Page 27 of Mountain Daddy

The casual way he says it makes my knees weak. This is who he really is. This is Nikolai Vetrov. Bratva enforcer.

Monster.

“You shouldn't have seen that.” His hand wraps around my upper arm. Not painful, but firm. Unmistakable.

“I was just leaving work?—”

“I know.” He starts walking, pulling me along. “My car's this way.”

I should resist. Should demand he let go of me. But the shock of what I witnessed has left me numb, compliant. I let him guide me to his car.

He opens the passenger door and helps me in like some old-school gentleman. Like hedidn’tjust beat a man half to death thirty seconds ago.

Maybe I didn’t get the memo. Chivalry’s not dead—it’s just covered in blood.

He slides into the driver's seat, starts the engine.

“Where do you live?”

I give him my address without thinking. My brain feels disconnected from my body, floating somewhere above this surreal nightmare.

We drive in silence. I stare out of the window, try to make sense of what I saw. The same hands that made me come apart a week ago… tore another man’s face open.

“You're scared of me now.”

It’s an assessment.

I turn to look at him. His shadowed face is both beautiful and terrible.

“I should be.”

“But you're not.”

He's right. I should be terrified. But I’m not. I'm remembering the way his hands felt on my skin. The way he whispered my name in the dark.

He pulls up outside my apartment. Kills the engine.

“I should go,” I say, but I don't move to get out.

“Should.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with implication.

Should.

But won't.

He gets out of the car, comes around to my side. Opens my door. Offers his hand.

I take it.

He walks me to my building, waits while I fumble with my keys. My hands are shaking. Whether from shock or anticipation, I can't tell.

“Lilly.”

I look up at him. In the dim light from the streetlamp, he looks like sin incarnate.

Dark hair.

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