Page 27 of Ruling Scar
Ren drops into her seat. “He did not. Tell me he did not.”
“You’re so moist,” Isolde quotes and I want to cringe.
Ren’s mouth drops open.
The triggerman lifts her beer. “Shame too, cause I was fucking drenched, until he kept groaning about how moist I was.”
“That’s disgusting!” Ren shudders and turns to me. “There’s no way your date could be worse.”
“He turned out to be a psychopath.”
Abe sighs, crossing his arms. He’s got a constant wary expression on his face and is worse than a mother hen. “I told you to share your location with us before you went.”
I point at Ren and Isolde. “I did.”
“Yeah, she did.” Ren pats the booth next to her and I fall into it.
“What happened?” Isolde asks. “I thought you knew the guy?”
“Yeah, but turns out he knew who I was and not because we went to college.”
Ren sits up. “Did he try and make a play?”
“That’s a fucking serious thing to do.” Isolde props a leg up on a chair.
“Tell us what happened,” Ren orders.
Abe goes into the back and brings me a glass of whiskey. This is what he does, a constant back and forth, all the while listening in.
“The Stuarts?” Isolde makes a face as she considers the name. “They’re some rich fucks, but since when do they deal with you lot?”
“They don’t,” Ren says and she’s got an ear to the ground for everything. It’s her job. “But it doesn’t surprise me that they’ve got shadowy dealings. You don’t amass as much money and power as the Stuarts because you play it safe.”
“He acted like our marriage was all but guaranteed.”
Ren rolls her eyes. “Because your mom’s gonna let that happen. Fuck off.”
It’s reassuring, yet not. I struggle to reconcile the guy I knew with the cold, threat Leopold became on a moment’s notice.
“He thought he was playing his hand,” Isolde says, as calculating as Ren at times. “But he made a mess of it.”
“How?” I’m shaking like a leaf and it pisses me off.
He wanted me scared. And here I am.
“Cause like Ren said, your mom’s going to say fuck off. Nobody’s forcing you to marry him,” Isolde explains.
Ren shrugs. “He might get a marriage if that’s the alliance he’s wanting, but it won’t be you. He’s just coming across as a British twat is all.” She gently tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and smiles. “Shake it off. Don’t let him get to you.”
The image of us at the restaurant doesn’t leave me, though. The way he looked at me, the mechanical stillness in his face as if he were seconds away from pouncing. How he could’ve easily shoved his hand up my dress.
It’s not my fault, I know that. And technically yes, nothing happened.
But the threat of violence when wielded like a weapon is just as effective as inflicting physical pain.
“What if I put out a hit?” I ask quietly. Turns out I am an Akatov after all.
Isolde nods, warming to the idea.
