“What?”
His eyes glint with challenge, and it’s all directed towards me. His influence makes my head spin and my heart race with joy. I’m unable to turn and race away from the situation. He comes closer, his amber scent so thick and heady, my mouth waters.
“I saw you just now starting to edge away from us again. As soon as we get this bullshit reception finished, we are going into lockdown until we sort ‘us’ out. And, yes, ‘us’ clearly includes Aleksei.”
He’s so close, his clothes brush against my front, and being this close to an Alpha, I should feel threatened and worried. In some regard, I do, but none of my concern is based on me being scared of or intimidated by him.
Santiago doesn’t let up, “You have to realize, Quinn, however you want to brand us, we’re not going anywhere.”
He takes a step back before I can say a word and pulls the door wide open. Roshka walks straight out and Nalla prowls slower past him, the whole time staring him down, which I read as the “us” better include them too. Obviously, my brain is completely screwed up, which makes sense because it’s been spinning, tornado-style since we met, and I think I just made landfall.
The moment we leave the suite, Kade and Santiago are so indifferent towards me, it almost feels like separation. Which I’m thankful for, considering my brain is all syrupy. I need someone here being rational. My thoughts keep getting lost in what the consequence would be if we were in the position to simply tell each other the truth. It’s my Omega side in hyperdrive, and I lunge onto their levelheadedness, locking away the lure of our discussion later.
Reality is quite different. It gets blatantly shoved into my face the moment I walk into where the reception is being held. In the time I’ve been gone, the space and mood have changed, again.All the lights have been dimmed, and the dining tables where guests were enjoying traditional Russian delicacies have been cleared. Nausea rises in my stomach when I take in the table decorations now on each of them—sleeping children.
They must be drugged because, despite the noise and the predatory shark-like behavior of most of the people in the room, they don’t stir.
“What do you think of our wedding gift from our friends in Ireland?” Sergey booms his question across the room as I stop at the first table. He’s taken to lording back on one of the Chesterfield leather lounges dotted around the room. This one has been positioned right in the middle of the action, of course.
His eyes are cold and full of dark, swirling energy. He’s enjoying himself and reveling in my shock, which I fight hard to blink away.
I know better than to make a scene in a room full of his people, so I plaster a smile in place as I walk towards him. As soon as I’m close, he’s barking at me again. “I asked you a question, wife, and I expect an answer. Do you like what our Irish friends sent us?”
His Alpha bark means I have no choice but to answer.
Bambi is sitting nestled up against him, and one of her friends is sitting on a cushion between Sergey’s thighs on the floor. He rests a hand on each of them. On the other lounges near him sit who I assume are his closest friends and allies, all of them mirroring each other—jackets off, ties hanging loose, drinks and women on hand.
So many unspoken messages being flung at me by so many different people. I have to roll my shoulders to bolster against the crushing pressure of them.
“It’s very generous of them. Who should I send a thank-you card to?”
I want names, so once I’ve watched life drain out of Sergey’s eyes, I can go and hunt down every other person involved in the kiddie industry.
Sergey points a finger at two women sitting with them. “Olga and Catalina handle that side of my business.”
Some people might be shocked to discover women are involved in such an abhorrent crime. I am not one of those people. I add their names to my list and memorize their faces.
“Can I get you a drink?” I ask Sergey.
I make it obvious I’m not including anyone else in that question; I pay them no credence. I’m no one’s drink bitch, but I need him to see I’m his. I’m dutifully doing my part playing his wife so, one day, when the time comes and I get him alone, it doesn't raise alarm.
He tips his head to the side, and the grin on his face widens. It’s not an open and welcoming smile. “First, I want to know about Aleksei.”
My stomach plummets until I remember it is Sergey. The man’s ego is so huge, he’s only obsessed with himself, which means this isn’t about him figuring out I’m Aleksei’s mate. This is coming from a different space, his own, sick entertainment. As soon as I adjust my perception, the stress I was dealing with having to pretend Aleksei is nothing to me disappears.
But since Santiago is watching me like a hawk, I also earn a quiet warning from him, which I read asdo not antagonize this fucking idiot. And while I’m focused on Sergey, I’m also left reeling by the fact Santiago understands me as a person.
I back off on being overly aggressive, drawing on all my medical training when I look blankly at Sergey. “What do you mean?”
“Tell us about my brother’s cock. Is big, huh? He couldn’t fuck for a long time because of it. You like it, though?” He leans forward before the lot of them burst into laughter.
I look at him, and only him, until the noise settles down again. Once it’s quiet and everyone has picked up my polite hostility, I speak, only addressing my husband. “I’m going to arrange champagne and let the kitchen know we’re ready to cut the cake.”
Of course, as soon as I turn my back, Bambi starts giggling.
I blow out a long, centering exhale, muttering under my breath, smiling as I search for the kitchen manager. Except, they find me. Aleksei too.
“I’ve asked to do the cake, and Sergey could do the toast. It’s getting late,” he says, careful not to look at me too much. There are so many eyes on us, I don’t take it to heart.
