I smiled at the mention of her mysterious little sister. I guess I did sound like her.
“You do need me, baby. You just don’t know it yet,” I countered.
She angled her body on the soft leather so that she faced me. I knew she thought she was about to spit some significant shit. I gazed back at her, appreciating the view as I waited on her important announcement.
“I do not need, nor do I want, a mothafuckin’ thing from you, Targen Jones. Sidorov. Whoever the hell you supposed to be now. Take me home, and we never have to see each other again,” she said coolly.
I waited a minute, glanced at my phone at a text from my mother, looked through the shaded partition to see Vlad andMikhail waiting silently at this red light. I let her sit until she was practically squirming in her seat, wanting me to respond so she could argue, fight me verbally for the hurt I had caused her.
The hurt that I planned to more than make up for.
“Well?” she finally snapped. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, shorty, I heard you. You saying a whole lot of nothing. You forget that you already told me what you really want. The independent career, the marriage, the babies. I’m about to make all that possible,” I said, my voice as calm as hers had been a minute ago.
Her eyes narrowed on me, and her next words were venom-laced. “You think I’d have marriage and babies with you?”
The corner of my mouth lifted in a dry smile. “You will.”
This time, she was silent, and I could almost see her mind working as the city’s lights illuminated her face through the window. Still, I wasn’t expecting what she said.
“I will fight you every step of the way before I let you do what that bastard did to me.”
My control snapped at the comparison to the ex who had viciously assaulted her. I was out of my seatbelt and across the seat before she could blink. And still I had to proceed carefully, respect her limits, because I didn’t want her terrified of me. Even now, her body had stilled, frozen in place as those big eyes studied me warily. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to shake her, make her seeme, the man she had given herself to.
The man she would gift herself to again.
“You think I’m like that nigga,milaya? Huh?” I demanded.
She watched me, stubborn, quiet. The only sound emitting from her was her suddenly harsh breathing. I stared as pearly white teeth sank into her bottom lip, jealous that I couldn’t do the same thing. Damn, I missed the taste of her.
“Answer me, Theory. You think I would hurt you like he did?”
She swallowed and closed her eyes. Her breath escaped on a soft sigh, her arms suddenly crossing over her midsection.
“I know you would hurt me.”
It was a simultaneous evasion and admission. Her voice sounded rusty, bruised as she said it. Guilt flooded me, and I reached toward her, stopping only when she flinched. That shit hurtme.
“Milaya moya…”
Theory shook her head. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your anything, Targen. I never was. Please move.”
I didn’t want to. Fuck, I didn’t want to. But I had probably pushed as much as I could in this moment. Slowly, I slid back across the seat. I watched as she pressed a button, lowering the center console, like a barrier between us. I smirked at the petty action. She could put up all the barriers she wanted. I was knocking them all down.
A little bit south of the Houston sprawl, the Sidorov compound sat on dozens of beautiful, wooded, electronically fenced acres. The rest of our ride there was silent except for the old school R&B I turned on. Theory’s ignore game was fierce; no way my baby was comfortable, her body rigid and twisted in that seat as she faced the window, refusing to acknowledge me. Beyond feeling bad for her discomfort, I wasn’t worried by that shit. There was no doubt in my mind I was going to win Theory back. We were meant to be together. That was it.
A mile off the state highway, the view of my father Sergei’s big house greeted us. Maxim had a house here, too, and as gift for surviving Siberia, they’d built one for me. I had yet to see it except in pictures, but my mom had helped design it, so the shit was dope. My old man had spared no expense. It would be a good home base until we figured out where we wanted to spend most of our time. I felt like Theory would love it, once she allowed herself to. The security was unmatched, importantfor a formerpakhan—Russian mafia cell leader—and the sons he hadn’t planned to have.
Vlad drove a little further before easing onto the circular, stone driveway of a three-story house with a cream stone exterior. I frowned, recognizing that this was not my house. I tapped the partition, impatient to get home alone with my reluctant bride. The bulletproof glass lowered slowly, and I palmed the Desert Eagle I always kept near me, in case either of these fuck non-niggas wanted to be liberated of his brain tonight.
“Why are we stopping? Explain quick, cuz my trigger finger itching like a mothafucka,” I ordered.
“My apologies, Mr. Sidorov. Thepa—” Vlad stopped as he looked at Theory in the rear view. “Your brother wants to see you,” he finished.
Mikhail turned, looking first at my gun then at Theory. “See, Miss? Borscht.”
I watched as a ghost of a smile danced around her lips. I didn’t like that shit. At all.
