40. Chapter 40

40

Dimitri

I watch Wren rip those drunk mudaks a new asshole. She's all piss and vinegar, this one. Even after the shit that went down with her old man, she's still ready to fuck someone up. It stirs something in my gut, seeing her like this. Makes my cock twitch…

Yebat', focus, you durak.

She turns back to me, and for a split second, I see it—that flicker of doubt in her eyes. She buries it quick, but not quick enough. She's off-kilter. Fuck, so am I, if I'm not bullshitting myself.

"We should…" she starts, then clamps her mouth shut. I wait, watching her chew on her bottom lip. But she doesn't spit it out.

My hand's still on her waist, burning through her shirt. It feels right there, like it's fucking molded to her curves. But I know better than to push my luck with this suka .

"We should get you home," I grunt, keeping my voice low. "It's late."

She nods, silent as the fucking grave. As we start walking, I keep my paw where it is. She doesn't shrug it off, which I take as a good fucking sign.

The streets are dead this time of night, just the occasional piece of shit car sputtering by. Wren leads us down a few side streets, each one looking more like a pizda than the last. I've been in some shithole neighborhoods, but this… this is next level govno .

We stop in front of a building that looks like it's been through a fucking war. Paint peeling like sunburned skin, walls tagged up like a prison cell, and I swear to bog I just saw a rat big enough to wear a fucking saddle.

Wren hesitates, and I catch something in her eyes. Blyat , is that embarrassment? That's new. She's never given two shits what anyone thinks.

"I'll walk you up," I say, not asking for permission.

She bristles, straightening up like she's got a steel rod up her ass. "I'm not a little princess, D. I don't need you to protect me."

I snort, then shove her toward the building's entrance. "I know, Wren. I've seen you slice off three khuy's dicks before. I was there, remember?"

She freezes for a second, then lets out a laugh. It's a real one, not that bitter suka sound I'm used to hearing from her. It goes straight to my yaitsa .

We climb the stairs, the whole fucking building groaning like it's in pain. There's a stench in the air, a cocktail of mold and cheap-ass cooking oil, and something that smells like death warmed over. Through walls thin as paper, I hear a TV blasting, some mudaks screaming at each other, a baby wailing its head off.

We stop at unit 3C. Wren fumbles with her keys, the lock fighting her before finally giving up with a screech that could wake the dead.

She steps inside, and I can see the tension leaving her shoulders. Home turf. She turns, probably expecting me to leave, but I follow her in.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses, keeping her voice low.

"Making sure everything's okay at home," I say, my eyes already scanning the place.

It's tiny.

So tiny that I feel like a bull in a china shop just standing here. The living room's barely big enough for a ratty couch and a TV that's seen better days. There's a kitchenette off to one side, and I can see a small dining table with a couple of covered plates on it.

Before Wren can throw me out—and I can see she's gearing up to do just that—a door opens. A girl stumbles out, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She's maybe seventeen, but those eyes… fuck, they've seen too much. Long, tangled hair frames a face that's still soft with baby fat, but there's a hardness in her jaw that doesn't belong on a kid.

I know who she is without Wren saying a word. Emma. Wren's half-sister. The one she'd do anything to protect. She stops dead when she sees me, her mouth dropping open.

"Wren?" she says, her eyes darting between us. "Who's this?"

I can practically feel Wren tensing up beside me. "Em, this is… a friend, D. D, this is my sister, Emma."

Emma's eyebrows shoot up so fast I think they might fly off her face. "A friend? Since when do you have friends? Especially not…" She trails off, waving a hand at me like I'm some kind of circus freak.

"Especially not what?" I ask, keeping my voice flat.

Emma's face goes red as a tomato. "You know. Big. Scary-looking."

I hear shuffling from the room Emma just left, and a second later, a scrawny kid appears. He takes one look at me, and his eyes bug out like he's seen a ghost.

"Holy shit," he wheezes. "Are… you a hitman? Or, like, Wren's… boyfriend ?"

Lenny's eyes are practically bugging out of his head, darting between me and Wren like he's watching a fucking tennis match. Emma's trying to stifle a laugh behind her hand and failing miserably.

And Wren. She looks like she's about two seconds away from shoving me out the nearest window. Her fists are clenched at her sides, knuckles white, and there's a vein throbbing in her neck that I kind of want to bite.

Nakhuy, this shit is the funniest thing I've ever seen.

Wren's face twists like she just bit into a lemon. "Hell no, he's not my boyfriend," she spits out. "And he's not a hitman either, you little twerp."

I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. "Nah, kid. I'm just the guy who keeps your sister out of trouble," I say, throwing Wren a look that makes her cheeks flush red. "Most of the time, anyway."

"I'm Dimitri, but you can call me D," I say, walking straight up to the kid. He cranes his neck, looking up at me like I'm a fucking skyscraper.

"Woah… you're like, three of me stacked on top of each other!" Lenny blurts out.

I size him up, nodding approvingly. "You're not doing too bad yourself, kid. Bet you're the tallest in your class, yeah?" I hold out my fist. "Keep it up and you'll be breaking hearts in no time."

Lenny's face splits into a grin so wide I think his face might crack. He bumps my fist, then puffs out his chest. "Yeah, I'm already taller than most of the girls!"

Emma rolls her eyes.

I chuckle. "Nothing wrong with a little confidence, kid."

Lenny's face lights up like I just handed him a bag of cash. Emma looks like she's trying not to piss herself laughing. And Wren… she looks like she's seriously considering where to hide my body.

"Okay, show's over," she says, grabbing my arm. "D was just leaving. Right, D?"

I look down at her hand on my arm, then back at her face. She's trying to look all tough, but there's a flush creeping up her neck that says otherwise.

"Right," I say, but I plant my feet. Instead, I turn back to the kids. "You two eaten?"

Emma shakes her head. "We were waiting for Wren. There's leftover pasta on the table."

Lenny shifts his weight, eyes darting to the floor. "I… ate a little," he mumbles, guilt written all over his face as he glances at Wren. His fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt.

I catch the way Wren's jaw tightens. Pain.

Kid's probably used to going to bed hungry, splitting every scrap three ways.

I nod, looking at the covered plates. Probably cold by now. "How about I order some pizza instead?"

Lenny's eyes light up. "Really? Can we get the one with the stuffed crust?"

"Absolutely not," Wren cuts in. "D's leaving. Now."

But I can see the way she's eyeing the sad little plates on the table. The way her siblings are looking at her, hopeful but trying not to push.

I lean in close, my voice low enough that only she can hear. "Let me do this, Wren. For them, if not for you."

She stares at me for a long moment, her jaw clenched. Then, finally, she sighs. "Fine. But you're not staying."

I grin, already pulling out my phone. "Whatever you say, printsessa ."