Page 23 of Unregrettable

“Fine, as your biological father, I have certain rights, and I’m here to call in my cards, as the Americans say.”

The American idiom rolling off his tongue is strange. And technically wrong. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Chips.”

“What?”

“Call in your chips, not cards. The saying is ‘to call in one’schips.’”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever the words are, the point is you’re my child and I intend to utilize you as I see fit.”

A tremor of rage convulses through my frame. I clasp my ribs tightly to hold myself back from going for his face. These men. So fucking presumptuous. He thinks just because he shares my DNA, he can waltz into my life and turn it upside down. Push me to do something I don’t want to do. I already have a mother for that. I don’t need another random-ass parent popping up like a noxious weed trying to dictate my life.

For once, I’m grateful for my mother. At least, she tried to hide me from this guy. She may be a bitch, but she’s no dummy. At some point, she saw that the man was toxic. He doesn’t care for me one bit, unless you count using me like a pawn. Mama might have had a passing fling with this loser, but she’d had a good man—an honest to God, one of a kind, good man—and she wasn’t about to give him up for this crocodile in a suit. She gave me my true father, and this ruffian sure as hell wasn’t him. As much as I have issues with my mother, I know that, in this one instance, she did right by me.

Needing to hear what this idiot thinks he’s got planned for me, and more importantly, to what lengths I’ll need to go to evade or fight him off, I ask, “Yeah, and how is that?”

He spreads out his hands. “Your clan may have no interest in recognizing you as my blood relative, but a DNA test will determine that I am indeed your father. And with that, I get certain rights. There will be a tug of war, a tit for tat, but in the end, I will renounce all of them for just one thing.”

I raise a suspicious brow. Motioning with my hand impatiently, I prod, “So what is it? I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“Marriage, of course.”

I jerk back into the smooth leather seat. My fingers are clenched so hard, I may have cut off the blood going to them. I crush my lips together to hold back the raging screams that want to escape. The bold presumption of this asshole. Taking a moment to grapple with my rage and wrangle it into submission, I peer at him closely to make sure he’s for real.

Yup, he’s dead serious.

And then the tension within me cracks and I burst into laughter. I laugh in his face, my laughing gets louder and louder until it’s hearty and strong. And for the first time that I can remember, I’m grateful for both my tenacious mother and for my moron of a husband, because I get to tell this human dumpster to fuck off.

He leans forward, his face stiff like rigor mortis. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“At you,” I sputter between giggles. “Better go back to the drawing board with your master plan, because I’m already married, father dearest.” I grin at him viciously. “As of yesterday, in fact.”

His eyes bulge out of his head. He lets out a string of curses.

“Yeah, to whatever you just said.” I lift my chin and stare him down with narrowed eyes. “That’s right, I’m fucking married.”

“Your mother—”

I shove a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare say one word about her.” He’s smart enough to snap his lips shut. “Are we finished here?”

I wait, watching as the realization settles in his stiffened shoulders and the twisted angry expression he’s trying, but failing, to control. He must have had a lot riding on this marriage he’d conjured up in his head. I wait an extra beat—to amp him up, to make him feel just how powerless he is.

Yeah, buddy, how does it feel?

Taking in a deep breath for courage, I demand, “Now, tell your goons up front to open the door of this car. I’m going to be late for school and I can tell you, the interruption wasn’t worth it.”

Infuriated that he didn’t get what he wanted, he raps on the divider separating the front seats from the back of the sedan.

A few minutes later, we’re back at my subway station.Had we just circled the neighborhood this whole time?The locks click and the door swings open.

I step out. One of the bodyguards who’d manhandled me into the car earlier steps up politely and hands me my backpack with a tight bow. I want to sayfuck youto him, but not wanting to press my luck, I snatch my backpack and storm away.

On impulse, I turn back, lean down into the open car, and say, “And in case you’re wondering, no, I’m not a virgin. You know how thorough my mother is. Next time, no need for theatrics. Just call.” I airily wave a hand. “I’m sure you can get my number from somewhere.”

With that, I slam the door shut and stalk toward the staircase. It’s almost déjà vu, considering I was on these steps less than twenty minutes ago. Next time, if there’s ever a next time, I’ll know not to fight and break my nail on some gangster’s face. I’ll know who it is. My deadbeat criminal overlord of a father, Alexei Kotov.

I curse him with every stomp up the stairs to the elevated subway platform. Thanks to him, my life has blown up. He’s the reason I’m married, and he’s the reason I’m stuck with Marku for the foreseeable future.

CHAPTER6

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