Page 132 of For a Price

I refused to address her as she begged. I wouldn’t even look at her.

And now she’s gone.

We arrive at Roman’s base in more heavy silence. Only the thud of our boots as we cross the asphalt and head inside echo in the air.

The second we’re inside, I pivot down the corridor that leads to our private quarters. Roman rounds the corner like a shadow five times my size, closing in on me within a couple quick strides.

Furious energy rolls off him in thick, hot waves.

I can feel his temper cracking through his exterior mask. The clenched face he wears only touches the iceberg of how pissed off he is in this moment.

But I’m in no mood to tiptoe around his temper.

I’m caught up in my own mixed feelings about what just happened.

Grief and regret over Rosita’s unexpected demise and some resentment that Roman handled the situation the way he did.

We burst into our room aware of what’s about to go down—we’re about to have a fight. The door slams shut and I kick off my boots, refusing to spare him even a slight glance. He starts toward me, the six-foot-something behemoth he is, so bulging with muscle that he would make grown-ass men cower.

“Devochka.”

I ignore him, plopping down on the bed to strip off my wool socks next.

“Katerina,” he growls, his tone severe.

But I’m still ignoring him, rising up on my feet to pull off the sweatshirt I’m wearing.

He stomps over and grabs me by the elbow before I can. My eyes flick up to meet his, the expression I’m wearing empty but thinly veiled at the same time. Anyone who knows me would know that I’m not as indifferent as I’m pretending to be.

I’m… so full of emotion that I don’t know what to do.

Part of me wants to break things. Another part of me wants to break down in tears and sob over my lost friend.

And then another part of me wants to run off. Throw my hands up and quit everything.

Today was supposed to be a victory. I was supposed to finally empower myself.

Instead, all that happened was Rosita ended up dead and Roman’s angrier than ever.

His grip tightens on my elbow and he glares in my face. I wrench my arm to pull it away but it’s no use. He’s not letting go anytime soon.

“What?!” I snap impatiently, then I tug my arm back, again to no success. “Roman, let me go!”

“Not until we talk about what the fuck just happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it! What’s there to say? Save your breath! I told you so! I told you it was too dangerous. Blah, blah, blah… I don’t give a fuck!”

“You will give a fuck,” he snarls, reaching for my other arm. He’s got me locked in his grip, forcing me to stare up into his enraged face. “You will give a fuck,” he repeats, “because what happened was real! It was not a fucking game.”

“You think I thought that was a game? I just lost my best friend!”

“Why is she gone now? Whose fault is that?”

“FUCK OFF!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I jerk in his hold, my pulse throbbing hard. “How could you say that to me? How could you? Let go of me right now! I SAID LET GO!”

The tighter he holds on, the harder I fight ’til we’re in an angry dance of Roman restraining me and me struggling and shoving against him. I use whatever I can. My knees. My nails. My mouth as I scream at him and hot, angry tears pour down my cheeks.

“Katerina—”

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