Page 5 of Pregnant Bratva Bride

I preferred my women as corrupt, dark, and as twisted as I was. Still, it didn’t stop my cock from growing in my slacks as I looked at her.

“Thank you.”

I tilted my neck. I had no idea what her relationship with the jerk from earlier on was, and I didn’t care, but something told me she must’ve had a rough day if she was in a bar alone, wearing an office outfit, and almost drinking herself to death.

I managed this branch of Club Vadim for my brother, Sergey, and one thing I could never accept was a woman being harassed here. “What for?”

“For protecting me.” She had the softest voice I’d ever heard, which sounded nothing like her screams did earlier. It was like listening to a fairy sing on a cold evening. Everything about this woman was delicate. Her voice, her body, her gaze. Everything.

Would she have broken if I held her a little tighter than I did before? “I didn’t do it for you.”

She flashed a smile at me, and my heart lurched. “I know. Thank you still.” She picked up her bag from where the jerk had tossed it earlier, placed some dollar bills on the front bar, and began to walk away.

I must’ve lost my damn mind for a moment because I slipped up and asked her a question I’d never asked anyone in my entire life. “Are you okay?”

Fuck. Why do I care if she’s okay?

She stopped and swirled around to look at me. Her big, round eyes sparkled with tears as she nodded. “I am.” A tear trailed down her cheek, and she wiped it off. “I’m fine.” Another drop of tear moistened her lashes.

“Don’t cry.” I hated it when women cried.

She must’ve misunderstood me because she palmed her face and broke into a sob. Eyes turned in our direction, most of them glowering at me like I was some sort of bastard who’d hurt a woman.

I hate this.

And I hate watching her cry even more.

My jaw flexed, my fists burning to leave a scar on whoever had hurt this woman. Something about hearing her cry set me in beast mode. I always hungered for blood whenever I was in beast mode. I didn’t even know her name, but the protective side of me flipped to action.

I just wanted the crying, sniffling, and whimpering to stop, goddammit.

“Would you like a drink?” I had no idea if that was the right thing to say to a crying woman, but God, this was awkward.

She lifted her face from her hands. “Two martinis, and a mojito.”

I cocked my brows. “What are you, The drunk master?” Her eyes watered. I’d punch the wall until my fingers bled if she cried again. “Fine. Fine. I’ll buy you two martinis.”

She raised her brows.

“And a mojito,” I added reluctantly.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to be on alone tonight.”

I huffed a laugh. I was close to regretting that I helped her. “Are you fucking joking with me right now?” I not only had to buy her a drink, but I also had to sit with her. “What am I? Your babysitter?”

She pouted. “Please.”

There were places I would rather be than babysitting a heartbroken woman I didn’t even know. For example, I could be in my office and have one of the strippers suck my cock, but I couldn’t resist this woman’s puppy eyes. She was beautiful. “First, I have to know your name.”

She beamed with a smile. I wondered how anyone could be crying one minute and smiling the next. “I’m Giselle.”

“You have ten minutes to finish your drink, Giselle.” I walked to the front bar and grabbed a stool, and she sat beside me.

“I told you my name.”

I didn’t care to look at her as I raised my hand to hail the barman. “I heard it.”

I saw her squeeze her face in confusion from the corner of my eyes. “Don’t you think it’s rude not to tell me yours?”

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