Page 73 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

THE NEXT DAY

She sits silently in the back seat, but I still can’t ignore her. She does that to me—demands my attention, consumes it without even meaning to. It’s very fucking irritating.

“Will you stop?” I growl, glancing back at her over my shoulder.

“I’m nervous,” she hisses. Her leg keeps bouncing up and down like a piston as she picks at her fingernails.

“I noticed that. Try being nervous on the inside instead.”

She throws me a dirty look and glances towards the six men piled into the back of the jeep. There’s no one sitting beside her, but only because I ordered it.

“Why are there so many men?” she whispers.

“Are there?”

“I saw at least five other jeeps when we pulled out of the compound. How many men are you bringing to this meeting?”

“A few,” I say casually.

“Why?” she demands. “This is supposed to be a neutral face-to-face, right? It’s supposed to be about opening a dialogue. Having a conversation.”

Demyan throws me a glance from the front seat that’s half-amused and half-disbelieving.

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “I’m well-known for my conversational skills.”

Olivia blanches. “Are you planning on hurting him?”

“I’m planning on doing whatever I have to do.”

She unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs over the center to sit between me and Demyan up front.

“What are you doing?” Demyan asks.

“I’m trying to convince your evil boss that this is not the right way to go about things. If you walk in with an army at your back, Rob’s going to think you’re not serious about working through this.”

“‘Working through this?’” I repeat. “Jesus, we’re not lovers trying to solve our relationship issues. He’s the thorn in my side. I just need to remove him.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she insists. “I’ll convince him to leave you alone.”

“Is that right?” Demyan and I exchange a knowing look. She definitely doesn’t miss it, but she chooses to ignore it.

“Listen, Aleks, my brother is a man of his word. If he promises not to come after you, he won’t,” she says earnestly.

Demyan shakes his head. He’s gone from half-disbelieving to full-on incredulous. “Must be nice living in a fantasy world.”

She turns towards him so that all I can see is a head of silky, dark brown hair. “Who are you, the resident cynic? Did someone piss in your cornflakes this morning? Or were you just not hugged enough as a child?”

Demyan and I lock eyes. I know exactly what he’s thinking: She is more than I was expecting.

You and me both, I think.

“Well, funny you should mention not getting hugged,” Demyan replies casually. “The cynicism actually started with my dad. He killed my mother when I was seven and then abandoned my brother and me. Then my brother overdosed when he was fifteen. Then it was my wife, who left me for a ‘normal’ life and took my daughter with her. So I’d say the cynicism is pretty well-earned, actually. As for the cornflakes, I’m not really big on breakfast.”

Olivia is silent for a long moment. Then she turns to me.

“Was all that true?”

I shrug. “He forgot the part where he tracked down his old man and killed him in retribution. But otherwise, extremely factual.”

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