfered.”

Yuriy finally turned to face me, towel in hand, eyebrows lifting. “That’s all you got to say to me?”

“I didn’t need your help. I had everything under control.”

“Handing over your wallet to those scumbags is having everything under control?”

“Better that than to leave a trail of dead bodies with our names on them.”

He made a scoffing sound and tossed the towel into the laundry basket.

“What’s a dead body or two? You’re fucking Stanislav Zhukovsky. Were you really going to allow those two assholes to mouth off on how they robbed you? You’d have been the laughingstock of our world. How would anyone take you seriously after that?”

“That’s for me to worry about.”

“Well, sweet cheeks, like it or not, we’re family now.” He raked his gaze over my body and licked his lips. “Somebody’s gotta protect all o’ that.”

He was unreasonable.

Insufferable.

Whatever gratitude I’d felt toward him dissolved like rust on my tongue. “You think everything’s a fucking joke.”

“Well, what the fuck do you expect from me, Stas? With our lifestyle, we can be dead any minute. Fuck, there are even people in my circle who want me dead. You bet your ass I’m gonna enjoy every minute of what I do before that fucking happens.”

That stopped me. His grin faded, and what replaced it wasn’t his usual mockery. It was something raw, flickering beneath the surface.

Hurt.

Yuriy wasn’t the kind of man to linger over old wounds. What could have hurt him to this extent that his usual facade slipped before me?

“Why’d you really interfere?” I asked quietly.

“Maybe because while I’m here, I can’t fight you.” Yuriy made a scoffing sound.“So the next best option is to fight beside you.”

The words hung between us, heavy. I’d had men fight for me before, but never beside me. That simple distinction lodged under my skin like shrapnel.

“Or maybe”—he glanced at me through the mirror—“it’s because I want you to owe me a favor. I hear you take care of your people.”