Page 107 of Bleed with Me

She didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t hear me, so I tried again.

“Nina.” My fingertips hovered over her skin, rage crawling beneath my ribs. My eyes lifted to her. “Who the fuck did this?”

She released a shaky breath, her expression stopping me cold. For the first time since I’d met her, the fearless little menace looked genuinely hurt.

“My fiancé,” she replied, Italian accent slipping into the words, making it sound like an insult. “The man your brother chose for me.”

Something inside me snapped. The world narrowed into a suffocating red haze, burning through my skull. The room disappeared. The whiskey. The piano. Nina. Only her bruises remained.

The bruises. On my wife.

My pulse thundered as my brain abandoned every civilized thought and sprinted toward cruelty with terrifying enthusiasm.

Sonny Carlile.

That pathetic, overdressed prick had put his hands on her. Not once. Repeatedly. The demon in my head perked up like a delighted child handed matches and gasoline.

“Carlile,” I muttered, tasting the name like poison.

Fear flickered briefly through Nina’s eyes, but I barely saw her. I was already imagining the procedure in perfect detail. An empty operating room, sedatives carefully calculated not to knock him out completely. Scalpels. Clamps. Precision.

He liked using his hands? Beating women?

Fine. I would teach him about the fragility of bones, tendons, and nerves. I’d give him a lesson he’d never forget.

“Dorian,” Nina’s voice cut through the haze. I looked at her, registering worry imprinted on her face. “Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking that,” I said, locking my violent plans deep into my brain for later use. Even when she grew up surrounded by brutes, she had no idea how crazy I could be. I didn’t want to scare her. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve survived worse.” She shrugged, her hand diving into my hair. Her nails gently scraped my nape, a moan almost slipping free from my lips.

Shit! A second ago, I was ready to commit murder.

“We need to talk,” I reminded her, trying not to focus on the pleasurable goosebumps that erupted all over my skin. “And I need to check your injuries. You—”

“Stop, Dorian.” Her firm voice enveloped me, cutting off my thoughts. “We can do that later.”

-47-

Nina

The madness shining in Dorian’s eyes knocked the air out of my lungs. He looked ready to cut Sonny into tiny pieces and feed them to his mother’s beloved crocodiles. I tried to soothe him, but the darkness behind his glowing irises was startling.

Not because men in my life hadn’t reacted violently over bruises before. I grew up with men whose first response was retaliation. But this felt different.

Dorian wasn’t angry in a performative, masculine way. There was no ego in it, no offended pride because another man touched something of his. He looked wounded, possessive in a way I hadn’t anticipated. He was dangerously, irrationally protective.

My pulse stumbled. I’d expected rage about the kidnapping, questions, accusations, maybe even disgust once he learned who I really was. But not this. Not Dorian Zhumagulov on his knees before me, staring at my abdomen like the dark blue color there personally offended his existence.

Traitorous warmth spread through my chest because, despite the panic clawing at me, a huge, reckless part of me adored seeing him like this. Focused entirely on me.

“Dorian.” His darkened eyes locked with mine. “Breathe.”

He gulped, glancing at me as if hypnotized, and before I could stop myself, I cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

For a stunned heartbeat, he stiffened beneath my hands but quickly recovered. One arm slid around my waist so fast it stole my breath. My knees hit the carpet, fingers tangled deeper into his dark hair, and my chest pressed against his muscles as if my entire body wanted to melt into his. All thoughts left me, his warmth enveloping me and forcing me to focus only on him.

The kiss deepened naturally. His tongue demanded entrance into my mouth, which I eagerly granted, carrying all the dangerous affection neither of us could name. When we finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because we wanted to, but because oxygen existed.