Page 65 of Vengeful Embers

His breath is hot on my face. His eyes burn like fire.

“I’ll deliver Tara to you. I’ll step aside and let you have your power wedding. If she wants you, I can’t stop that.” Konstantin’s lip curls angrily. “But know this, if you ever talk about her like that again, or if you hurt her—” His eyes bore into mine, his warning clear. “You and I will have a problem.”

Pavel bursts in. Alexi behind him. They grab Konstantin, pulling him off me.

I stand, breathing hard, chest heaving—not from the hit, but from what I saw in his eyes. And I know our friendship will neverbe the same. I know that he will still stand by, loyal and serve our cause, but the trust between us is now strained, and his message was clear: if it came down to it, Tara would be the one he chose.

Konstantin has fallen for her. And he is not a man to fall for a woman lightly.

“What do we do with him?” Pavel asks, gripping Konstantin’s arm.

“Let him cool off,” I mutter.

Konstantin glares at me like he wants to rip my throat out.

I step close, brushing off my collar. “You’ll stay here. Get your head right. Sleep with a few hookers. Whatever you need to erase this mess in your chest. But if I catch you near Tara again?—”

I lean in.

“I’ll fucking end you. That’s where I stand on this.”

He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t need to. The fury in his eyes says it all.

I turn, walking away.

But I pause at the door.

“Let’s not let a woman we’ve only known a few short months ruin a lifelong friendship,” I say coldly.

I leave him there, fists clenched, surrounded by my men. And for the first time in years, I feel something gnawing in my chest that’s not just rage.

Sorrow, for a lifelong friendship torn apart by the most lethal weapon there is—love.

18

RUSLAN

The air in Vegas hums with heat and false promises. Glitter and shadows. I’ve walked into war zones with less tension than what knots in my gut right now. The building where Tara lives looks unassuming, a typical beige shell with too many secrets behind each door. I raise my fist, rap twice. Wait.

The door swings open. A woman—mid-twenties, maybe—leans against the frame like it’s her personal stage. Dark hair tucked behind one ear, brown eyes scanning me slowly like I’m a piece of meat she’s debating whether to taste. Her tank top clings to curves she’s clearly proud of.

A sultry smile lifts the corner of her lips. “Well, hello.”

I give her a polite smile, the one that usually makes people step aside. “I’m looking for Tara. Is she home?”

For a second, her brows flick up like I just asked her something unexpected. “Wow. Okay. I wasn’t expecting that. I was sure you were going to ask for Sabrina.”

My patience thins by the second. “Is Tara here?”

She crosses her arms, chest pushing out slightly. Still playing. “No. Sorry, she’s not. And she’s not expected back for four weeks.”

I shift my stance, jaw tightening. “Is Sabrina here?”

“Nope. She’s gone away for a week with her friend Leigh. That’s why I’m here. Apartment-sitting.” She leans in slightly, voice dropping a pitch. “You could always join me for a drink?”

“I appreciate the offer,” I say tightly, “but I’m in a hurry. Where did Tara go?”

She shrugs. “She didn’t leave an itinerary. But she mentioned she’s got offers from a bunch of universities across the States. Said she was flying out for interviews.”

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