Page 47 of Master

Jorge nods, fishing in his pocket. “All these years, I’ve wished for an Evans brother to want to get in my pants…” He sighs, handing Liam his keys. “This really wasn’t what I had in mind.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

SASHA

Per Liam’s instruction, I keep my “sweet, little red ass parked on this barstool where Jorge can keep an eye on me” while he runs into the back to change his pants.

“Malen’kaya printsessa,” a deep voice tsks behind me, and I spin to find the same dark-eyed, middle-aged man who approached me at the grocery store a few days ago. He helps himself to the seat beside me and quietly claps his hands. “That was quite the fucking show you put on back there.”

I sit beside him silently, trying to hide the reaction he’s eliciting.Sheer fucking panic that my world is about to implode.The last thing I want is his presence to alert Jorge—or worse—one of Liam’s brothers.

“Havingskillslike that though, it’s no wonder you convinced that bodyguard of yours to betray his family to run away with you, Alexandra,” the man shares his unwelcome, crass thoughts.

Forcing a polite smile, I turn to face him and insist, “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. My name is Sasha, not Alexandra. Sasha Martin.”

I hold steadfast to my claim, but the man sitting beside me doesn’t buy a single syllable of my bullshit.No, he knows better.

“Alexandra… Sasha… Or what was it your beloved Viktor called you?” He waves his hands in the air as though he’s tossing the names around. His eyes boring through me, he says the name I haven’t heard in years. “Sashenka?”

My jaw clenches in anger as sad tears well in my eyes. I can feel myself shaking, and I’m desperately struggling to maintain my composure. Clinging to the idea of trying to convince him that he has the wrong person, I shake my head, “I’m sorry.”

He isn’t buying it.

“From where you slipped on ice in Saint Petersburg.” He lifts his hand from the bar and flicks his fingertip under my jaw, running it over a tiny scar. Dusting the same finger along my elbow, he shares, “From falling off your bike on the Brighton Beach Boardwalk. I believe that happened when you were six.”

He doesn’t actually know me.

“Who are you?” I snarl under my breath.

“A friend,” he states matter-of-factly. “A new-to-you friend, but an old friend of your brother’s. He’s been searching for you for quite some time.”

Six years, two months, and eleven days, if we’re going to be exact.

The day Viktor and I took what little we had and quickly ran as far from my family as we could. The day I watched my brother shoot his best friend in the back. The day the man I loved begged me to run as he lay dying face-down in the middle of the street.The day Alexandra Levedeva disappeared without a trace and Sasha Martin was born.

“He’s less than pleased to have found you here.” The gruff voice draws me back from my thoughts. “Fucking the Irish, of all people, but he is quite happy to finally be able to bring you back home. He’s extending an olive branch—as an apology for Viktor—and is giving you the opportunity to leave with me willingly.”

“Or what?” I encourage him to finish his threat.

“Or I will leave alone.” He shrugs. “I will head outside and face the wrath of your brother. When he’s finished with me, he’ll come in here with guns blazing?—”

“Liam,” I mutter, seeing him make his way through the crowd to where I sit.

“Yes, your Liam,” the man turns on his barstool and follows my gaze. “Ivan won’t hesitate to put a bullet in his skull for touching hismalen’kaya printsessa.”

His little princess.I scoff.Rapunzel, that’s the closest he ever came to treating me like a princess.Locking me away in some shitty apartment, keeping me sweet and innocent so he could use me as a bargaining chip. Waiting for the perfect moment to trade his beautiful virginal sister’s life to some soulless asshole in exchange for a stake in their family business.

I guess that jokes on me… in exchange for being married off to one soulless asshole, I’ve been fucked by at least a dozen of them.

“What will it be, Alexandra?” He stands from his barstool and holds his hand for me to join him.

“No,” I decline bluntly.

Liam approaches with a furrowed brow and a displeased scowl. He forces himself between me and the man awaiting my hand and wraps his arm around me. Placing a kiss against my temple, clearly marking me as his property, he asks, “Everything okay here?”

“Yes,” I fib, forcing a smile. I choose my words carefully not to lie to Liam further. “He saw us down the hall and was very interested in discussing the possibility of me leaving with him.”

Liam’s eyes narrow, and his nostrils flare at the sheer knowledge another man—who isn’t his brother—had the audacity to hit on me.

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