My eyes slit as a hiss ripples through my lips. I don’t know the man standing before me, but he feels he has the privilege to disrespect me.
The mysterious stranger's eyes flare in excitement. "There it is. I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. Oh,Ahren, you’re going to be a lot of fun. Now I just need Rico to loosen your collar. A little kitty should be free, not restrained."
Even the most naive person in the world couldn't miss the sexual innuendo laced in his statement.
I quote what Rico said to me earlier in the Escalade. "Rico doesn't share.”
My eyes snap to the stranger when he asks, “Not even with his little brother?”
My eyes roam over his face, seeking any similarities between Rico and him. Although they both have dark hair, tanned skin, and gorgeous facial features, there are no distinct similarities between them.
“You’re Rico’s brother?” I try to mask the shock in my voice. I fail.
His lips curl into a smirk that sets my heart racing, but unlike Rico, this isn’t a good heart flutter. “Yes. I am Nikolai. But you, my sweetAhren, can call meCataha.”
Before I have the chance to ask whatCatahameans, a new type of awareness prickles my skin. I freeze as the words Rico spoke to me earlier filter through my mind.‘You can’t trust anyone, Kitten. Even when they don’t appear to be watching you, they are. Especially me.’
The insane beat of my heart kicks into overdrive when my eyes lift to the doorway and connect with a pair of eyes that are teeming with danger. Rico has his head tilted to the side and his stern gaze fixed on his little brother. His six-foot-plus frame swamps the room, and his edgy composure suffocates the air. Even seeing him standing behind his brother doesn’t conjure any similarities between them to form in my muddled brain.
Either unaware of his brother’s furious gaze or ignoring it, Nikolai leans into my side. “You're ninety-nine percent angel, but, oh, how I can’t wait to unearth the other one percent. There are devilish thoughts in even the most angelic minds.”
Rico speaks something to Nikolai in Russian. Even not understanding what he is saying, I can’t miss the authority in his words.
After issuing me a heart-stopping smirk, Nikolai spins around to face his brother. "There’s no need for rudeness, Rico. I was merely welcoming yourkittento the family.”
Nikolai turns his gaze to me, requesting for me to back up his claims. I stand muted, not only refusing to acknowledge his demand, but unsure what our exchange was about. Although Nikolai intimidates me, he wasn't threatening nor welcoming.
My frozen stance only stops when Rico demands, “Come, Kitten.”
Like a dog being called by its owner, my feet leap forward before my brain has the chance to register its disgust. I could say my obedience is solely to smooth the thick grooves of anger lining Rico's forehead, but, in all honesty, it isn't. I can barely breathe with so much testosterone suffocating the air. So, if jumping at the demands of my husband is the only way to escape the throat-clutching awkwardness plaguing the air, I'll take it.
My eyes dart to Rico when Nikolai starts singing a song as we exit the bedroom. From the flow of the words and the softness of his voice, it sounds like a nursery rhyme. When I catch sight of the heated look on Rico’s face, I double guess my initial reaction.
“What is he singing?” I ask Rico as we merge onto the steps of the private jet. Even though it's late in the evening, humid Las Vegas air smacks into me, adding to the swirling of my stomach.
“It's a rhyme our father use to recite to us when we were younger.” Rico guides me down the small set of steel steps.
So my original assumption was correct. It's a nursery rhyme. Then why did it cause such an adverse reaction from Rico?
“What nursery rhyme is it?”
Rico drops his dark gaze to me. “Not now, Kitten.” He directs me toward a long motorcade of dark vehicles lined up outside the airport hangar.
A gentleman with silver hair and a kind smile dips his head in greeting as he opens the back passenger door of a large four-wheel drive. Other than advising for the driver to take us to the Popov compound, Rico doesn't speak a word the next thirty minutes of our trip.
I keep my eyes planted on the Las Vegas landscape as the foreign words Nikolai sang run through my head. Although it's in a foreign language, it has an addictive rhythm I can’t help but repeat.????????? ????? ? ??????? ???????, ??????????? ??, ?????? ??, ????? ???????? ?? ??????? ????? ?????????. ??? ???????????? ? ?????? ? ? ????????? ????? ??? ???????? ??????? ????? ??? ???? ???? ? ??????? ???????.
I only realize I'm singing the words out loud when Rico roars, “Enough!”
My eyes snap to him. His nostrils are flaring, his chest heaving. “You're singing a song about sending an angel to her death.”
Shock ripples through me. “But you said it was a nursery rhyme? They don’t include death.”
"They do when the devil sings them," Rico fires back, his tone deep and knee-quaking. "Send the angel to the devil's bed, hold her, cherish her, then cut off her head. She danced with Satan, and now she's dead, all for lying in the devil's bed."
He sings the song in the same low tone Nikolai used on the plane. Hearing it in a language I understand doesn't lessen its impact. It's just as spine-tingling.
“Why would a father sing a song like that to his children?”
