Page 42 of Savage Pakhan

When knock sounds at the door downstairs.

Mia inhales a sharp breath and scurries away from me. Fear has replaced any progress we have made. She bundles herself in the blankets and looks around the room for a place to hide.

I stand, placing a finger against my lips, telling her to be quiet. Grabbing my gun, I cock it, the bullet sliding into place.

“Go to the bathroom and lock the door,” I whisper. “Go, Mia. Now.” I order when the knocks become louder and more persistent.

She clutches the sheets to her body, nearly tripping on the material dragging behind her. When she’s in the bathroom, I’m the one who grabs the handle to close to the door.

“Don’t make a sound,” I repeat. “I’ll be back.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. I’ll always come back to you, remember? Lock the door behind me, Mia.”

Fuck, it hurts to leave her alone.

The lock clicks into place and I press a hand against the door. “Good girl.”

Leaving my heart behind, I rush down the steps. I’m not the ease into a situation kind of man. I don’t peek out of the window to see who I’m dealing with. I meet everyone with a barrel and a bullet.

As quietly as I can, I pad my way to the front door with quick massive strides. Pressing my hand against the scanner, the lock is freed, and I swing the door open, aiming the gun at the unwanted visitor’s forehead.

I curse in Russian. “Damn it, Nikolai. You nearly got yourself killed.”

He seems unimpressed, his pale blue eyes studying me. His thick black hair hangs to his shoulders, messy and unkept. “You are a fool.”

I step aside and tuck my gun in the waistband of my shorts. “Did anyone see you arrive?”

He analyzes the living room, tilting his head up the steps to where Mia is. “I am not stupid,” he says in Russian.

“I never said you were, Nikolai,” I sigh, leaning against the coffee table.

“She is here, Da?”

“You won’t tell a fucking soul she’s here.”

“No shit. Do you have coffee? We have much to catch up on.”

“Da. Da. Make a big pot. I’ll go get Mia.”

“Seems you and Mia have gotten to know one another.”

I’m in front of him in a second, grabbing him by his shirt and shoving him against the counter.

The asshole has the audacity to grin.

“You know nothing about Mia or me or what we have had to do to get here,” I speak in Russian just in case Mia can hear. “Whatever you are thinking you are wrong.”

“Okay,” he says playfully, poking me in the chest.

I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

“I will make coffee. You go get Mia. We have a lot to discuss. I also brought groceries.”

“Where are they?”

He fills the coffee pot with water and gives me a quizzical glare. “They are in the car. I bought them. The least you could do is go get them.”