Page 157 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

I frown despite myself.

He notices. “Something wrong, Olivia?”

“Of course not,” I snap. “I don’t care who’s seen you naked. It’s none of my business anyway.”

“Then why do you look like a jealous wife?”

My eyes fall to his boxer briefs, but I pull them up almost immediately. He’s well-endowed to begin with, but with soaking wet briefs… well, it makes concentrating on the task at hand really hard. No pun intended.

“I am not jealous. Nor am I your wife, remember? Not in any way that matters.”

He pauses, still dripping rain, and fixes me with a somber, dark-eyed look. “You’re mine in every way that matters, Olivia Makarova.”

I recoil, as if from the words themselves—right in time to get whacked in the back of the head with the as a maid comes bustling through. She screams, not expecting us.

“Oh! I am so sorry, sir—”

“Don’t worry, Megan,” he says with a familiarity that makes my skin crawl. “Just got caught in the downpour.”

“I’ll get you something to dry off with, sir.”

She heads out without so much as acknowledging me. We stand in awkward silence—awkward for me, at least—until she reappears with a single fluffy white towel. I’m the one who needs it more, seeing as how I’m still dressed in this wet rag, but she hands it over to Aleks.

“Thank you, Megan,” he says as he takes it. “You can go.”

“Oh. Are you sure? Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you. Mrs. Makarova and I will be just fine.”

Megan bites seductively at her lip for an unnecessarily long time before finally curtsying—people still do that?—and going back out the way she came without ever bothering to spare a glance in my direction.

Aleks dabs at himself, then offers the towel to me. I cross my arms and refuse it. Stubborn, I know, but I don’t want his pity or his condescension.

He just shrugs and slings it on the back of a nearby chair.

I open my mouth to tell him not to call me “Mrs. Makarova” ever again. What comes out instead is, “Have you fucked her?”

Aleks laughs as if I said something funny. “Would it matter to you if I had?”

“No,” I lie. “Just curious. Answer the question.”

I hate that I care. I hate that I’m pushing this stupid topic when he’s obviously not interested in giving me a straight answer.

But something about the girl’s body language gives up the goose. I know the answer before he says anything.

“Never mind,” I snap. “I don’t give a shit who you’ve fucked in the past.” I hesitate, then add, “But…”

Aleks arches a brow. “But what?”

“But it is my business who you fuck now,” I blurt out.

He must think I’m a damn comedian, because he laughs again. “Is that so, little lamb?”

“You stole me away from my life and locked me up here in the midst of yours. I don’t have a career anymore because of you. I don’t have a shot at a love life, either. Because of you. So if I have to suffer through this year from hell, then you have to make sacrifices, too. I want compensation.”

“Name your price.”

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