Page 35 of Brutal Bratva King

“Which one do you want to try, princess?” he asks.

“The blue one that looks like the ocean. Or maybe that one that looks like a rose. Or maybe—oh that one that looks like a rabbit.”

He chuckles and orders all three.

“What? There is no way I could eat all of that even if you helped me,” I say in shock.

“Don’t worry. We can take them home too. But now you can try all of them.”

We find a seat inside the bakery and the waitress delivers all three cakes to our table along with two coffees.

I grin and shake my head. Rodion hands me a little dessert fork.

“Here you go, you’ll feel better after some sugar, I promise.”

Beneath the table, his legs are brushing against mine, and all over agai,n I acknowledge that it isn’t sugar I need—but ratherhim.

Chapter 11 - Rodion

I hate the fact that she got hurt. Especially since I was right there with her and I wasn’t able to protect her from it.

It could have been so much worse than it was. It was sheer luck that she didn’t end up with more than a graze.

I’m weighed down with guilt about it, because I exposed her to that environment, and I’ve become determined not to let anything like that happen again.

Of course, Anya is not pleased about this at all.

She keeps asking when she can come with me to the warehouses again and I keep saying not today—next time.

But she’s caught on.

“This is the fourth time in a row you’ve said I can’t come with you,” she says with accusation in her voice.

“I am aware. But I’ve had meetings to attend and you would be bored.”

“Excuse me. Since when do you get to decide if I will be bored or not? Besides, I think you should just be honest and admit the real reason you aren’t letting me come with you.” She reaches up and gingerly touches her arm. Her wound is already healing very well and isn’t causing her any discomfort—but just the fact that it is there, and will leave a faint scar on her arm, is enough to make me harden my decision.

“You can’t come with me today. That’s final.”

She sighs and throws her hands in the air in agitation. “Rodion, you’ve kept me locked inside the mansion for almost a week since the shooting incident. You didn’t even let me go out shopping yesterday. Why?”

“Because—I told you I would take you shopping this weekend,” I say defensively.

She shakes her head. Her eyes are growing dark with annoyance.

“You’re being overprotective,” she demands.

I stare at her for a long time, wanting to argue, but knowing if I deny it, I’ll be lying to her.

She won’t look away or back down, so finally, giving in, I snap back, “So what if I am?”

I know I’m not being fair. I know I’ve limited her interaction with anything outside the safety of these walls—but I don’t know what else to do.I am still horrified about what happened to her. I am terrified something like that will happen again and I can’t allow it.

I am responsible for her now. I have to take care of her.

“What if you are? Isn’t it obvious? You are treating me like a prisoner, and you are doing to me exactly what my brothers did to me. You are stopping me from experiencing anything!” She is shouting now, her frustration levels growing by the minute.

She’s right. I have no defense against what she’s saying, but I am still not going to let her out of this house without me—and she is not going back to the warehouse again.

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