Page 92 of Carved in Ruin

“A couple hours,” he finally whispers.

The words are a death knell.

A couple hours.

Long enough for him to put his hands where they don’t belong. Long enough for her to betray me in ways I can’t even stomach imagining.

“You fucked up,” I hiss, the words like venom on my tongue. “You should’ve called me the second she stepped foot into that shithole of a bar. Scratch that—you should’ve called me before she even thought about going.”

Arkadi raises his hands, palms out like he’s trying to calm a caged animal. “Pakhan, I’m sorry. It was a newbie covering the watching shift. We were all too occupied with the deal—”

“I don’t give a fuck about the deal!” I roar, slamming my fist against the wall.

“It won’t happen again, Pakhan.”

“No,” I say, my voice cold as the grave. “It won’t. Because I’m going to remind her who she belongs to.”

“Pakhan, please,” Arkadi steps forward. “Just hear her out first—”

“It isn’t any of your damn business what I do with my woman,” I snap.

I grab my coat, ignoring the pain in my palm as I stride toward the door. My mind is already spinning, plotting, calculating.

The city blurs past as I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white. She’s testing me, pushing the limits of what I can take. She has no fucking idea how far I’ll go for her.

I shouldn’t feel like this, unhinged, possessive, obsessed, but I do. I’ve always felt like this with her. She’s mine, and I don’t give a damn who thinks otherwise.

When I reach the building, I don’t bother with pleasantries. The doorman stammers something as I barrel past him. I take the elevator up, every second dragging out like an eternity.

By the time I reach her door, I’m boiling over. I shove the spare key I have into the lock and fling the door open.

“Mila!” I roar, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Where the fuck are you?”

She appears, rushing out of a hallway in nothing but pajamas. My chest constricts, the sight of her hitting me like a punch to the gut. Fuck, I’ve missed her.

“Rafael!” she gasps, wide-eyed.

And then he follows her out.

My vision goes red.

“Who the fuck is this?” I snarl, taking a step forward.

“Stop!” Mila yells, throwing herself between us. Her small hands press against my chest, trying to hold me back. “Don’t hurt him! Rafael, please, he’s just a friend.”

“A friend?” I sneer, glaring past her at the man, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “I told you no other men, Mila. Did you think I was joking?”

Her hands tighten on me. “He’s gay, Rafael. He’s gay. Please don’t hurt him. I swear, he’s just a friend.”

My rage falters, just for a moment. She’s begging me, her eyes wide and pleading, her lips trembling. God, she’s beautiful when she begs.

But my glare remains locked on the man. He’s pale, his hands up in surrender, but there’s something else there too. Admiration?

“Holy shit,” he whispers, glancing at Mila. “I know your man wants to trample me, but…he’s hot. Scary hot.”

Mila’s cheeks flush. “Please, don’t do this.”

I look at her, really look at her, and it’s like the air is knocked out of my lungs. I’ve missed her. The scent of her, the way she looks at me, the way she makes me feel like I’m losing control and finding it all at once.

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