Page 103 of Sinful Bride

Eventually.

For now, this is all me. All mine.

I’m steamed, showered, and quick-shaved after our sparring and follow-up yoga session. Sofi says a few minutes in the sauna after a good workout helps with blood flow, and I love what it’s been doing to my pores.

I think, on some subconscious level, Pasha’s been noticing the difference, too. He gets real handsy when my bare skin is within reach.

“Ready?” Lev glances at my bag and then over my shoulder. “Got everything?”

“Yeah.”

We both inwardly groan when we see the back entrance to the parking garage is closed for mopping. So much for a shortcut.

“Well, it’ll keep the blood pumping,” he reasons on our way to the front entrance. “Good to keep those muscles warm.”

“You train a lot?” I ask him.

“Used to. Had a shot at a city-wide title back when I boxed professionally. Gave it up when I had my own little malyshka.”

His guidance earlier suddenly makes a lot more sense. “How old is she now?”

He chuckles. “Old enough to give me gray hairs and grandchildren.”

It’s really not that far from the front doors to the parking garage, but it does mean we have to trek down the public sidewalk a little ways.

Which wouldn’t be such a problem—if it wasn’t so damn crowded.

“Stay close,” Lev grumbles. I nod and match him step for step, letting him shoulder both of us through a sudden swarm of people disembarking off a city bus.

Someone hits my arm with the whole side of their body. Hard. “Ouch! Hey?—”

Another hand grabs that same arm and tugs me aside.

“Lev!”

I can see him whip around and try to shove through the crowd. Most of them are on phones and headsets, and several cuss him out for pushing them out of his way.

“Let go!” I shove at whoever has the balls to grab me. Even harder when they yank me close.

Until I hear his voice in my ear.

“Shut the hell up.”

I don’t do what he says simply because he ordered me to—I just can’t help the pure shock that snaps my mouth shut and squeezes all air from my lungs.

Dad?!

37

DAPHNE

Dad has never hit me. Even now, after everything—all the bullshit, all the nightmares—that’s the first thing I think. He wouldn’t hurt me, right?

The worst he’d do is yell… right?

“Dad, I’m?—”

Words turn into nausea the second his fist lands in my gut.

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