Page 62 of Unhinged

“You see O’Rourke anywhere?” he asks.

I’m frowning at my phone. The text I sent Cillian shows undelivered. “No, and healwaysread my texts.”

Matvei makes a sharp, irritated sound. “Maybe he finally figured out you weremine.”

I glance up, arching a brow at him. “Yours?” I lean in closer. My breasts brush his chest. I ghost my fingers over the swell of his bicep.

“Tell me otherwise,solnyshka.”

I’m used to arguing, pushing back, but the way he says it—nah. I’m going to sit with this a little longer.

He’s watching me. Not just the way a hunter watches prey. No… this is different. Deeper. Like he’s memorizing my pulse in my throat, my movements before I make them.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a smirk.

We’re standing outside a shop. He’s laden with shopping bags in each hand.

Now might be a good time to run.

“You play dangerous games.”

I feign innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Run.

Too late.

He moves before I can blink. He doesn’t grab or pull me but shifts—hard—so that my back meets the brick wall behind me. Two young women walking past stare, their conversation coming to a stuttering halt. One gives me a look of pure jealousy, and I shake my head at her.

You have no idea.

“Do you think I don’t see it?” His hand comes up, and for a moment, I think he’s going to grab my chin. Instead, he skims his knuckles over the curve of my jaw. I shudder and move closer. I’m wet.

I want him to hurt me.

I want him to push me against the wall until it hurts, until he’s crowded me in, nearly suffocating me, his hand flexing around my neck. I want to scrape my nails over his tats and take pleasure in his groans, to push him so hard he nearly stumbles before he pins me beneath him, face down, pressed into the bed while he spanks my ass before he rails me from behind.

I swallow.

“You, testing me. Teasing.”

I don’t deny it. Instead, I smile. “You’re the one obsessed with this whole concept ofownership.Keep sayingmineand all that, half a breath away from smacking your chest like a gorilla.”

His nostrils flare, and his eyes darken.

Hahaha.

“There y’are, lass.” We both stiffen. Matvei’s eyes narrow on mine, as if assessing whether or not I planned it. I give him a shrug just to keep him guessing.

I tilt my head over Matvei’s shoulder to see O’Rourke, feet planted on either side of him, his eyes fixed on me. “Been looking for you,” he says as if a wall named Matvei Kopolov isn’t standing directly between us.

“Have you?”

Matvei turns around and jerks his chin at him. “O’Rourke.”

“Kopolov.”

Their glares are assessing and pointed, but neither makes a move.

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