“Welcome back to the land of the living,” D mutters, his rough voice oddly gentle. He’s dabbing at my split lip with a damp cloth.
I jerk away from his touch, my heart racing. “Em!” I shout, trying to sit up. My head spins, and I nearly topple over. “Fuck, I need to get to Em before—”
D’s strong hands steady me. “Easy there, tigress. Your sister’s safe. I… made sure of it.”
I blink at him, my foggy brain struggling to catch up. “What?”
How’d he know about Em?
I blink hard, trying to focus. The room slowly comes into view, and I realize I’m not in my shitty apartment. This place is… fancy. Too fancy. I’m sprawled on a black leather sofa that probably costs more than I make in a lifetime.
“Where the fuck am I?” I demand, voice raspy.
Where am I? That’s a damn good question. I look around, taking in the massive windows overlooking the city, the sleek furniture that screams money.
D takes a deep breath, his massive chest expanding. He’s still sitting on a wooden coffee table next to the sofa, a blanket draped over my chest.
“At my place,” he replies simply, his hands slowly relaxing as I stop fighting against him.
I narrow my eyes at him. “And how exactly did I end up here? Last I remember, I was getting choked out in an alley by some Russian asshole.”
D’s eyes suddenly darken, but he looks away quickly. When he turns back, his face is a mask. “I was just …passing by.”
“Passing by, huh?” I snort. “That sounds real fucking convincing.”
His jaw tightens, but I don’t give a shit about his hurt feelings right now. My family’s in danger, and that’s all that matters.
“How?” I croak out, my throat dry as sandpaper.
D snorts like he’s talking about squashing a bug. “Let’s just say the Petrov boys learned what happens when you fuck with things that don’t belong to you.”
I squint at him, noticing the fresh bruises on his knuckles, the small cut above his eyebrow. “What did you do?”
He shrugs, a cold, vicious glint in his eye. “Taught them some manners. Broke a few bones, maybe a jaw or two. They only realized who I was after I shattered one of themudakwho’d attacked you earlier…”
He stops abruptly, his intense gaze boring into mine. Then he sits up, taking a deep breath like he’s trying to rein himself in.
Was that… worry I saw flicker across his face? Fuck that. Guys like him don’t give two shits… about anyone.
He coughs, looking away for a moment. When his eyes find mine again, they drop to my tits before snapping back up.
Real fucking subtle, asshole.
“Ugh, what if those shitheads come back?” I groan, wincing as I try to sit up. “I can’t deal with this crap, not with Em to look after.”
D’s face hardens, his jaw clenching.
“They won’t,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Fucking idiots nearly pissed themselves when they heard the name Ivankov. Trust me, they won’t be stupid enough to try again.”
My stomach drops. Great, from one Russian mafia lapdog to the big bad wolf himself. What is this, National Fuck-With-Wren’s-Life Day? But still, I need to be sure…
“Those assholes won’t be touching you or anyone else for a long time,” D adds. He cracks his knuckles, a smirk playing on his lips that’s anything but friendly.
Fuck me. This guy’s not playing around. Part of me wants to run, but another part—
No. Shut it down, Wren. You’ve got more important shit to deal with.
D’s hand suddenly slides under my head, gently pushing me to a sitting position. His fingers brush against my neck, sending a jolt through my body. I catch a whiff of his scent—leather, gunpowder, and something distinctly male. It makes my head spin. Or maybe that’s just the concussion talking.
