Page 149 of Dirty Damage

“Third time’s the charm,” he grits out.

“Or we could try something revolutionary. It’s calledtalking about what’s actually bothering you.”

“I don’t need to talk about anything. And I certainly don’t need you to take care of me.”

I straighten my spine, refusing to let him see how much it hurts. “Right, because you’re the big, bad Beast, aren’t you? Too strong to need anyone?”

“That’s right,” he snarls, baring his teeth.

“If that were true, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

His nostrils flare, and for a moment, I think he might actually throw me overboard. The yacht rocks beneath us, and I grab the railing tighter.

“You’re only here because you can cook and my chef is out for the week,” he spits. “The fact that you can fuck, too, is just a bonus.”

I’ve heard worse—from foster parents, from my own father.

But this cuts deeper.

Because it’s Oleg.

Because I thought, for a stupid, naive second, that he was different.

Because, despite everything, I’m starting to love him.

My hands shake, but my voice is steady when I say, “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You think I’m so stupid I can’t see right through you?” I step forward, jabbing my finger into his chest. He’s a wall of muscle, immovable as granite, but I don’t care. “You want to push me away, so you say evil shit to hurt me. But newsflash, Oleg: I’ve been hurt before. That won’t stop me from being there for the people I care about.”

Something flares in his eyes.

As if me caring about him is the most terrifying thing of all.

I take a step towards him. “Oleg, you can… If you want to, you can talk to me.”

For a moment, the mask slips. I see the lost boy beneath the Beast, the one who couldn’t save his sister, who thinks he doesn’t deserve to be saved himself.

Then his face hardens, and he spins away, storming below deck.

What was I thinking?

This is Oleg fucking Pavlov.

He’ll break before he bends.

And I’m starting to worry I’ll break way before he does.

43

SUTTON

The trouble with a yacht is that there’s nowhere to run.

After the way Oleg tore into me earlier, I should be plotting my escape. But unless I want to drown on my way back to dry land, on this yacht is where I’ll stay.

I could find one of the many empty guest rooms and hide out. If I was careful, Oleg and I could coexist out here for weeks without ever crossing paths.

That’s exactly what he wanted, after all, isn’t it?

To push me away.

---