Page 99 of Anton

They don’t have to know I’m lying, though one could argue this is absolutely an emergent situation.

“He’s not here.”

“Oh.” My grasp constricts around the steering wheel. “Do you know where he is?”

The guard studies me, his faint amusement fading. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just really need to talk to him.”

Behind him, the other guard mutters something in Russian, and even though I don’t understand the words, I understand the warning in his tone well enough. He’s telling him not to tell me anything. The taller one answers in Russian, and whatever he says makes the other man’s brow lift before they both start laughing.

I stare between them. “What’s so funny?”

The taller guard chuckles dryly. “He says I should not tell you where boss is because Anton will kill me for sure this time.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“He is nicer when you are around.”

Geez. What is he like when I’m not here?

“Please,” I say. “Where is he?”

The taller guard sighs. “A bar called Krystal. About eight miles from here. If anyone asks, you found him on your own.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

My grin widens as I pull away from the gate, relief hitting me for about three seconds before the nerves swallow it whole.

The entire drive to the bar, I rehearse what I’m going to say, but every version sounds wrong or pathetic.

Crap. Why am I even doing this? We are never going to work anyway. My parents wouldn’t accept him even if things were going great between us.

Still, I pull into the parking lot with my stomach in knots, and the second I spot his car not far from where I’ve parked, every word I practiced disappears.

Just as I start toward the entrance, Anton walks out in a long-sleeved white button-down and black trousers wrapped around his sculpted body.

As soon as his head turns, his eyes clasp on to mine. “What are you doing here?”

He has the balls to sound irritated with me.

I stalk toward him and stop right in front of him, one hand planted on my hip. “Did you blow up Brayden’s car?”

The slightest pull touches his mouth, satisfaction flashing across his face. “You get right to the point, don’t you, printsessa?”

“Don’t printsessa me.” My heart pounds harder as he closes the distance, anger and desire colliding in a dangerous mix. “Did you do it?”

He glances over his shoulder toward the door, then back to me. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Did you blow up his fucking car?” Adrenaline rolls through me in waves.

When he doesn’t answer and that annoying smirk returns, my eyes expand.

“Oh my God. You did. You actually did. I knew it.”

“He wasn’t in it. This time.”

“Wow, you’re so generous.”