28. Mel

Heart full, my yes on the tip of my tongue, I part my lips to answer Gleb.

But all that comes out is a startled yelp as the door behind him crashes open. It hits the wall with such force that the drywall behind it cracks.

Gleb whirls, his lithe body settling into a defensive crouch as he braces to see who's coming. Five men enter—four burly bouncers with Vinny at their head. And a snarl contorts the Irishman's face as his eyes land on Gleb.

"That's the bastard who hit me," he growls. "Get him."

"No!" I gasp, leaning harder into the glass as I desperately will it to vanish.

The four hulking Russian bouncers stalk cautiously forward, and I can tell from the way they hold themselves that they're not taking Gleb lightly—even if they outnumber him and outweigh him by nearly fifty pounds each.

Vinny remains by the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches on with a sneer.

And though I want to cry out, to say something—anything—that might cause a distraction, the last thing I want to do is pull Gleb's focus. Two knives glint in his hands as he slinks forward on silent feet. Where the blades came from, I have no clue. Weapons aren't allowed in the club, according to the Kellys' rules.

Mouth dry, all I can do is watch helplessly as the four large Russians surround the man I love, cutting off any chance of his escape.

"You think you can beat us with a few blades, brat?" Harper taunts, his passive expression contrasting his mocking tone.

Brat?The Russian-sounding word catches my interest, but before I have a chance to fully lock that question away, Gleb darts forward.

He's so fast it leaves me breathless. His movements are fluid as he stays low to the ground. And in a flash, he's slipping past Harper, though the man's supposed to be one of the best bouncers at the club. He's head of security, for Christ's sake. And yet Gleb practically dances a circle around him.

Harper snarls, reacting just a hair too late to avoid the blade that slices across the back of his knee.

Oh god, run, Gleb!I bite my lips to stop myself from shouting it, but he's so close to the door, he could almost make it.

But he doesn't.

Doubling back, he twists to dodge the larger man's heavy fist and opens a long gash along Harper's ribs in retaliation. Bellowing something in Russian, the bear-like bouncer only seems enraged by Gleb's attack. He lumbers forward, but whatever he said must have been a command to the remaining three bouncers. Because they all leap into action at once.

Hand over my mouth to muffle my scream, I watch in horror as they close in on Gleb. There's no chance he can escape all four of them.

But rather than fear or defeat, Gleb's green eyes shine with laser focus. As if this is what he was meant for. This is what he was made to do. I've seen him kill men before. But I've never seen anything like this.

Before they can grab him, Gleb's over the back of a chair, somersaulting through the air and landing in a low crouch. He doesn't even look like he's breathing hard over the effort. His first victim, on the other hand—Harper—falls to a knee, his hand clasping his wounded side as blood starts to spill across the plush carpet.

The three remaining bouncers pause, their cold eyes shifting to surprise as they take in the severity of his injury. And when they turn back to look at Gleb, he unleashes a bone-chilling smile.

"What? Did you think I forgot how to spar since I've been gone?" he challenges.

Confusion washes through me, and I realize for the first time just how little I know about Gleb's past. Or about Gleb at all, really. I didn't even know he'd been to Boston before. Though as the words come together now, he clearly has a personal relationship with these men.

They must not have left on good terms.

Because every man in this room looks like he's ready to kill Gleb.

As one, the three remaining bouncers rush him. The middle man launches the chair separating them clear across the room. And my heart skips a beat as it comes crashing down with enough force to tell me just how heavy it was.

Trapped in the center of them, Gleb moves with lightning speed, dodging punches, blocking knees, and delivering injuries with such ease, that he might as well be dancing. He's everywhere at once, somehow tracking each of their moves and able to respond before they land a punch.

Pulse roaring in my ears, I watch in stunned fascination, unable to breathe or blink for fear that I might miss something.

Twisting with feline dexterity, Gleb slashes upward, drawing a thin red line from Hans's jawbone up his cheek and through his eyebrow. Hans releases a howl of pain, his hand clapping over his face as blood pours over his fingers. And with sickening horror, I wonder if he didn't just lose an eye.

But though the slick move took a second man out of commission, it also left Gleb exposed for the breadth of a second. And as outnumbered as he is, that's all it takes. Fedor buries his fist in Gleb's solar plexus, doubling him over with the force of his blow.

