His hand moved quickly. I ducked as a spray of blood erupted, but I heard Mr. Veneers’ moans become gurgles then silence.
Did that really just happen?
I cupped my hands over my eyes. A few seconds later, I squealed as I was pulled upward and gentle hands moved mine away from my eyes. I opened them hesitantly.
Targen was looking down at me. “You drunk,” he said, like he hadn't just slashed a man's carotid or jugular or whatever sprays like a fountain at the Palace of Versailles or some shit.
I was really proud of how poetic I was being today, despite everything.
I frowned up at him. “I’m not drunk.”
“You are.”
“I’m feeling a little delayed, but well-hydrated.”
Juvie laughed. “Yeah, yo' shorty full of that good juice.”
I turned on him. “Ain’t nobody asked you, Julien Reed.”
He held up both hands. “See? Drunk.”
A muscle in Targen’s jaw ticked. He was fighting not to show it, but he was still enraged, seething.
“Targen—”
“Did you tell him you were married?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
His nostrils flared as he stared down at me. “Did you tell him you were married?” His tone was soft, but nothing else about his language was.
I could argue with him, point out that saying no should've been enough, that it wasn't Mr. Veneers’ business whether ornot I was married, and a woman shouldn't have to hold up her marital status like a shield to men who refused to hear “no.”
But I knew, looking into his eyes, that now was not the time. I placed my hand over his heart.
“Yes, Targen. I told him. I even pointed out my ring. I made it clear that I was... taken.”
His body relaxed, tension eased. Now he looked more irritated than murderous. “Good. They need to recognize that you are mine. They will or else.”
I guessed the “or else” was the status of the man who would no longer be flashing those shiny white teeth at anyone.
“We leaving,” he said suddenly.
I scoffed. “Well, thank God everyone else already did, since you wanna act like you in some slasher movie. Targen Jones-Sidorov stars in ‘The Bratva Blade,’” I announced, flinging my arms wide.
I ignored the snickers around me, focused on my oh-so-patient husband.
“Yeah, she outta there,” Ajani said.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Milaya?” Targen began, as he slid one arm behind my back and the other under my knees.
“Hmm?”
“You don't ever announce 'Bratva' like that. It doesn't exist, if anyone ever asks,” he explained as he lifted me.
The whole bar tilted as my head swam.
