Page 56 of Craving Dahlia

“You want to. I can see it every time I get close to you. Is that what this is about,zhena? You want me to come back home with you so we can fuck, and then I tell you my secrets?”

“Don’t do that,” I hiss. “Don’t turn this back around on me, like I’m doing something wrong. I have dangerous men coming up to me in bars, offering me outrageous amounts of money?—”

“Shut up.” Something dark gleams in Alek’s eyes, and I flinch back, hurt by the two sharp words. “Don’t fucking talk about that here.”

“Don’t talk tomelike that!” I cry out, a burning hurt searing through me, and it makes me feel like a fool. Why would I think that he would do anythingotherthan hurt me? He’s beentwisting the knife ever since that afternoon that he found out about the baby.

“Then don’t follow me when I want to be alone.” Alek turns away, reaching for his beer. “Go home, Dahlia. I don’t want to talk. Not tonight, not ever. Leave it alone.”

I stare at him, feeling the eyes of the bar on me, feeling a burning heat in my own eyes. Humiliation washes over me, and I take a step back, refusing to let Alek see me cry. To let him see that he’s hurt me in any way. I can’t bear the thought of that, on top of everything else.

I pivot on my heel, bolting for the back door. Halfway to it, I realize I probably should have gone out the front to call the driver, but there’s no way I’m going back through the bar after what just happened.I’ll just walk around,I tell myself, shoving past a line of people waiting for the bathroom and out of the back door, into the fresh night air.

The door slams shut behind me, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to breathe. I’m an idiot to let myself feel hurt by the way he talked to me, an idiot to let it get to me at all. Alek has been like this all along, and a moment of humanity in the doctor’s office doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change anything.

I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes, still fighting back tears, and turn to head around the bar. I get three steps before a strong hand closes around my arm, and a startled scream erupts from my lips as I twist around, half-expecting to see Alek there.

“Don’t touch me?—”

It’s not Alek. It’s a tall, burly man dressed all in black, and two more men are walking up behind him, looking straight at me.

The hand around my wrist tightens, pulling me forward. “You’re coming with me,” the man growls, and I dig in my heels, wrenching backwards. His grip is like iron, and the man gives me a leering grin.

“It’ll be easier if you don’t fight,devochka.”

“Fuck you!” I rear back again, refusing to let this man drag me away without a fight, backup or not. I twist in his grasp, but it feels impossible to get free, and I realize that I was an idiot to come here alone. I should never have left the house?—

The back door of the bar slams open, the sound jolting through me, and I twist around just in time to see Alek stalking towards the three men, his expression dark and furious.

“Get your fucking hands off my wife.”

19

ALEK

Idon’t know what she was thinking, coming here. I don’t know why she thought it was a good idea to continue our argument in a public place—atSal’s, no less—or how she even knew I’d be here. But a small part of me, the part that she’s started to thaw out despite all of my best efforts, felt like shit as she walked away and it hit me just how I’d talked to her.

Earlier today, I was holding her hand while looking at the picture of what might be our child. And now, hours later, I’m telling her to fuck off.

I saw the gleam in her eyes as she started to walk away, and I know I made her cry. Something twisted in my gut at the knowledge as I watched her go, and I only managed to stay put for a couple more minutes before I got up to go after her. I couldn’t let her go out into the dark alone, not when I didn’t even know how she’d gotten to the bar. And it’s a damn good thing I did.

I don’t know who the three men are that are standing in the back lot of Sal’s, but I can guess who they’re affiliated with, considering that Dahlia was approached the other night by someone whose identity I feel almost certain I know as well.And the sight of one of them with his hands on Dahlia makes my blood run first cold, then hot with rage.

“Get your fucking hands off of my wife.” The words come out in a snarl as I bolt forward, already drawing my gun as I rush the one holding Dahlia. I see her eyes widen in shock the instant before I slam into him, one arm thrown out to grab her and pull her behind me as I throw my weight into the man holding her.

I hear the click of a gun, and shout for Dahlia to get down. She screams as the sound of a bullet zips through the air, pinging in the gravel at my feet, and without a second thought I whip around and pull the trigger, dropping the man who shot in an instant. His body hits the gravel, blood pooling around his head, and Dahlia lets out a shocked cry from behind me.

“Getdown!” I yell again, dodging a punch from the man who grabbed her. I shove my left hand into my pocket, thrusting my fingers into the brass knuckles there, and whip my fist around, the metal crunching into the man’s jaw as I see the other remaining backup raise his gun.

I’m quicker than he is. Another shot, and that man is down too, bleeding out next to his associate as I swing at the man who grabbed Dahlia again. He goes down to the gravel, and I step over him, leveling my gun at his forehead as I reach down for his right hand.

“You made a big fucking mistake, coming after my wife,” I snarl. “You don’t touch her, you understand? In fact, I’m going to make sure you never fucking touch anything, ever again. Not with that fucking hand.”

Rearing back, I slam my booted foot down onto his hand, the bones snapping under my weight as I grind it down into the rocks. The man lets out a strangled cry of pain, writhing underneath me, a string of Russian curses spilling from his lips as I grind my heel into his fingers.

“I’m going to let you live, but only so you can go back and tell your boss what happened,” I snarl. “You understand me,svoloch? You tell him not to fuck with Alek Yashkov, and not to fuck with my fucking wife.”

“I—” The man blubbers something else in Russian, but I barely register what he says. I aim my gun at his mangled hand, and pull the trigger.

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