“Wife! Wake the fuck up!”
That idiot is pounding so hard on my door that it’s vibrating on the hinges. He’s going to break it again. Maybe he’ll use his head this time. The vision of fucking Cameron’s head wedged helplessly in my door makes me smile for a lovely moment until he kicks the door open.
Bad Cat gives a screech, scratches me, and races for the safety of my closet.
Holding my bleeding hand up to keep from messing up my sheets, I stare at my husband.
It’s six in the morning, the sun is barely up.
“It’s time to start up your self-defense lessons again,” fucking Cameron announces. He dumps a box on the bed, it tips over and an assortment of knives fall out. “Pick a blade, we’re going to work on-”
“Take your box of murder things and get the hell out of my room.”
He grabs my wrist. “What happened to your hand?”
“You do not touch me! Let go!” I’m pulling and so is he and now blood drops are flying everywhere.
“Stop,” he says sternly, holding my hand still. “We have to clean this up.” He pulls me toward the bathroom as if I have no idea how to walk on my own. “Cat scratches can get infected easily.”
“I wouldn’t have been scratched if you hadn’t started pounding on the door.” His grip is firm around my wrist but he’s not hurting me but I would love to hurthim.Scratch him, punch him… do something to make him feel the way I do.
Holding my hand under cold water in the sink, he looks up at me in the mirror. “Ya’ shouldn’t have that beast in the house, he’s a feckin’ nightmare.”
My wet hand clenches into a fist. “If you try to take Bad Cat away from me I will stab you in the throat. That is a promise.”
“I thought you told me to take my box of murder things away,” he counters, “what will you use?”
“Why are you here?” I hiss, “I don’t want to see you. None of this is real.” Humiliatingly, my eyes are wet. “Get your fucking revenge, decimate the Ivanovs, and for the love of god, let me go!”
Fucking Cameron carefully dries off my hand and pulls a first aid box out from under the sink.
“I can do it!” I try to pull loose from his grip and he ignores me, spraying disinfectant on the bleeding scratch and covering it with a band aid. Now I can feel the sting from the cut and it hits me, how numb I’ve been.
“It’s clear a conversation is overdue,” he finally says, lifting his head to look at me. Without ceremony, he hoists me up on the bathroom counter so I’m looking at him, eye to eye. “I know what happened at the club hurt you. You must feel betrayed. I won’t apologize for it. That had to happen. Your fuckface cousin gave us corroboration for some very important information about the Red Trade. Your father jumped into the Stepanov business with both feet.”
I want to look away from him because I really hate him so much, but he’s speaking to me. Honestly, directly. “This isn’t all about revenge for me, lass.”
“It is,” I say. “I know about your cousin. I know Artim killed him.”
“Artim didn’t just kill Ferr. He burned him alive, along with ten of our men. He broke into an Ivanov warehouse in Moscow too soon, I was meant to meet up with him and bring in my team. The Ivanovs were comin’ for the women early, so he broke in and rescued them. Twenty-six girls, most of ‘em were under eighteen. Ferr’s team got the girls out, but he stayed with some of our men to draw fire and give the others a chance to get away. Artim chained the warehouse shut and set it ablaze.” Cameron’s expression is oddly blank as he recites this.
“I hope you did the same to him.” It bursts out of me, shocking me with the intensity of it.
“He wasn’t worth the effort,” he says flatly.
He looks down at my scratched hand, smoothing the band-aid down. “Bad Cat is Ferr’s cat. I went to his house to get him and the little fecker scratched the hell out of me. He roams around here like he’s the king, but he would never come into the house until you brought him in.”
Cameron’s standing between my legs and suddenly, the heat of his body so close, the scent of him sparks my center again, making me ache. I never knew you could hate someone and still want to fuck them at the same time.
Lesson learned. Because I want him to pull down my sleep shorts and slide into me. I would wrap my legs around that narrow waist of his and…
Not my husband.
Pulling my head back, I watch him in silence as he puts the first aid kit away. “Now that you have what you needed from Artim, will you let me go?”
He has the fucking gall to look puzzled.
“We’re married, lass. In case you’ve forgotten.”
