Page 19 of Ruthless Bratva King

I freeze. My heart stutters in my chest. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. He’s found me.

Dmitri.

Slowly, as if drawn against my will, I lift my gaze. He’s standing on the other side of the table, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. He looks as out of place in the library as a lion in a petting zoo.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I don’t care.

I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, like he knows every secret I’ve ever tried to keep hidden from the world.

“I’m curious,” he replies, his lips curling into a faint, almost mocking smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t come after you?”

My jaw tightens. “I’m working on something. If you’ll excuse me?—”

He pulls out the chair across from me and sits down, uninvited. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Tell me, Elena. What is it that holds your focus so well I could have shot you twice before you noticed me?”

I grit my teeth, my fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” he agrees, his smile widening, “but I’ll take one anyway.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the confidence in his tone, that makes my blood boil. “If you must know, I’m applying for a college course in architecture. Happy now?”

His brow lifts, and he tilts his head, studying me. “Glad you took my advice,” he says at last.

“Shouldn’t you be out chopping people up?” I reply stiffly, hating how small his scrutiny makes me feel. “Or beating up cops?”

He leans back in his chair, his movements deliberate, calculated. “Do you know what your father stole?”

His words are a slap to the face, and I recoil as if physically struck. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “When he gets in touch, tell him Peter Ivanov wants it back.”

“Stop stalking me, Dmitri.”

He gives a low chuckle. “I’m insulted,moya lisitsa.If I was stalking you, you’d have no idea. This is just basic stuff.”

What does the Russian mean? What is he calling me?

I get to my feet and turn away. “I’m going now,” I manage, my voice small.

“Miss Carlton.” His tone cuts through the quiet like a whip, low and controlled but laced with something dark.

I jolt, spinning around to find him standing directly behind me. How did he move so silently? The forms I’ve been working on are in his hand, the edges of the paper pinched between his long, strong fingers.

“You forgot these,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine. His voice is calm, but there’s a smoldering intensity in his eyes that makes my throat go dry.

I snatch the papers from him. For the briefest second, our fingers touch and I shudder at the frisson of energy that passes between us.

I clutch the papers to my chest. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask as he continues to stare without blinking.

He steps closer, so close I can smell the faint hint of cologne and something distinctly him. My pulse races as he leans down, his voice a dark whisper. “Because I want to fuck you.”

I gasp, my cheeks flushing.

What? Whatdid he say? This can’t be real. Things like this don’t happen to unloved, plain-looking girls.

“Have you ever been fucked before, Elena?” he continues. “Ever wondered what it’s like to be with a man like me? Someone who knows exactly what he would do with that gorgeous body of yours?”

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