Yob tvoyu mat!
I nearly choke on air, leaning back so fast I almost topple my chair. Thank fuck for the pillar blocking her view. My heart’s pounding like I’ve just gone ten rounds in the ring.Pathetic.
I take a deep breath, trying to get my shit together. That’s when I notice them. Three suits, strutting toward the bar like they own the place.
Cocksucking yuppies.
They lean over the bar, way too close to Wren. One of them, a greasy fuck with slicked-back hair, is practically drooling. His eyes are glued to her chest as she moves, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
The second one, a balding prick, flags Wren down. As she approaches, he leans in, his mouth moving. Can’t hear what he’s saying from here, but I see Wren’s polite smile falter for a split second.
Why is she smiling?
Blyat. My grip tightens on the glass. The ice clinks, whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
The balding prick leans in closer.
My eyes twitch as I watch. His mouth’s moving, but I can’t hear shit from here.
Wren takes a step back, her smile strained now. Good. At least she’s not enjoying this bullshit.
But then the greasy fuck reaches out. Grabs her wrist as she tries to move away. Yanks her close and whispers something in her ear.
Suka!My blood’s rushing in my ears. Vision going red. I’m on my feet before I even realize what I’m doing. In three long strides, I’m almost at the bar.
And then I see it. A flash of frost in her gaze. A calculating smirk curling her lips.
Wren’s jaw tightens. Her fingers flex once, twice. She glances at the hand on her wrist, then back at the fucker’s face.
“Look, dickhead,” she says, voice low. She leans in close like she’s sharing a secret. “I don’t care if you’re Joe fucking Biden or Putin’s long-lost son. You don’t take your hands off me now, you’re gonna regret it.”
The guy blinks, swaying on his feet.
“What you gonna do, sweetheart?” he slurs, spittle flying from his mouth.
Wren’s eyes narrow. She turns her head, slow and deliberate. Her gaze locks onto mine across the room.
Blyat.My heart stops for a second.
“Well,” she says, not breaking eye contact. “My boyfriend’s gonna kill you.”
53
Dimitri
Yob tvoyu mat.Boyfriend?
The drunk fucks turn, following her gaze.
I’m there, looming over them.
“Problem here?” I growl, voice low.
Greasy Fuck’s eyes go wide. He stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Shit, man, we were just—”
I don’t let him finish. My fist connects with his jaw. There’s a satisfying crunch. He goes down hard, sprawling on the floor.
The other two back up fast, hands raised. Baldy’s sweating now, his shiny dome glistening under the bar lights.
