Page 10 of Viripotent

Every moment I spend around the Vartanovs makes my stomach churn. Cruelty runs in their veins as their parents share the same opinion.

“Weak khui.”

Their father’s cursing makes me grimace. His youngest child has clearly been tortured, and he can’t even muster up a single iota of care.

Vlad flicks his fingers, silently commanding Valentin to take the injured party away without looking at either of them.When he turns to Klea, I can’t remain hidden in the shadows like a coward. I straighten my spine and keep my shoulders straight, focusing on each step. He can speak to his family however he wishes, but I’m not going to allow him to hurt her. It’s my onerule in life to do some good, never hurt the innocent. Maybe it will undo some of the bad karmic debt I’ve accumulated due to my association with my family.

He turns his head, his jaw ticking and rage intensifying at the sound of my steps. I’ll take his rage—if it goes too far, I’ll stab him in his sleep. Plugging authority into my voice, I cut him off.

“Klea, thank you for coming. I appreciate how quickly you were able to find Vitali for us.”

She’s too expressive, giving away the ruse rather than taking the lifeline she’s offered. I don’t allow anyone to intervene. I turn into Maximoff’s granddaughter and meet each of their eyes, daring them to fucking stop me.

“Come, I’ll walk you out.”

I’ve been in plenty of rooms with men who need a magnifying glass to locate their dicks and a jet to reach the top of their egos. None of them have ever looked at me the way Vartanov senior is. He may be close to the Vory in Moscow, but we’re in New York, so he can put his balls back in his wife’s purse before whatever punishment he’s dreaming of ever comes to fruition.

Klea stands and takes rushed steps as I stay behind her. She doesn’t turn around as we reach the doors, and I ignore the sound of dress shoes behind me. I don’t leave her side until she gets in her car, and her hand shakes as she attempts to start the engine. She sinks into the seat and quickly locks the door before she manages to fight the tremor and peel out of the driveway kicking up stones in her haste to escape.

Watching her retreat to safety, I keep my spine straight and chin in the air at the overbearing presence behind me. It will never make me slump. All these idiots care about is power and hierarchy therefore, I’m the strongest with my proximity to the Pakhan. I don’t need to turn to know it’s not Vlad but his dickhead father as the smell of smoke reaches me.

His hot breath touches my neck as he sneers, “A wife must be seen and not heard. Your only job will be to open your legs, not your mouth. Remember that when you’re given my name.”

He can keep his fucking name and choke on it.

I turn to leave, and his fat, meaty fingers wrap around my bicep in a bruising grip. Looking from his hand to his eyes, my voice is steel, lacing the threat with my reminder.

“I suggest you remove your hand. This is New York, and you’re a guest of the Pakhan.”

His hate grows with each syllable, infusing me with strength despite his fingers tightening. There’s no sign of pain on my features. He can try as hard as he wishes. I’ll never allow a man the pleasure of hurting me.

He continues staring at me, waiting for me to crumble, and I allow my arm to remain limp as he tightens his fingers, digging them into the muscle. It’s slow and heady watching him realize it’s not an idle threat, and I smile back at him, allowing him to see how much I’ll enjoy it until he drops my arm and takes two steps back. I take measured steps going back inside. They’re all fucking crazy, a fucked up strand of DNA that’s been passed down within their genes filled with misplaced authority. I’m not a pawn to be used. I’m at the fucking top and refuse to bow.

Seeing Vlad makes my anger grow. Why is someone so heinous wrapped in such a beautiful package? His character is the ugliest to exist, while his face was crafted by angels.

Stupid prick.

His eyes go to my bicep, probably unhappy it’s not broken or that his father got there first. They flick over my shoulder. His jaw tics, and I expect him to grab my face again. He takes an approach I don’t expect. He holds my hand, gently pulling me into an office. His palm isn’t just warm. It’s boiling and comforting like a heating pad as he reduces the tug against my arm and stays in step with me.

Why are you still holding his hand? Let go.

He kicks the door closed once we’re inside and turns me to face him. His hand is still in mine as he crouches down, scanning me like a freak.The psycho changes, becoming human and softening his voice.

“What did he do?”

Not giving me time to answer, he turns me around and inspects my back. I’ve lost my voice at the weird ass behavior. It doesn’t come back when I’m turned around again, and he lowers slightly to grip the hem of my dress.

Pushing at his shoulders, I sound hysterical to my own ears.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Whatever is going on in his head is fucking with mine, and he doesn’t attempt to reprimand me for my language. Staring through the door like he can see who’s beyond it, anger that’s not directed at me leaches into his tone.

“Did he touch you?”

The question is deeper than physical, but I can’t pinpoint the specifics. I don’t know why I do it, but I downplay his father’s actions, and my voice is too low.

“He just grabbed my arm.”

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