He shrugs.
“Luc,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
His sister comes back and she stops short, staring from me to him. A smile curls her lips. Guess she approves of me.
Damn, I like that.
THIRTY
Luca
Passing me to go back to his bedroom, Max squeezes my arm. It sends electricity through me. Even though I wince in pain from the knife wound.
“Shoot, can I patch that up for you?” he drawls in a sexy voice, so black-cat of him.
Mine...
“Get some sleep. That’s more important. Sam will stitch me up.”
His eyes adorably widen at that. Like every second that passes, he gets more of a glimpse into what life would be like with me. A murdering husband with a sister who patches up his wounds then dumps the body.
When he leaves though, it all washes away into a useless fantasy that will never happen.
With Max gone, I turn my attention back to Samara who’s watching him go. When the door closes, Sam lets go of a whistle.
“That is one hot motherfucker,” she says, like she too isn’t wanted dead by Ivan Belova because of our joint defection from his house.
I wasnotleaving my sister behind.
I silence her with a look and then pounce on her, gripping her throat. “When I text you, you fucking text me back.”
We play a game of how much she can take. It’s to make her strong. Being married off was never in the cards for her. A bratva husband would have killed her for being so bratty and hard to handle. Guys in the brotherhood don’t exactly like outspoken wives.
I recognized that and had no interest in changing her. She might have killed me.
Finally, she gasps and I let go. Red fingerprints bloom on her throat.
“Fucking anyone?” I ask.
“Not at the moment. Care to share your friend?”
I bark a laugh. That would be a first, but I peer at her. “No.”
“That’s okay, the way he looked at you, he clearly wouldn’t want me.” She fans herself.
“How’s Pennsylvania?” I ignore her comment.
“I want to kill myself,” she scoffs.
“I cashed in a lot of favors to get into that safe house.”
“At least it’s close to Manhattan so I can do jobs.” She looks restless.
“Belova bought a hockey team,” I blurt.
She visibly staggers. My sister is a badass, but she’s also smart enough to understand what she,what we’reup against, having the head of the Chicago Bratva out to get us.
“Not the Crushers.”