Page 16 of Wrath
Vooyek cooked on occasion, but his arthritis worsened as he aged, and he preferred to stick to the dining room with his sister and daughter, making nice with the patrons.
“What happened in here?” Roksana dared to enter the messy room again. She skirted the bench to where Wyatt stood. For some reason, she wasn’t as afraid of him like her father and aunt were. Too young perhaps. Too naïve. Too prideful. That kind of self-worth only came from the irrefutable knowledge you were good at something. Better than most. She must be a good ballerina. In fact, Wyatt remembered her father arguing with her to get to rehearsal once or twice. At her age, she probably danced professionally.
Wyatt collected a broom, intending to clean, but Roksana stopped at the cracked open exit and stood frozen, staring through.
“What ishedoing here?” she hissed, face paling as she checked her wrist watch. “It’s not even nine on a Sunday. He usually sends his goons to collect payment.”
Instincts honed over a lifetime perked up.This was the man who ran the show?The reason behind sending those Bratva henchmen? The reason Alek suffered a mild concussion. Anger speared him so suddenly, that he had to lean on the broom for support. He shouldn’t care so much about this family, but it was becoming impossible to ignore their plight.
He should have accepted Vooyek’s offer for free board instead of insisting he pay his way. If he had, he would have the money to cover the part he’d ordered for Betty, and be gone already.
Wyatt’s gaze traveled to the exit. Why would Misha think she could deal with the Bratva on her own?
Trust me.
Maybe she was one of them.
He went to stand next to Roksana and watched through the crack. The speaking on Misha’s part had ceased, and she was nodding sullenly, like a naughty child being schooled.
Roksana clicked her tongue. “That man, I swear.”
Wyatt nudged her shoulder to get her attention, then pointed out the door.What about him?
“They went to school together,” Roksana explained. “He was a weirdo she was nice to—because she felt sorry for him, mind you—which only served to make him obsessed with her. But it was never sexual, which was even weirder, you know? It’s like the serial killer type obsessed. Doesn’t make sense.” Roksana’s eyes flared dramatically at Wyatt. “And after we had the attacks on the restaurant, he shows up all psychopath in shining armor with his protection proposal, and it’s not healthy, you know? And, like, he’s got a short man complex. His eyes are black. They’re like—oof!”
The door opened, shoving Roksana to the side, narrowly missing Wyatt. He stepped back to allow room for Misha to slot inside.
“What are you doing standing near the door?” Misha barked at Roksana. “Get inside. I don’t want him to see you.”
“What? He’s seen me before. It’s not like—”
“Get inside!” Misha pushed her sister further in and checked over her shoulder, but it was too late. The man caught sight of Roksana, gave her a pointed look, and then smiled his shark smile at Misha.
Even Wyatt caught the veiled threat, and the disgusting gold spark in his mouth.
Misha slammed the door. She closed her eyes and leaned against the solid surface, as though relieved to have something tangible between her and the man she left. A deep breath and she mumbled, “Inhale the future, exhale the past.” When she opened her eyes, a smile grew but didn’t reach her eyes. “Be adah-ling, Roksana. Go start setting up the tables and earn your allowance. Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. Chop-chop.”
“Jeez, fine.” Roksana sulked and turned to leave, giving Wyatt an eye roll as she passed. “When Duchess Misha is out, you know she’s pissed. Good luck.”
Instead of turning on Wyatt, Misha took the broom from him and headed to the white mess on the floor, sweeping a pile, muttering in a posh English accent about the quality of the help these days.
What was wrong with this woman? Christ, he needed to get out of there, but he hated loose ends. He stalked up to her, frowned, and then vehemently pointed outside.What the hell was that?
She ignored him and continued to sweep, so he took the broom from her. It crushed into splinters in his hands. Two broom halves clattered to the ground, and the sound was deafening.
Aghast, he stared at his hand. Fine saw dust lay on his fingertips as though he’d ground the wood with his powerful grip. While he came to terms with this new, sudden power, the weight of Misha’s stare burned into him. Panic welled and his vision turned dark at the edges. First the ceramic lamp had crushed beneath his touch—then he’d ripped the wooden doorknob clear off. The fist sized dent in the bench… Now this?
He’d threatened to crush her throat outside. The reality of it floored him, and she knew. She knew his strength, and yet she wasn’t making a comment. Suspicion narrowed his eyes. Probably filing away the information to sell to the highest bidder. He tensed and then forced himself to relax.
“You know, meditation would probably help with that, darling,” she said mildly and went to collect the dustpan and brush. “And, I get what you’re trying to ask me, but I’m not responding on purpose. You don’t need to know what went on out there. No offense, but it’s none of your business, just like all that”—she waved at his hands—“is none of my business… unless…” A goofy smile curved up her face. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else was in the room with them, then seductively leaned into him. “Tell you what, I hate calling youChef.Tell me your real name, and maybe I’ll tell you what happened out there. Deal?”
Infernal girl turned everything into a game. After everything he put her through outside, after seeing the violence he was capable of, she still teased him.
Once again, that arcane instinct rushed to the surface, wanting to prove her wrong. It was clear she didn’t think he’d tell her his name, she already went back to sweeping. Already ignoring him.
He took the broken broom handle and whacked it near her hand, barely escaping her fingers. Her gaze shot to his, sparkling with life. He used his pointer finger to write a W in the spilled potato flakes on the counter top. She watched avidly, making cooing sounds of encouragement as the letter took shape, and as his finger moved to start the Y, he froze.
Why did he care what happened to her outside?
