39. Bronwyn

39

brONWYN

The next morning—the day before the wedding—I woke with the world’s worst hangover, a blue and purple bruise on my cheek and a swollen lip. Radimir insisted I wasn’t going to work. I immediately dug in because being closed for the day was going to make my already tiny profits even smaller, and we eventually compromised and said I’d open the store after lunch, but only if he drove me there and back. While I was working, he and his brothers would run the rest of the Armenians out of town.

Then he demanded I change into exercise gear and dragged me into the penthouse’s small gym. “This is for you,” he said, handing me a small, silver switchblade. I tentatively pressed the button and almost took my thumb off when the blade shot out. “ Jesus! I’m not carrying a knife!”

“Yes you are.” His jaw set stubbornly. “It’s small enough to fit in your purse.”

“That’s not the?—”

“It has carvings on the handle,” he said, pointing. “Vines. Feminine.”

I looked. There were carvings and they were pretty, and part of me wondered what strings he’d pulled, to have someone find an antique switchblade like this and have it delivered here, all before I’d even woken up. There were dark circles under his eyes. Did he even sleep? “Thank you, it’s lovely, but I’m not carrying a?—”

He took hold of my shoulders. “ I need you to!”

For the first time, I saw the fear in his eyes. I shut up.

“We will practice with this,” he said, handing me a rubber knife. “Now. I will try to grab you.”

He spun me around by the shoulders and grabbed me from behind. One arm wrapped around my waist, the other brushing the underside of my boobs, and immediately, a rush of heat went through me. He pulled me back against him, his warm pecs pressing into my back. I felt his cock swell between the cheeks of my ass and my groin throbbed and tightened.

“Fight back,” he ordered. “Go for my neck.”

Right. Yes. That’s what we were doing. I reached up and drew the rubber knife along the side of his neck.

“Not like you’re giving me a shave,” he said coldly. “Like you’re cutting my throat . Again!”

I reached back and slashed across his throat , my stomach flipping, and he grunted as if that was acceptable and released me. “Now I will grab you from the front,” he told me.

For the next hour, he came at me from every angle: grabbing my wrist, my throat, knocking me off my feet. Three weeks of being close to him with no relief had left me horny as hell. After just a few minutes of his hard body rubbing against mine, I was a red-faced, panting mess and my panties were damp. But aside from his hard cock, he seemed completely under control. When he wrestled me to the floor and pinned me there, his hips between my thighs and my breasts pillowed against his chest, I stared up at him in disbelief. How is this not affecting him?

Then I saw it in his eyes, just for a second. The lust was there, but it was trapped behind an even stronger need. He’d always wanted to protect me, but now he needed to. Last night had changed things.

Next, he showed me how to stab. “Twist it as it goes in,” he told me, guiding my hand. His Russian accent made the words even colder. “The more damage you can do, the faster they’ll bleed out.”

I stared at him, appalled. “Who taught you this stuff?”

His eyes went distant for a moment. “My...friend, in New York. Alexei.” Then he seemed to remember himself. “Let’s continue.” He stepped forward to come at me again.

I stepped back. “Why did you lose contact with him?”

He gave me one of those curt little shakes of his head and circled to box me in. “It’s not important.”

I sidestepped. “It is important.” I put the knife stubbornly down at my side.

He sighed and scowled. “Bronwyn...”

“No stabby-stabby ‘till you tell me.”

He glowered, but his eyes gleamed, as if part of him liked the way I stood up to him. He looked at the ceiling, cursing in Russian, and I got the impression he was counting to ten. God, he looked magnificent, with that big chest rising and falling under his tight black tank top and his jaw set angrily. I had to stop myself just melting and giving in. But this was important, this Alexei guy was the closest thing to a human connection he seemed to have, outside of his family, and I needed to know what went wrong.

He lowered his eyes to me and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alexei...met a woman called Gabriella. He was sent to kill her, but he fell in love with her. He betrayed his employer for her and turned his back on the Bratva. They live together in Queens, now.”

“That’s amazing!” I said. I couldn’t help grinning, it was so romantic!

Radimir scowled at the floor. “I thought it was...weak.”

I stared at him. “Is that still what you think?”

He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes blazing. His lips moved, as if he was about to say something. His hands closed into fists?—

Then he stormed out of the gym. “I will make us lunch. Then I will drive you to the store.”