Page 137 of Wicked Proposal
“If you say so.”
“I’ve changed, too.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Is that so hard to believe?” His fingers catch a stray lock of hair and start to play with it. “That I’ve become a better person?”
My arms break out in goosebumps. “You just asked me to kneel. That’s not ‘changed.’”
“That’s on you.” I try to move away, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, smelling it. “You know what you do to me.” He smirks, leading my gaze between his legs, where I see?—
He’s hard.
Disgust floods me. I yank my hair away, not caring that it hurts as a few strands stay caught in his grip like wings ripped off a butterfly. “I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Because I’m nothim?”
He spits out that word like it’s venom. Like Yulian’s nothing but a parasite, feeding on what’s rightfully his.
“No, Brad,” I croak. “It’s because you’reyou.”
“Liar.” He gets up from the stretcher, following me to the front desk. “You’re hiding things from me. But I’ll find out, sweet thing. I’ll find all your dirty little secrets.”
That promise turns my veins to ice.
I don’t remember what happens next. What I write on his chart, what he says as he leaves. All I know is that, moments later, I’m hunched over in the bathroom, dry heaving into the toilet.
I don’t even remember picking up my phone. Dialing the number. Pressing “call.”
But I must have. Because, at some point, a voice cuts through the fog.
Hisvoice.
“… Mia?”
42
YULIAN
The kid’s footwork is all wrong. Too much weight on his front leg. I see the opening before he even finishes his swing.
I sidestep. He stumbles forward, making himself the perfect target.
It’d be rude not to take him up on the invitation.
With a vicious crunch, my fist finds his gut. Not full strength—I don’t want to break him. Just enough to teach him what happens when hard knuckles meet soft insides.
Air rushes out of his lungs in a sharp, panicked wheeze. His eyes go wide, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. He staggers, tries to stay upright, fights the pain and the nausea and the gravity?—
And then he folds, dropping to his knees.
I give him a second. Then: “Up.”
The recruit looks up, face twisted in humiliation. He knows the others are watching. Knows he just got put down like a fucking amateur. It’s the point of these sparring sessions: teaching thesewet-behind-the-ear kiddos what it’s like to fight against a man. To fightlikea man.
