Page 2 of Untamed

Of fucking course. Rafail didn’t “joke.” Semyon’s fucked-up nuptials left us with few choices, and one of them was up tome.

God.

Find a wife, he says. Like it’s that simple. I already play his enforcer, his pawn. Now he wants me to play groom too? God forbid I don’t bow to the family legacy.

I roll my eyes and lift my hand, about to order another drink, but the bartender beats me to it, sliding a glass into my outstretched palm. “Here,” she says, smiling. “This is better than the vodka here. Do me a favor? You seem like a decent guy.”

Little does she know. Still, I flash her the grin that melts panties and throw in a wink. Her neck flushes with heat, but she schools her expression fast, tilting her head toward the end of the bar.

I take a sip of bourbon—strong, potent, now we’re getting somewhere—and follow her gesture.

“I’m not supposed to intervene unless customers cross the line,” she says, her voice low. “But that asshole’s been buying drinks for that table of women, even though they’re clearly trying to avoid him. I don’t like it. You seem…scary-looking enough. Not my business, but that guy’s bad news. Maybe just park yourself down there?”

I nod. Playing silent bodyguard for a stranger isn’t on my agenda, but I push off the bar anyway, drink in hand, and head down the row.

The bar thrums with a low bass. The air reeks of expensive cologne, tequila, and cheap sex. I shake my head. I hate California. Too many rules, too many people who thought money made them untouchable.

But tonight isn’t about me—it never is. I’m here for the Bratva, for my family. For Rafail’s newly born son, so small he can’t even hold his little head up yet. For my parents, who were buried way too young, with their lives still ahead of them.

I’m here because Rafail and family honor demanded it.

One target’s an arrogant little bastard who thought he could cheat the Russian mafia and walk away. And I came here to remind him how far loyalty went when it was wrapped in barbed wire.

I know immediately who the bartender’s talking about. I give the businessman in a wrinkled suit a once-over. He’s got one of those comb-over hairstyles to mask his receding hairline and a gold chain around his neck. I glance at his hand, where the indentation on his finger indicates a wedding band recently removed.

Sigh. So predictable.

I’m not a hero. Hell, I’m barely human some days. But I know the lines a man doesn’t cross. And when I see this guy crowding her, all I can think isI’ve crossed too many lines already. This one? Not tonight.

He leans across the table and pushes a drink to one of the women.

She shakes her head. “No, thank you.”

“I bought it for you,” the chubby douchebag says, pushing it over to her again. Oh, for the love of… Rafail would get on a plane just to throat punch me if he knew I was getting involved, but I can’t help it.

There’s nothing I like more than helping a damsel in distress.Andit’s gotten me laid more times than I can count.

My voice is low when I meet his eyes and push the drink back. “Hey, buddy. She said no. Drink it yourself. Better yet, why don’t you leave her the fuck alone and don’t come back?” I feel their eyes on me but focus on this guy and this guy alone.

Beady eyes narrow on me as he draws himself up to his full height.Aww.He thinks he can get away with it. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard.

I’m easily a head taller than him, with one more tool in my kit he probably doesn’t have:Idon’t care if I spill another man’s blood tonight.

“Who the fuck asked you to get involved?” the businessman asshole says. “I bought her a drink. She wanted one.”

“I didnot!” I turn to look at her and narrowly miss getting coldcocked by this asshole. I swivel, grab his wrist just in time, and shake my head with a littletsk.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” I say in a whisper, twisting his hand back until pain dances in his eyes and he grits his teeth. “I promise you. You’re going to regret that. Why don’t we take a little walk.”

Still gripping his wrist, I drag him toward me and discreetly shove him in front of me.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” he begins, but I shake my head.

“Too late for apologies, my man,” I say, my temper rising. “You disrespected a woman.”

I follow few laws, butnever disrespect a womanis one of them.

As we head toward the exit, I can hear the table of giggling bachelorettes.

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