Page 39 of Wrath
He squinted at her term of endearment. It was all part of her show, of her carefully constructed persona. Let him think it was meant for him. It was more like armor for herself. If she was the Duchess, then she wasn’t herself. And she wasn’t afraid.
“Then it will please me more to see you working the VIP room tonight.”
Her mouth went dry.
“We have an important guest. He will need much attention.” Death shrouded his gaze. “Misha, we have been through much, have we not?”
She inclined her head in agreement.
He casually closed the gap between them and wrapped his cold fingers around her throat. He applied only soft pressure, but the intent was there. He could crush her, and nobody would say a word. Just like Chyna, she would disappear.
“I will not tolerate more dissent from you.” Dimitri leaned in until his breath hit her cheek. “You make me look weak in front of my men, and everyone suffers because of it. The next time you refuse me, you will not be so lucky. Your family will not be so lucky. Am I making myself clear?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to threaten him back, to say, stay away from her family. He must have seen the opposition in her eyes because his brightened with fury and he leaned into her, tightening his grip around her throat.
“I lit the fire myself,” he taunted. “And I would do it again. I would make you watch this time and listen to their screams.”
She choked, her airways blocked. Bastard!
“You and I, Misha. We are intertwined beyond death. There are no lengths I won’t go to keep you compliant and in my debt. Remember that next time you seek help to be rid of me.”
He let go and stood back, eyeing her curiously as she heaved in deep breaths. She rubbed her throat, wondering why the hell he cared so much about keeping her under his thumb. Was it really all because she reminded him of a time he was weak and fragile?
“So, now we are in agreement, I believe you are up first on the main stage. Then I expect to see you in the VIP room for the remainder of the night,da?”
When Dimitri opened the door to leave, Misha caught sight of another woman out there. A woman with long, pale silvery hair. Hauntingly beautiful. And what’s worse, she met Misha’s eyes briefly as she walked away with Dimitri. Her gaze was almost… knowing. In that moment, Misha was more afraid than she’d ever been in her life.
Eighteen
Wyatt walked upto the entrance of The Kremlin where a big bouncer stopped him with a palm to the chest. The man was larger than Wyatt, had more bulk. He sized Wyatt up. Probably thought he could take Wyatt. Let him. See what happened.
“You look like man who make trouble.” The bouncer had a thick Russian accent. No surprise there but, shit. Wyatt had done his best to look unassuming, and still he got singled out. He’d even bought a new collared Polo shirt that was a color other than black. Coupled with hair gel, fashionable jeans and a fucking sports coat, he looked like a dickhead, but hopefully the kind you didn’t look twice at. Attracting attention was not on his agenda. He needed to be armed with the truth before returning to his family. There was no way he’d be stuck in the cold with his dick in his hand again. He had to know everything about her.
Wyatt pulled out a thick roll of cash from his pocket and showed the bouncer.
I’m just here to spend.
Like magic, the bouncer stepped aside and let him in.
Following the deep bass shaking the walls, Wyatt put his hands in his pockets and trailed down the dark dingy corridor. He emerged in a room where a stage with catwalks lined the far wall, complete with poles running to the ceiling and half nude dancers grinding, sweating, and lusting. Mirrors behind the stage doubled the dancers. Stools surrounded the catwalks, half filled with eager men already waving dollar bills and whistling. Topless waitresses served leering men under the glowing lights, oscillating from pink and blue to red and purple. What caught his attention the most was a spiral staircase that led from the end of a catwalk up to a mezzanine level guarded by a bouncer. Must be VIP.
Misha works here.Wyatt let that thought percolate until someone bumped passed him, irked that he stood in the main thoroughfare.For fuck’s sake. He moved and stood beside red velvet curtains cascading down from the ceiling.
Wyatt knew The Kremlin was a strip-joint, but he wasn’t prepared for the burst of emotion squeezing his throat. It wasn’t wrath—the only wrath he sensed was further into the bowels of the building where it spiked every so often. No, this feeling was something else… he shook it off. No time to play Dr. Phil on himself.Look for Misha.He searched the room for the tall, leggy blond. Found a few, but none were her.
Liza would have a love-hate relationship with this place. Lust would be making her feel queasy, but at the same time she’d be reveling in it. She didn’t like to reveal much about her journey with her sin, but Wyatt knew she wasn’t as innocent as she wanted the family to believe. He missed her.
Liza was a straight talker, and he respected that. She and Sloan had had his back for the two-year falling-out the family had over Sara’s integrity after she’d died the first time.Died the first time. He snorted at the ridiculous thought, but strangely, it wasn’t as crazy now that he’d seen a man turn into an enraged beast engorged with a greed-serum.
He wondered what Liza would say about this place, and Misha. Wondered what Sloan would say.
Fuck. Wyatt scrubbed his face and exhaled. He owed a lot of people an apology.
The sense of wrath he’d felt earlier approached. Alertness washed over him and, curious, he sought out the source, only to duck behind a group of men when he found it. Dimitri. And he wasn’t alone.
A tall, silver-haired lady walked with him. Something about her was both terrifying and familiar at the same time. She had an ethereal quality about her and seemed to glide through the filthy club without getting a stain on her white leather outfit. White… the color of the Syndicate.
It hit him. She was the silver-haired woman who had shot Sara from a distance, executing her. His gaze snapped back to the woman, tracking her movements across the club and out of sight. It was the same woman.He knew it.
