Page 38 of Unleashed

“Watch it, beautiful,” he says, shaking his head. “You know what I said about disrespect.” I toss my head to cover up the feeling of the blood rushing in my ears.

"Yeah, we'll go downstairs and eat breakfast. I'll help you with the stairs and get you a pair of crutches. It's something."

I jump at the sound of a knock at the door. My frustration flares as he turns toward it.

"Come in," Rafail barks in a tone that would make anyone cower. The door opens, and one of his brothers—Semyon?—stands awkwardly in the hallway. He's tall and lean, looks a lot like Rafail, but slightly younger, his beard a bit more scant. I don't think he's much older than I am.

"I need to talk to you," he begins, but Rafail cuts him off.

"Not now." He runs a hand through his hair, his patience frayed. "I'm busy."

His brother frowns, his eyes flickering to me, then back to his brother. "It's about the shipments. You told me to keep track of them?—"

"I said not now," Rafail snaps, his voice sharp like a whip. His brother visibly flinches. "Stop asking questions and leave us. I’ll talk to you over breakfast." He gestures angrily at the door.

The harshness in his tone catches me off guard, but his brother doesn’t seem surprised. His mouth opens and closes like he's trying to find the right words but knows better than to cross the beast.

"Rafail," I venture. "We're just going down to breakfast. You probably have to put a T-shirt on or something," I add, glancing at his bare chest. "Maybe you should let him speak."

Rafail narrows his eyes at me, jaw clenched, but after a moment, he steps back and looks to his brother. Turning his back to him, he opens a drawer and grabs a white tee. “Fine. Make it quick."

His brother stares at me, his jaw unhinged. I smile at him. "What do you need help with?"

He speaks in a rush of words, making sure he can get it all out before Rafail cuts him off impatiently. “We were supposed to receive thirty crates. Usual supplier. But only twenty showed up, and there’s something off about what came. The stamps on the crates don’t match the manifesto, and half of the supplies are from another manufacturer.”

“Motherfucker,” Rafail mutters, tugging his shirt on. His gaze darkens as he thinks this over.

“What do you think I—” his brother begins, but I cut him off with a sharp shake of my head.

“I got you a chance to talk to him. Don’t push your luck. Sounds like a good catch, but I’m sure your brother can handle it from here.”

Semyon blinks in surprise. I gesture toward the door, a silent command for him to leave the way he came. What does he think this is, a democracy? I’m still getting to know Rafail, but even I can see the fire building in his eyes, coiling like a dragon ready to snap its jaws and burn him to bits with his fiery breath.

“My wife is right,” he says in a very dragon-like voice. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

"But—" his brother continues. I actually flinch. There’s only so much I can protect him from.

"I said I'll handle it," Rafail barks, and finally, thank god, Semyon bolts when Rafail takes a step toward him, his body tense with barely controlled energy.

“Keep up the good work!" I yell after Semyon because I feel as if I need to protect him or something.

I turn back to Rafail, who is staring at me with a mixture of frustration and something else on his face. "What? Do you always talk to them like that?"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like it’s familiar… having siblings.Siblings… sometimes harsh to each other but loyal to the core. It’s all familiar too—a dance that I’ve dancedonce before and maybe still know the steps—as if from another life.

His low growl of a voice doesn’t surprise me but catches my attention. “Don’t do that again.”

"Now, listen," I say, meeting his gaze head-on. "I'm not going to stand by and just let you bully everybody into submission. That’s not how this works, not if you want me to actually like you."

"Bully everybody?" he says, as if shocked I accused him of such a thing.

I catch a flicker in his eyes, but there’s something beneath the surface that tells me I hit a nerve, that I’m standing on quicksand, and one step further, I may not be able to yank myself out.

Oh well.

"Yeah,” I continue. I canfeelmy eyes dancing at him. “Bullying. You’ve tried it with me, but luckily, I… kinda like when you get all bossy.Sometimes.”

What?Why did I turn this into flirtation?

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