Page 49 of Master

“I have spent a very long time looking for something that belongs to me. Years of hard work and anguish trying to find it. Scouring this city and our fucking homeland. Imagine my surpriseto finally findit right under my fucking nose,” Ivan rants, pushing past Tristan and Declan as he makes his way toward me.

Sasha trembles harder against my back with every step Ivan takes in my direction, and it pains mebeyond words that I can’t do anything to comfort her in this moment without further risking her safety.

Reaching me, Ivan condescendingly taps the barrel of his gun against my chest and asks, “Are you in the habit of keeping things that don’t belong to you?”

Under any other circumstances, I would risk the bullet he might fire—and those of hiscomrads—to beat the piss out of him where he stands for daring to threaten me. But this are different. A bullet could easily pass through my body and into Sasha’s. And that isn’t a risk I am remotely willing to take.

All my brothers stare at me, each of them as blind to my crime as I am. I return their stare with a tiny shrug and a shake of my head.

“I thought I was very clear that if you fucked with me, the truce we made would be over.” Ivan stands toe-to-toe with me and presses the muzzle of his gun against my jaw. “Andyouhave most definitely stuck yourmankyIrish cocks where they don’t belong.”

The muzzle grinds beneath my chin, and he seethes, “Normally, Iwould’ve already rained your fucking brains across this bar. But I’m trying to extend a fucking olive branch here.”

A fucking olive branch? Really?Thisis his fucked-up version of a peace offering.

“Malen’kayaprintsessa,” he exhales, his tone softening but still dark and gravelly. “I just want what’s mine. This doesn’t have to be like last time.”

“Last time?” I ask in confusion, only to have my question ignored.

“If I get what belongs to me, no one has to die tonight,” Ivan promises, and Sasha’s hands slip from my shirt. My skin vibratesas she mutters against my back, but she’s so quiet I can’t make out what she’s saying.

She slides from between me and the bar, putting herself in clear view—and danger—of Ivan. His eyes light up the second he sees her, and my stomach flops with terror. She takes a step toward him, and I grasp for her arm. “Sasha, what the fuck are youdo?—”

“Malen’kayaprintsessa,”Ivan sighs delightfully, a relieved smile pulling at the side of his mouth. He grips her jaw with his free hand, and I snarl as he uses the hold to drag her toward him. Dipping his head, he places a chaste kiss against her lips. Not relinquishing her face as he stands, he whispers, “Alexandra… I’ve missed you, little sister.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

LIAM

Ivan holds Sasha’s face in one hand and shoves his gun firmly against my chest with the other. I stand dumbfounded, frozen in place, trying to comprehend his words.I’ve missed you, little sister.Trying to comprehend anything.

Sasha doesn’t resist in the slightest as Ivan protectively slides his arm around her shoulders and possessively tugs her into him. Even as I watch things unfold, I can’t seem to get my brain to register what Ivan said.

I’ve missed you, little sister.

“You always were remarkably deceptive, Alexandra”—Ivan’s praise and the name he uses quickly pulls Sasha’s attention from the floor to his face—“but it appears you havecompletelyfucking fooled this one. You’ve fooled me before, but this… This is fucking impressive. He’s fucking speechless.”

I can barely think… let alone string together enough words to say something.

Ivan erupts with a short, dark laugh and shakes his head as he turns his attention back to me. “You poor Irish bastard. Youreally had no idea who she was, did you? Were you blinded by her pussy? Or was she really that fucking believable?”

Sasha doesn’t say a word—or so much as glance in my direction—as Ivan leads her from the club. His men follow shortly behind him, and they all step out of the front door of the club. And she’s gone. Walking out of my life as quickly as she crashed into it.

I can’t fucking breathe. The walls are closing in. My entire fucking world is imploding.

This was far worse than Sasha simply leaving me. The two of them mocking me and throwing the last couple of months in my face like it was a fucking joke. Worse than a joke.It was all a fucking lie.Every word. Every touch. Every fucking moment. The years of barriers I tore down, the things I allowed myself to feel.For her.All of it was nothing more than a carefully constructed lie. And me, nothing more than the fuckingplonkerwho believed it.

Rage bubbling inside me, I grab the nearest thing I can find. I hurl the stool over the bar and into the wall of liquor bottles behind it, every emotion pouring from me in a thunderous roar. The satisfaction of it exploding against the wall and shattering the bottles to the floor is fleeting. And not nearly enough to fill the gaping hole that Sasha just left in my chest. I grab the next thing I can reach—a half-drunk bottle of Guinness—and chuck it toward the broken bottles spilling over the back bar.

Storming the length of the bar, I toss every glass or bottle I can get my hands on. Throwing them all, I watch them shatter across the floor.Like every dream I had for the two of us.I was going to fucking marry her… Instead of a wife, I’m left with nothing but a hollow version of the truth.

The truth.

Ha!

I try to remember everything.What the fuck did I miss?Every little detail she ever shared about herself… her past… her family… what she felt for me… howwewere the first good thing she’s ever had.

Was any of it fucking real?

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