Page 44 of Twisted Prince

“Right,” I agree, and despite my anxiety, my lips twitch at the casual way he insults Vinny.

A fleeting speculation crosses my mind as I wonder if Keoghan would still call Gleb a back-alley brawler if he saw him fight. Gleb might be fast and scrappy, unlike many of Mr. Kelly’s muscle-bound guards, but his movements are so controlled, so graceful, he almost looks like he’s dancing when he’s in combat.

“Good,” Mr. Kelly states, drawing me back to the conversation. “I’ll speak to my cousin. It seems he’s taken a shine to you. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior. I’ll make it clear that you’re not to be disturbed while you’re working.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, relief flooding my chest. I hadn’t actually anticipated I might get help from my boss on the matter.

He nods, his blue eyes dangerously serious. “Mel, whoever this man is that laid his hands on my cousin…?”

“Yes?” My stomach flip-flops nervously as the conversation comes back around to Gleb.

“He better never show his face in my club again. If he does, I’ll kill him.”

“He won’t,” I assure Mr. Kelly, though I have no clue how I’m going to ensure that. But I imagine the bouncers will be well aware of Gleb’s ban and send him away before he can cause more trouble.

If it really even was Gleb to begin with. I still can’t quite trust myself.

Keoghan jerks his chin toward the door, signaling me to leave. “Back to work, then,” he says.

Andrey and Akim usher me into the noisy club, shielding me until I reach the door that leads to the back hallway. As the air rushes from my lungs, I can finally trust my relief. My legs feel weak with it as I head toward the dressing room to change.

My mind is spinning, the reality of what just happened crashing down on me now that I’m not scared for my life or livelihood. And as my mind brings to the surface images of the event, I’m almost certain it was Gleb who leaped in to fight for me.

Who else would come flying across a table to my defense?

The sad truth is nobody.

Of course, Keoghan’s men are trained to protect me. They wouldn’t have let Vinny get too out of hand. But his unwanted touch brought to the surface so many bad memories I’ve taken years to try and get past.

It probably doesn’t help that I haven’t let a man touch me since Gleb.

I just don’t feel the need for a physical connection with a man.

No one I’ve met makes my heart race like Gleb did. No one looks at me with that same intense emotion. That deeply protective care and respect. And I don’t have time or desire for anything less.

Even after all these years, it takes nothing for my mind to bring a vivid image of Gleb’s face to the surface. His angular features and watchful green eyes. I hate that my body aches with loneliness every time I remember him.

Pushing the thought aside, I open the dressing room door, releasing a swell of girly chatter.

“What the hell was that, Mel?” Kitty asks, pouncing on me as soon as I’m through the door.

“I honestly don’t know,” I admit as she follows me to my station.

Shifting through my outfits, I find the one for my next performance and slip it off the hanger.

“But you knew the guy who started the fight?” she presses.

I frown, feeling like she’s missing the key bit of information—that Vinny had his hands all over me and Gleb was making him stop—but I see no point in rehashing that now.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I thought I recognized him, but that person doesn’t even live in Boston, and I haven’t seen him in years, so I was probably wrong.”

Kitty humphs, planting her hands on her hips as she watches me change. “What did Mr. Kelly have to say?” she asks after several seconds of silence.

“Just that he doesn’t want fighting in his club.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she snaps.

“Look, I get it. Okay, Kitty? It’s not like I invited the guy here or anything. And it won’t happen again. He’s banned from Pearl’s, so can we all just forget about it and go back to our lives?”

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