“He’s never going to know. I never did anything to betray him. And I never will.” But despite my best efforts, his words fill me with self-doubt.
“He’ll throw you on the streets, and you’ll come crying home to me. If that’s the choice you make, instead of coming home a valued member of the family, you’ll be a reject. A disappointment. Even Sergey will frown upon you.”
“I would never come crawling home to you, pidor!” I spit in his face to jab the ultimate disrespect.
I feel the sting of my cheek before I even register the hit. I should’ve seen it coming, but in my rage, I wasn’t paying attention.
I lunge forward, punching him in the nose, reveling in the sound of it crunching beneath my hand. He pushes me off him and returns a punch, which I block. His next one lands on my nose. My hands wrap around his neck in a vise grip. Rage fuels me. Which keeps me blind to the hit to my side. The wind is ripped out of me, and I’m left gasping for air.
Viktor shouts to his men, and the car jerks to a stop. The backseat door is jerked open, hands grab me, and I’m thrown from the car.
“When you’re ready to come home, you better have valuable information, or your life will be hell. You’ll be begging for Sergey when I’m through with you.” Viktor’s words are the last I hear before the door closes, and the car speeds away.
They dispose of me in the parking lot, so I hobble to Nik’s car. The gasp he lets out at the sight of me is all the indicator I need of how fucked I am. There’s no chance I can hide this from Dominic.
“Fuck, Katya! What the hell happened?” Nik surveys the lot, looking for the threat. His gun is unsheathed, ready to make someone pay.
“Viktor happened,” I confess glumly. I’m ashamed I let him even get one hit on me, much less two.
“Where is he?” Nik’s voice is merely a growl, but I can’t let him out of the car.
“Just drive us home. I’ll tell you later,” I mutter before closing my eyes.
Five minutes pass of him barraging me with questions before he finally resigns to my silence. My shame won’t let me open up to him.
I check my reflection in the overhead mirror and note that my nose is bleeding, and my eyes are forming black circles under them. I lift the hem of my shirt to reveal a giant green and yellow bruise forming. Fuck. There’s truly no way I can hide this from Dominic.
When we get home, I sneak inside. I make it halfway to my old room when I hear my husband approaching. The familiar pattern of his footsteps taunts me as I pick up my pace.
“Where are you going, tiger?” His jovial voice causes me to flinch. I know the moment I turn around, that cheery demeanor will vanish.
“I’m going to my room. I need some alone time.” My even voice doesn’t betray my lie.
“That’s not your room,” he growls from right over my shoulder.
He wraps his arms around my middle and lifts me in the air. The howl of pain I let out causes him to halt. He tenses and gently places me on the ground.
“Katerina, what’s wrong–” His words transform into a snarl when he turns me around.
“It looks worse than it is.” I try to alleviate his worries, but my words only seem to anger him more.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is so dark and low that it sends shivers down my spine.
To anyone else, it’d be terrifying. But to me, his wife, it’s almost arousing. Because his anger is in defense of me.
“Katerina, who touched you. Who hurt you.” His words aren’t a question, they’re a demand. He needs answers. He needs to make them pay. But unfortunately, he can’t touch my assailant.
“Don’t worry about it, darling. You should see the other guy.” I aim for teasing, but it comes out rough.
“I don’t give a damn about the condition of the other guy. His life is coming to an end.” His eyes are fully black now as his fists clench at his side. He’s bloodthirsty to avenge me.
“You can’t kill him.” I press a hand to his chest, trying to calm him. He immediately wraps my hand in his large one and forces it closer to him.
“There’s not a single force on this earth that could stop me from killing the person who hurt my wife.” He tilts my face into the light as he inspects my injuries. His gentle touches contrast with his furious words. He’s my personal angel of death.
He carefully lifts my shirt up to inspect my midsection where he touched earlier. When he sees the bruise, he lets out a sound of anguish doused with fury.
“You can’t kill Viktor Sokolov.” My teeth grit together as I tell him.
