Page 27 of Under Control

Leaning against the bar, he ordered a Jack and Coke, more to blend in than anything. He hadn’t had a drink in over a year. He wasn’t supposed to. As Carrick brought the chilled mixed drink to his lips, taking a heavier swig than he should have, a familiar elderly Slavic man with a balding head and a slow, pained gate waddled up to Danica.

Petrov—the man, the legend, Carrick thought, as he nearly crushed the drink in his hand. But he leaned back, intent on observing the interaction. What was interesting was that Petrov wasn’t alone. He ushered forward a lean blond man with a cunning face, who was draped in a sharply cut eggplant-colored suit.

Carrick had one good guess who that was.

Validating the theory further, Danica’s reaction to the two men approaching her was visceral. She jumped back from the tall cocktail table and accidentally slammed into a woman behind her. Thankfully no glasses were smashed, but Danica quickly searched around, finding his eyes to plead for help.

“Keep it cool, Dani,” he muttered, though she definitely couldn’t hear him over the noise of the crowd. “Let’s not blow it before the wedding even starts.”

Clearly realizing that he wasn’t coming to her side, she shot him a look of death and sank back beneath the intensity of Petrov and the young man. Carrick stood back, watching the scene unfold and gaining valuable intelligence while keeping his eye on her. After years of reconnaissance and black ops, he knew how to remain unseen if he wanted to. He stood back in the shadows, calm and collected. Proving he’d gone rogue wouldn’t help Danica—not one bit. That wasn’t the right card to play…just yet. This was his chance to simply observe.

Their conversation didn’t take long, but Carrick learned some interesting things through their body language. Petrov was cold, dismissive and pushy. He sneered at Danica, uninterested in hearing anything from her, which seemed only to drive her further into silence and servitude. The blond, cunning man was handsy with her, even as she was clearly trying to shrink away. The guy acted as if he owned her, like she was a toy for him to play with, as though he was entitled to her body. It took everything in Carrick’s power not to jump in, but he knew he had to stay back and see what Danica would do.

He was quickly learning that she wasn’t willing to do much.

Watching her cower was the most heartbreaking thing of all. She looked like prey desperate to run, desperate to be free. She didn’t deserve that. No one did.

It was a bad scene—and Carrick found himself feeling pretty rough by the end of it. Whatever he had in mind for the interaction did not come to fruition. She didn’t stand up. She didn’t exhibit power. She looked like she was under a spell.

Even when Andriy—the man Dani had told him was Petrov’s choice for her—leaned in, grabbing her waist and bringing her in to kiss her on the cheek, her body remained stiff yet compliant. She didn’t even refuse—and watching him hold her was enough to set Carrick off. As the guy slowly released her from his grasp, he scanned up and down her body—checking her out so obviously that the jealous, protective, possessive side of Carrick roared inside him.

Maybe Danica hadn’t really ignored his advice. Maybe she didn’t really have it in her. One thing was clear. She’d proved that she wasn’t ready to fight Petrov…or Andriy.

That changes everything.

Finally, Tweedledee and Tweedledum took off, heading toward the chairs for the ceremony. Danica gripped the edge of the cocktail table, clearly struggling just to breathe. Carrick moved back in. After seeing the pupils of Danica’s eyes dilated and her mouth parched, he grasped a glass of whatever off the tray that was floating by. As he held it up to her lips, she took a sip, clearly shaken. Then, she slowly took the glass from his hand, her fingers just grazing his for an instant.

Danica snapped out of it, slammed the glass down and pushed back from the table—pushing back from him. Her eyes narrowed on Carrick, and he saw something stewing within her.

“Why did you stay at the bar?” she vented, fast and furious, her eyes welling. “You said you would face them with me, and you left mealone.”

He cocked his head back, unable to conceal his own discontent. “Why did you let him touch you?”

Her mouth parted, obviously grasping for words as she searched his face. But then she clamped it shut and turned her face away from him. He could feel her agony.

“Look… You need to listen to me,” he started, ready to reiterate the plan. “You have to set the marker down that you are not his. It’s just that easy.”

“It’snotthat easy!” She inched back. “You don’t understand.”

But Carrick immediately shot back, “Don’t go anywhere I can’t see you.”

“Stop.” Her body stiffened and she turned on her stilettos.

He reached out but didn’t catch her in time. She marched away from where he stood toward the chairs lined up on the grass. As he watched her leave, he only had two thoughts—never before has it been so fucking hard to protect someone, anddamn, that fucking ass.

If she would only just listen.

Hot on her heels, Carrick followed in her wake, not wanting Tweedledum to corner her alone. Plus, Carrick wanted to get a good seat with a view of these goddamn rich people shenanigans. The wedding was cracking up to be ridiculously lavish. Right behind Danica, following her glide forward, he found a solid two seats on the edge of the far-right side. He reached up to tug her back, touching her smooth golden shoulder, uttering quietly that they should sit.

Her reaction was unexpected.

She elbowed backward, stabbing him in the gut. And he wasn’t evenflexing.

“Fuck,” he ground out, a little winded.

Along with some granny beside him, Danica whipped around and narrowed her eyes violently at him, sending him that same look of death. As he mouthed a bullshit apology to the granny, Danica pushed forward as if she didn’t care, like she didn’t even know him.

He did not appreciate that, not at all.

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