Page 40 of The Bratva Betrayal

She’s barefoot.

Tiny black yoga shorts hug the curve of her hips, paired with a white cropped tank that shows a strip of skin above the waistband.

Casual. Completely comfortable.

Like she slept just fine after someone put a bullet through her car window yesterday.

Like she’s not standing three feet away from a loaded gun.

Blue eyes lock onto my hazel eyes with ease, and that pisses me off.

“You point guns at all your hosts?” she asks dryly.

My finger eases off the trigger. “You throw water on all your guests?”

“You’re not a guest.” Her eyes flick toward the weapon in my hand. “And if you were going to shoot me, standing this close would at least make sure you didn’t miss this time, right?”

I didn’t think she was the smartest person, but she’s smart enough to know who tried to scare her yesterday.

It wasn’t as though I was trying to hide it.

I lower the gun slowly, my eyes never leaving hers. “Still on that?”

“You got here awfully fast last night.”

“I told you. I was nearby.”

“Mhmm.” She sets the empty glass on the table beside the couch where I passed out sometime around four in the morning. “How convenient.”

I lean back against the cushions, studying her properly now that I’m awake enough to think clearly, and that turns out to be a mistake all on its own.

Because Christ.

Morning looks fucking good on her.

The shorts are tiny enough to make it hard not to notice the length of her legs, and the fitted tank does absolutely nothing to hide the curves underneath it. It’s like she’s walked straight out of some rich man’s fantasy.

Except there’s nothing soft about the way she carries herself.

Cady looks like trouble dressed up as temptation.

And she has to know it.

“You didn’t call your father,” I say finally.

Her expression shifts at the change in topic. “You checked my phone?”

“I didn’t need to.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re incredibly annoying.”

“You’re alive, though, right?”

My gaze drifts toward the small bandage on her cheek, where the glass cut her. It’s shallow. Nothing serious. But against her pale skin, the faint red line peeking out beneath the edge of the bandage stands out more than it should.

My intent wasn’t to kill her; only to scare her away from Misha.

I don’t think it’s working.