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Shaking his head, Hugh flopped on the sofa. “You do realize that your father is the only man to really scare the shit outta me? I mean my own father can yell and get me moving, but your father.” He shuddered. “Scary fucker . . . Do you remember that time he set fire to your bookcase because he insisted that books were for girls, not his son who would one day rule the house of Vasiliev. I had nightmares about that for weeks.”
Mikhail didn’t answer, as there wasn’t much he could say. Hugh had spoken the truth.
When he’d first moved to America books had saved him—been his escape. He’d had nothing else and no friends, until the day that he’d knocked Hugh out of a tree. They’d been best friends ever since.
The sudden crunch of feet outside drew Mikhail’s attention to the front door as he reached for the gun in the back of his jeans.
“Mikhail,” his name shouted from outside had the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention.
Dimitri.
The man would love nothing more than to be ‘the’ man for Mikhail’s father. He was everything to his father but his son, and Dimitri hated that fact. Dimitri hated how he’d talk back to his father, and the other man always became angered at the lack of respect he’d show, which was the reason why Mikhail did what he did half the time.
Hugh popped his head over the side of the sofa and held his gaze. “What does he want?” Hugh asked, quickly moving from the couch and kept his presence unknown by standing between the windows.
He shrugged and slowly made his way outside to see the big man smirking. “Thought you’d want to know,” Dimitri’s grin widened, “that your father has asked me to teach India how to pleasure a man.” He laughed, the sound merging with the buzzing in Mikhail’s head as blood rushed around.
His hands gripped the porch railing and his heart felt like it was about to leave his chest. The fear, anger, and jealousy that ran through him was potent, but nothing was going to stop him from going after the bastard. Nothing.
“You do not touch her,” he hissed, trying for control even though he was losing it.
The asshole put his hand around his ear, and asked, “What did you say?”
“Fucking bastard,” he roared and made to jump over the porch to reach Dimitri when Hugh appeared and grabbed him around the waist from behind.
He struggled, and Hugh rapidly hissed, “Ignore him and think.” He squeezed his waist. “Your father is obsessed with this girl. Do you really think that he’d let anyone else touch her? Use your brain.”
He caught his breath and did what Hugh suggested, and thought, and as he did, he realized that for once, Hugh was right. His father would kill anyone who touched her.
“You’re a lying bastard,” he snarled.
Dimitri sniggered. “Your father wanted to know how you would react. I think he has his answer.”
His eyes focused on Dimitri and something passed over the other mans face that lasted mere seconds, which made Mikhail think that he’d just imagined it. Sorrow. But it kept him on the porch as Dimitri slowly backed away.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Hugh asked. “I mean about your father?” he corrected.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“How? You go in there and question your father, it will make things ten times worse.”
He stepped out of Hugh’s hold and faced him. “I’m going to join him for dinner.” He grinned.
Chapter 7
The window seat was comfortable as she tried to concentrate on the book in her hands: A Veil of Vines. She loved the magic of the story and it was one she’d read time and again—a comfort read. This time though it wasn’t helping to comfort her because her mind kept wandering to Mikhail before his father, Konstantine had intruded.
Konstantine wasn’t a nice man and one of these days he was going to get what he deserved. She only hoped that she wasn’t around to see it because she didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.
Her dreams had always been of traveling far and wide, away from her strict upbringing, away from her father. Earlier today her dreams had changed to just wanting to be anywhere but the Vasiliev house. She hadn’t known Mikhail a day but there was something about him that she didn’t want to let go of. He made her feel safe and cherished and wanted. Her pulse thrummed as she remembered the feeling of his touch on her body and the way warmth had bloomed between her thighs . . .
The bedroom door suddenly slammed open that her heart stuttered in fear. Two of Konstantine’s men stormed into the room toward her and before she could catch her breath the bigger of the two grabbed her by the arm, yanking her to her feet. As she fought to break free, he snarled in her ear, pinning both of her arms behind her back before he hissed, “He isn’t going to have sex with you, but don’t fight. You’ll make it worse for yourself,” to her surprise.
“What did you say to her, Dimitri?” The other man smirked, parading back and forth in front of them. “We’re not allowed to talk to her . . . or touch her. His voice thickened, “Although I wouldn’t mind risking it for her.” His tongue darted between his lips.
The way that he’d motioned to her made her skin crawl, but he shut up quickly after Dimitri rapidly fired a load of Russian to the asshole in front of her. “Vasiliev will kill you,” the large Russian holding her growled.
“I told you,” Konstantine said calmly, too calmly as he walked into the room, “that she is mine and mine alone, Sergei.”
