Page 172 of Marrying the Savage

He laughs softly, and for the first time in three days, I almost feel like a person having a conversation instead of a missing wife hidden in a club while half the city apparently searches for her.

Almost.

Because every few minutes, my mind goes back to Damir.

Damir realizing I had run. Damir standing somewhere, face calm enough to terrify everyone around him.

I still care, that’s the problem.

Arman glances at me as we stop near a side stairwell. “You are thinking about him.”

“No.”

“You answer too quickly.”

“I’ve been told that.”

“By him?”

I look away. Arman gives a small, knowing hum that makes me want to push him down the stairs.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

“Do what?”

“Sound like you understand something.”

“I understand many things.”

“Terrible quality in a man.”

“Damir has it too.”

“Yes, and look how well that worked out for everyone.”

Arman’s smile fades a little. “He is dangerous.”

“I noticed.”

“No. You saw the version he lets you see.”

I turn to him. “And you’ve seen the real one?”

“I have seen enough.”

There’s no fear in his voice. That is interesting. Caution, yes. Respect, maybe. But not fear.

“What exactly is your relationship with him?” I ask.

“Relationship is too warm a word.”

“Fine. Rivalry?”

“That is closer.”

“Why?”

Arman leans one shoulder against the wall, hands in his pockets. The music from the main floor pulses behind us, not loud enough to drown conversation. “Because men like Damir don’t like men like me.”