Mishka leaps into action, twisting Gleb's arms behind him and wrenching the knives from his grasp.

Still, that doesn't stop him. Recovering quickly, Gleb kicks out behind him, sending Mishka stumbling back. Gleb drops to the ground and sweeps out with his leg, bringing Fedor to the floor with him.

Back on his feet in a flash, Gleb dances out of reach as Mishka comes at him. Fedor scrambles off the carpet, joining his companion as they close in on him once more. Their fight brings them right before me, giving me a close-up view of Gleb's taut and straining neck muscles, the way a vein pulses in his temple, even as he looks far too calm.

Hoisting a side table meant to hold drinks, he wields it like a weapon, jamming it into Fedor's chest and then blocking Mishka's punch as they attack him simultaneously. And though the bouncers don't seem to think quite as creatively about their surroundings, that's all it takes to inspire their own improvised weapons.

While Mishka rains blows down on Gleb with futile ferocity, Fedor snatches up another side table and grips it by the legs.

"Gleb, behind you!" I scream when he doesn't seem to realize what's coming.

He turns, bringing his makeshift shield with him, just in time to block Fedor's attack. Then, with a feral snarl, Mishka sees his opening. Grabbing Gleb by the throat, he slams him so forcefully against the glass beside me that the entire wall reverberates.

The side table falls from Gleb's hands as his head hits hard enough I'm terrified he might black out. But he seems to cling to consciousness, and his hands come up to grasp Mishka's thick wrist. Back pressed firmly against the glass, Gleb is so close I could almost touch him, and yet he's entirely out of reach.

Tossing aside his own side table, Fedor steps up to grasp Gleb's thumb and wrenches it forcefully away from Mishka. Together, they manage to wrestle Gleb to his knees and bring his arms behind his back. Panting from their efforts, they turn their eyes back toward Vinny, who still stands in the doorway.

"What do you want us to do with him?" Mishka growls.

"I think the Boss made it perfectly clear. Kill him," Vinny says, his blue eyes dark with malice.

"No, wait! Wait!" I plead, hands scrambling uselessly against the glass as my body tries pointlessly to intervene.

But my protest makes Hans pause, one hand still covering his bloodied face as the other reaches for Gleb's dropped knife. And all eyes turn to me.

"You can't kill him, please," I insist, my body still pressed firmly against the glass.

"Oh, I can't, can't I?" Vinny asks, his Irish brogue lilting with dry humor as he steps farther into the room to speak directly to me.

His eyes scan hungrily down my body, reminding me of how little I'm wearing. My skin crawls at the crass appreciation, then a sneer twists his lips as he comes to a stand so he can look between me and Gleb.

"Why not? Do you have feelings for this man? Is he the reason you turned me down when I said I'd marry you?"

Gleb's head snaps over his shoulder to look at me from where he kneels, his eyes teaming with emotion. Stomach sinking, I realize just how bad the situation is, how terribly I miscalculated Vincent Kelly.

He's not just some sexual deviant looking for some easy pussy.

He's crazy.

Because he actually meant it when he said he would marry me. And I was too stupid to realize that until right now.

When Gleb's life is on the line.

And I can do next to nothing about it.

"Maybe I should kill him. Then nothing would stand between us," Vinny says, his tone turning speculative as his cruel eyes focus on Gleb once more. "Besides, I can offer you far more than he ever could—wealth, comfort, luxury. What do you say, angel?"

Heart shattering, I turn up my charm as I rip my eyes from Gleb's captivating green ones. "I'd say he's just not worth the mess someone will have to clean up. He could never stand between us, and I definitely don't have feelings for him. You'd be doing me a favor by kicking him out. But I see no point in killing him. He means nothing to me."

I can feel the tension rolling off of Gleb, the way his gaze burns into my very soul.

But I can't look at him.

If I do, I'll cry.

"Prove it," Vinny says, stalking closer to the glass. "Say you'll marry me."

It's as if all the oxygen leaves my small cage at once.

My lungs burn, and the ground spins beneath my feet.

I plant my palms against the glass to keep me standing. And to save Gleb's life, I utilize every ounce of my strength to keep my voice steady.

"I'll marry you," I breathe.