Aleksei left a message, giving us the heads-up as to what has been happening all night. The deep thud of music vibrating through the house, coupled with feminine shrills, made it kind of obvious that it was a celebration, and given Sergey’s ego, it makes sense he’d claim the night as his bachelor party.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask.
Santiago doesn’t stop at the door; he doesn’t slow down or stop staring at me like he can’t believe his eyes.
“Nunca lo he conocido y lo odio como nunca antes he odiado a nadie.”
He makes me burst out laughing. His bold claim that he’s never hated anyone more than Sergey is so Santiago. Around me, his scent mixes with Kade’s, and it settles like a sweet body spray on my skin, giving me as much of an ego boost as his words did.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I know Kade and I could have you out of here in minutes. The dogs would help, and I suspect Aleksei…”
“No, Santiago. This is where I need to be.”
“I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’re marrying him.” He growls, and it’s not the kind of growl that brings goose bumps to my skin. It’s the other one—pure frustration.
I want to give him a hug, but instead, I brush a hand over his shoulder as I pass behind him. I don’t rush out of the doors separating us from the rest of Sergey’s house—that would be foolish, given the lion’s den I’m sure I’m walking into—but I also need to feel him behind me, as much as I need Kade there too.
Roshka inserts himself between me and the door, and I run my fingers through the fur on the top of his head while I wait for Kade and Santiago to be ready.
When they join me, I soak in the quiet peace they bring before the voice in my head pushes me to check again that they can do this.
“I know Sergey won’t hurt or kill me today. He needs us married. I expect him to make a fool out of me, though. But… I’m bigger than a man with an outrageously inflated ego. What would stay with me for a long, long time is if either of you got hurt because you can’t separate...”
“Quinn.” Santiago’s voice is low but full of his Alpha presence, so I have no choice but to listen and believe. “Don’t worry about us, we will be fine. We’ll stick to what we agreed on, which is being your guards. But you have to trust us to recognize when lines are crossed that shouldn’t be. I know those lines, and somehow, you do too. Kade and I have spoken, and we’re both on the same page when it comes to you. So, let’s go get this fucking day done so we can get you safely back behind these doors as soon as possible.”
The smile on my face is real. The puff of my perfume that they both inhale deeply is proof of how content I am.
Kade presses his hand on the door, stopping us. “Watch Roshka. Apparently, he hates Sergey as much as I plan to.”
I look down at the fluffy menace. “Roshka won’t hurt me.”
“Exactly. But he has the means to rip out Sergey’s throat probably faster than we can pull a gun. Keep him next to you, and if you see him getting defensive, trust what he’s telling you. If he attacks without provocation, you fucking run.”
“I feel like we’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Well, I still feel like you’re marrying the wrong fucking person in this house.”
Santiago chuckles, his nearness means his breath blows down my neck, making me shiver. “Kade, you have a certain way with words. I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long undercover.”
“Santiago!” I hiss.
“What?” He laughs, way too relaxed.
Kade stares him down. “I have the same motivation as you.”
“I have more,” Santiago argues, pressing his hand to my back. It acts like a hot water bottle, and it’s done intentionally, no doubt, because his own Alpha drive to care for me is riding his ass, and my anxiety is climbing too.
“We can argue later,” I promise, before reaching above Roshka to unlock the door and pull it open.
Despite the noise that’s been echoing through the house most of the night, the corridor is strangely quiet. There’s a strong smell of sex and excess that lingers like decaying trash. I rub my finger over the top of my lip, leaving behind the hint of them on my skin so they are all I breathe. It makes me feel instantly better.
At the stairs, decorations you’d expect to see at a wedding start appearing—on Sergey’s side, of course. Thick, silky ribbons embellished with red, gold, and white hang like garlands around floral arrangements. We follow them like a map, coming to a large room.
From a smaller room opposite where people are gathering, the trill, like a flock of excited starlings, spills out until it cuts off as I walk into the room.
The inside has been staged with beauty stations, more of the floral arrangements, large mirrors, and billowing curtains. A photographer is busy taking “candid” photos of Bambi and her group of besties, all appearing coiffured and shamelessly glammed up. Each wearing what looks like very traditional, embellished Russian dresses, primarily in a deep red color.
They look at me, and in typical mean-girl mentality, pretend to hide their laughter so I can’t see it.
