“We’re her guards. We’re protecting her,” I offer blandly, without moving.
“My dogs protect her. Not you.” His terse tone brooks no discussion on the matter.
He’s only said a handful of words, but in them, I decipher his handle on the English language is much better than he puts on. Interestingly, it's exactly what Santiago does when he’s around people he doesn’t know—pretend he isn’t fluent and eloquent to hide the truth.
I hold his stare, but not for long, because he’s likely to see everything as a challenge, considering he has two guns aimed right at him. “Quinn was attacked earlier. We’re on edge.” I probably don’t need to be quite so condescending, but maintaining control of the situation and keeping my girl safe are my only motivations.
The shithead blatantly ignores me and flicks his eyes to her again. The intensity of his stare has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in warning. His head tips to the side, acting like the gun under his chin, and mine, isn’t aimed and ready to kill. “True?”
Behind me, Quinn moves. I assume she’s nodding her head.
Santiago clearly doesn’t like the vibe the guy is giving off, and he shoves his gun harder under his chin, forcing the Alpha's head to rise, breaking off the intense stare.
“We kept one alive. He’s in the kitchen,” she says softly.
A flash of shocked disbelief alters his presence before he pushes back against Santiago so he can look at her again.
This time, he’s displaying more Alpha traits than human qualities; challenge is in his eyes and in his posture. Everything about him is a reminder of his strength, but he’s amped up, so he packs an extra punch of warning into his strangely smoky, leathery scent. He looks at her impatiently, expecting more of an explanation than the indirect pussyfooting around we’re all guilty of.
I’ve seen what happens when someone levels that kind of look at Quinn; she comes out swinging. I move to block his view of her, hopefully to curtail her whiplike defense. But I’m not fast enough.
“You do realize I was left alone, right?” There’s an edge to her voice that’s not an outright challenge, but she’s dropped pretending not to be angry. “Completely alone, as in not one fucking person left in this damn house. I nearly got eaten by the fucking dogs outside, and just when I had finally managed to relax, three armed intruders broke in. Three! It’s lucky Victor’s guards arrived when they did, or you’d be looking at my violated corpse. The hospitality your Bratva keeps showing is… exemplary. What a delight being his wife is going to be.”
She stops breathing, then snarls under her breath before a small, meek, “Sorry,” follows from her and fills the space with her regret.
Santiago and the other Alpha react the same, growling at her distress—and her apology. And then the fucking dogs join in on the dump of testosterone, responding to the rising tension by growling and snarling.
“Enough!” I snap as my own designation flares bright, bringing with it a bone-deep need for everyone to stop fighting and to focus on caring for Quinn.
My girl.
My Omega.
Even if our bond shifts to being forever unrequited, she is and will always be the only one for me.
Chapter Nineteen
ALEKSEI
The Beta guards her well and protects her even better.
Standing up the way he did, demanding everyone settle down, is no easy feat. Twisting against the press of the nozzle, the other Alpha has done the same. His eyes are full of emotion; he’s literally on a trigger edge, but our impasse is changing as our warring natures recognize strength for strength.
“I have no problem pulling the trigger, asshole.”
I smirk, giving him the same shove he gives me, replying in Russian, just to piss him off. “I’d return the favor before I hit the ground.” Then I revert to poor, broken English. “And you know it.”
“Roshka, Nalla,” I command, giving them the signal to do a house check, then turning to her. Or not turning, more realigning.
Since the moment I left the house, on a violent mission in my brother's honor, I’ve felt thrown. Not by the task I was assigned. Killing Irishmen is simple. All you need to do is waitfor any given excuse, when they stand shoulder to shoulder, unprotected, practically begging to be shot, in my experience. Honestly, it’s disgusting how inflated their egos are—how could you allow any woman or child under your care to be unprotected in any space? It makes my stomach turn.
For the first time ever, though, there was something cutting like a razor blade through my focus. A clarity that clouded my focus because the whole time I was in “the zone” being Sergey’s “hand” I was not where I should have been, which is where I am now, in front of her.
Even in her flash-bang anger, and subsequent reticence, she is breathtaking. And how fucking cruel is fate. I find my one perfect person on the entire planet, who doesn’t at all remember our first meeting, and then can only watch her from a distance while my brother treats her with blatant disrespect.
It’s a game where there will be only losers, because life with Sergey is about him always being the victor.
I flick my head at her, calling for her attention. I act flippantly, like I did when Larisa was here, ignoring her guards before disrespecting them further when I reholster my gun. In our world, actions are louder than words, and I just made it obvious that my perception of them does not even warrant a weapon in my hand.
