Page 22 of Broomsticks and Bloodstains
So I kept closer to her than I should have. I shadowed her walks to work. Sat at the bar when she poured drinks, daring anyone to look at her the wrong way. The regulars had started giving her wide berths, muttering about the Russian who’d claimed her. Good. Fear was protection.
But fear wasn’t enough.
It was late when I cut down an alley near the docks, heading for my SUV. I’d been doing a little recon for Boris.
The air reeked of diesel, piss, and salt, and that’s when I heard them—two voices speaking low in Armenian.
I didn’t need to understand every word to know what they meant. I caught enough. “Russian.” “Knife.” “Festival.”
They were talking about the alley. About me. About her.
Becoming who I’d been trained to be, I moved before they realized I was there, stepping out of the shadows. “You lost?”
The taller one sneered. “Sokolov. Thought you’d be smarter than to bleed one of ours in public.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied with an unconcerned shrug. They were low level. Brawn without brains, if my instincts were spot on.
The other shifted his jacket, just enough to show steel. “You and your bitch were sloppy.”
Despite my usual unwavering ability to remain emotionless, red washed over my vision. I closed the distance in two strides, slamming the taller one against the brick. “Say that again,” I growled, my forearm pressing into his throat.
His partner pulled the gun free, but I’d already drawn mine. The silencer kissed his forehead before he could aim. “Bad choice,” I said flatly. His eyes went wide, confirming my initial impression—they were young and dumb.
The one pinned beneath me wheezed a laugh, ugly and gurgling. “You’ll start a war, Maksim. Over a whore.”
I pressed harder until his laugh broke into a choke. “Careful,” I murmured. “Wars are won by men who are willing to lose everything. Are you?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped back, gun still steady, and let them both breathe—for now. “Tell your boss I don’t give warnings twice. Stay out of our business and we’ll stay out of yours.”
They stumbled off, muttering, spitting curses. I watched them go, my pulse steady despite the storm inside me. My emotions clashing like lightning against my judgment.
Because the truth was, Boris was right. Sofia was a weakness—a bright, living, breathing human weakness in a world of wolves.
But she was mine.
And if the Armenians—or Boris, or the entire brotherhood itself—thought they could take her from me, they’d learn how far I was willing to go.
Chapter 14
Sofia
By Tuesday, the world had the audacity to keep moving. Buses sighed at curbs, dogs dragged their humans past the deli, and O’Malley’s neon open sign buzzed like a tired bee in the dusty window.
I pushed through the door, and the familiar smells hit me—beer, fryer oil, and bleach that never quite masked the history soaked into the floorboards. It should have steadied me. It didn’t.
Brody gave me a chin lift. “Enjoy your weekend?”
My eyes popped wide, and my heart skipped a beat. How did he know what happened?
“W-W-What do you mean?” I stuttered, fighting for composure.
His brows pinched in the center. “I mean, it was Halloween, and your boyfriend took you out, right?”
Relief hit me and I gave a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yeah, that. We, uh, had fun. It was an amazing little festival. You should’ve checked it out.”
“Maybe next time. One of us had to work,” he teased. “Anyway, now that you’re here, I’m going to be in the office. I need to finish up payroll.”
