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“I wouldn’t trouble yourself, June,” Kolya interrupts. “You’re not going to be seeing him again after this.”
The man arches one thick eyebrow. “Is that right? You’re going to keep her locked away, are you? Protective of your little prize, Kolya.”
“I’m no prize,” I cut in viciously. “Not his, and sure as hell not yours.”
The man’s other eyebrow rises to meet the first. It’s subtle, but enough that I can see the burgeoning respect in his eyes. Then that’s gone, smoothed over with placid, malicious amusement once again.
He turns to Kolya. “Your kitten has claws.”
Kolya thrums with a dark, wary energy. I know enough about him to be frightened of it. I can’t say the same for this greasy ponytail in front of us.
“I assume you walked over here for a formal introduction,” he says calmly. “So I’ll give you one. This is June Cole, my girlfriend and the future mother of my child.”
He delivers the words so smoothly, so naturally, that it takes me a minute to realize just how jarring they really are. When it finally lands, I whirl around to gawk at him. He doesn’t look back, though, and in profile, his face gives nothing away.
Iakov doesn’t look surprised. “I see” is all he says. His gaze roams over me once again. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order. For more than just the baby.” Iakov’s tongue flicks out over his dry lips and then retreats again like a worm, leaving slimy spit in its wake. “Though a woman with a mouth like that ought to be taught how to properly use it.”
It’s like a cold breeze only I can feel passes through me. Wherever it touches, it burns the way frost does. I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but images flash through my head of attacking this man like a feral wildcat. Baring my teeth, my claws, ripping that ponytail right off his smug fucking scalp.
“You have rounds to do,” Kolya grits out. His voice is as icy as that invisible breeze. “I suggest you go do them.”
Iakov’s eyes twinkle. “But it’syouI came to talk to, Don Uvarov.”
“We’ve talked. Have a nice evening, Iakov.”
Then Kolya pivots, taking me with him toward a bar tucked into the corner of the ballroom. He gets the bartender’s attention with only a tap of his finger.
“Whiskey for me. Lemon soda for her.”
The man leaps to do as he’s told. When he holds out my drink, I take it from him with trembling hands.
It’s only a little bit of fear that’s fueling the shakes. Fear for my sister, for Kolya, for my baby, for myself.
Mostly, though, it’s anger.
I’ve survived so much, just to be talked about like I’m not even there. To be wielded like a shiny little bauble that men can bat around to their amusement.
I’m getting really fucking sick of it.
“Stay here. I’ll be back,” Kolya blurts unexpectedly.
I set my drink back on the bar counter. “You’re going to… leave me here?”
“I’ve got eyes on you,” he assures me. “You’ll be safe. I just need to check in with my men. See if they have any leads on Ravil’s location.”
That’s when I follow his gaze over my shoulder and a stony-faced soldier standing by one of the Corinthian columns.
“Okay,” I gulp. “I’ll be here.”
He nods and heads off in the direction of Mr. Stone Face. I turn to my lemon soda and down it like a shot. I miss alcohol, which is odd—it’s the first time I’ve felt that way in a long time.
The more Adrian drank, the less tolerance I had for it. By the time his third sobriety journey came around, the mere thought made me sick.
Which in hindsight, feels nauseatingly condescending. I deserved the barbs he used to throw at me.“Oh good for you, June. What a fucking pillar of discipline. You want a damn trophy or something?”
Not much has changed,croons his voice in my head.I’m six feet under and you still think you’re above me. Though I guess it’s literally true now, isn’t it?
“That’s not funny, Adrian,” I mutter under my breath.
