2. Max

If there's one thing I hate it's abusive assholes who beat up defenseless women. I'm no angel. Far from it. I've killed more men than most people have had hot dinners. And enjoyed it. But I don't hurt women.

I didn't notice the couple in the bar straight away. I was too busy reading the latest messages from Sasha. Something about one of our guys going missing. Nothing he can't handle, but still, it needs investigating. There have been a few too many issues lately.

Someone is trying to fuck with my Bratva, and I'm not willing to let it slide.

It wasn't until I heard the woman whimper with pain that I looked up. The guy had hold of her wrist and she looked terrified. He mostly blocked her from my view, but I saw enough to know she was beautiful. Long, dark hair and a lush figure.

Her pale eyes meet mine and something stirs deep inside. My cold, dead heart maybe? Damn. Those eyes are like liquid pools of water. Unusually pale for someone with golden skin and dark hair. Then my view is blocked again.

The asshole says something about visiting the bathroom and he leaves her.

Once he's out of sight, I walk over.

"Are you OK?" I ask her in a low voice. Not that the bartender gives a shit. He's done his level best to ignore her so far. Her wrist is bruised and she's obviously in pain. "Did he do that?"

She nods once. Tears glisten on her cheeks and she cradles her injured wrist. From the visible swelling, it could be broken.

Rage surges up through my chest and I clench my jaw, pushing the urge to kill someone back down. The last thing this woman needs is me losing my shit. She's already scared.

I reach out and touch her cheek. The way she stares up at me like I'm her savior stirs some long-dead emotions buried deep inside.

And my protective instincts.

Thank fuck I'm a few drinks in. The top-shelf vodka this place stocks has mellowed me out this evening. My senses are still sharp, but I'm less inclined to murder first and ask questions later. With the possible exception of the fucker who thinks he can hurt this woman.

Speaking of…

"Stay here," I say. He won't be touching her again. Or any woman for that matter.

The asshole is washing his hands when I walk into the men's bathroom. I suppose that's one point in his favor.

I glance around to make sure the place is empty before I flick the lock on the door. He looks up and then turns away dismissively when I stride over to the wash basins.

That's his second mistake; his first was hurting the woman in the bar.

"Do you get off on hurting women?" I ask in a conversational tone. He's several inches shorter than me and from the way he grits his teeth, it pisses him off.

"Huh?" He tries to shoulder-barge me, but I immediately block him in.

"Does it give you a hard-on?"

"Get out of my fucking way!" he snarls. I laugh when he tries to shove me out of the way. It's like being zapped by an annoying mosquito.

"If there's one thing I hate," I tell him, "it's men who abuse women." Before he can argue, I smash his head against the mirror. The glass shatters, shards falling into the sink. "Oops, seven years of bad luck for you!"

The shocked expression on his face is almost comical, but I don't have time to savor it. The bar is busy and someone will likely try and force the door open any minute now.

Blood spews everywhere as the asshole tries to stand. He makes a pathetic attempt at punching me, which I easily block. Then I rain blows down on his head and throw a few kicks in for good measure once he's on the floor.

Bones crack and screams bounce off the tiled walls. I don't stop until his face is unrecognizable. It will take him a while to recover, which will hopefully be long enough for him to see the error of his ways and forget he ever met a certain curvy brunette.

Before I leave the bathroom, I crouch down and whisper in his ear, "You have 24 hours to leave town and never come back. If I see you in this city again, you're a dead man."

There's a faint moan and a wet exhale, so know he's not dead. I hope he has the sense to heed my warning.

When I walk back into the bar, she's gone, and disappointment dampens the buzz I got from dealing with the asshole in the bathroom.

There was something about her. Not just her looks, although she's definitely my type. It was more her aching vulnerability that called to me.

Most of the women I spend my time with are brittle and fake. We use each other and then go our separate ways. My life is too dangerous. There isn't room in it for a relationship.

Anyone associated with me immediately becomes a target and I'm not willing to do that to someone I care about.

Not that I care about anyone these days, other than my sister, Vanya. But she's far away and living her best life with the idiot she married. As much as she'd love to see me settle down, we both know it's not going to happen.

Since the woman has gone, it's time for me to leave too. It won't be long before the motherfucker I just beat to a pulp is discovered, and I need to be as far away as possible when that happens.

I throw a fifty on the bar and then walk out.