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I’ve tried meeting with my usual hook-ups but as soon as I get to the door, I spin around and leave, knowing they’d leave me feeling empty and unsatisfied. Since I can’t fuck her out of my system, I’ve resorted to fighting, attending underground fights most nights. My knuckles are raw and ugly—the only reason no one’s commented on them is because people are too polite.
On autopilot, I smile and nod at something Friedrich says, but my eyes are still glued to Kira. She leans in and says something to the older woman. Then she pulls away.
Our eyes lock. She gives me the barest of smiles. Like maybe she doesn’t hate me.
Kira tilts her head and starts walking towards me, and something prickles in my chest. Is it happiness?
No, it can’t be that. I haven't felt that since Ilya’s death. Since he was tucked into my side at bedtime and insisted I make up superhero stories for him and his stuffed bear. Since the nights when he would look up at me with those eyes full of wonder, seeing me not as the man the world feared but as his father.
Friedrich realizes my attention is elsewhere and follows my line of sight, a small smile tilting his lips when he understands what has captured my attention so thoroughly.
“Ah, that’s the look of a happily married man.”
Right, let him believe what he wants. I’ll just enjoy the view.
When she’s a few feet away from us, a waiter steps in front of her path, offering a glass of champagne. She shakes her head,preparing to pass him but he’s much taller than her, built big and sturdy, and he won’t let her move.
My gut clenches. There’s something odd about their exchange.
Handing Friedrich my glass, I cut through the crowd, beelining towards Kira and the waiter still blocking her path. She looks at him, and something crosses over her face, something that tells me they’re not having a friendly chat.
Motherfucker! I push people aside, desperate to get to her when she curses and raises her knee, slamming it into the waiter's gut. He stumbles back, clutching his abdomen in pain as a kitchen knife falls from his grip and clatters on the floor.
Before he can recover, I lunge forward, pinning him to the ground, my vision blurring in a red haze of fury. I land a series of punches to his face, his nose crunching under the force of my hits. As his blood pours from his nose, the room explodes into chaos. The auction's guests flee the place as if it's on fire while my men tighten rank around me.
Where is Kira?
Because this asshole isn't working alone, my guess is this is a coordinated attack. My head swivels, searching for her, and… Shit. I find her with her assailant’s knife in hand, crouched low, engaging another so-called waiter.
“Get her out of here,” I yell at one of my men. “If she’s hurt in any way, there will be hell to pay.”
He makes a move towards Kira, but she shoots my guard a fierce glare and he stands down. He’s a head taller with at least a hundred pounds on her, and yet he cowers and backs up.
“I can handle myself!” she insists.
While that may be true, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll let her try. If she was hurt because of me… Shit.
“I’m serious, get her the fuck out of here,” I growl, ignoring her.
Two of my men advance on her, and although she’s fast and capable with a knife, they manage to usher her away.
Sensing my fractured focus, the man beneath me now gets the upper hand, flipping me over. I taste blood as his fist connects with my jaw. A sharp, searing pain shoots through my face, and that only pisses me off further.
We grapple, rolling around on the floor, when I spot a glint of broken glass nearby. With a rush of adrenaline, I twist my body and manage to knock him off me, landing a solid blow to his ribs. He gasps for air but is quick to retaliate with a knee to my gut. I clench and absorb the impact, then use my feet to knock out his legs from under him. He goes down hard, and I prepare to end this once and for all.
Around me, I’m aware of grunts and groans piercing the air as I pick up the shattered glass off the floor. Konstantin steps forward with a gun, but I raise my hand to stop him. This mudak is mine. I take the jagged edge of the glass in my hand and shove it into his neck, stopping short of severing his carotid artery. His face contorts, an agonized cry leaving his lips.
“You’re a dead man and you know it,” I spit. “Tell me who sent you, and we can end this quickly.”
“Fuck you,” he gurgles. Blood spills from his neck where I jam the jagged piece in deeper. He coughs, opening his eyes wide. “You know who sent me, and they won’t stop until you’re dead.” He flashes his teeth, and dread washes over me. “Bonus points for killing your wife.”
His threat ignites the beast inside of me. I twist the shard of glass deep into his artery.
He cries out as blood seeps from his neck like a faucet, coating my hand in sticky warm liquid as I continue to hold him down.
His death is slow and ugly, and I make him pay for daring to hurt Kira. For even accepting the job. When he’s bled out, I drop his lifeless body to the floor, wiping my hands on my pants.
So the Black Company wants to play dirty, go after the woman wearing my wedding ring.
