Page 54 of The Bratva Betrayal

“Me.”

The silence stretches for a second too long, and her pulse jumps beneath my hand.

I move close enough and drop my voice lower. “Come over tonight.”

That catches her off guard. I can see it in the slight widening of her eyes before she recovers.

“My place,” I continue evenly. “You seem very interested in me lately.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you still letting me touch you?”

For the first time since this started, she doesn’t answer right away.

And for one second, I think maybe I finally pushed far enough to crack through some of that attitude and pull out something honest underneath it.

Then her expression changes.

Not nervous; fucking Irish.

Spirited and mean as all hell.

“Oh,” she says lightly. “You really thought this was working.”

Her knee comes up hard between my legs, and pain explodes through my body.

“Jesus Christ⁠—”

I stagger back a step, gripping the edge of the chair beside me while she points a finger at my chest, eyes blazing with satisfaction.

“I’m with Misha,” she snaps. “That’s where I want to be, you arrogant asshole.”

She looks thrilled with herself.

“You hit hard,” I grind out. “I’m impressed.”

“Not hard enough,” she jeers. “You’re still talking.”

I straighten slowly, still recovering, and she turns back toward the mirror. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Don’t miss next time.”

This woman is going to drive me fucking insane.

11

Cady

The sound of my shower running pisses me off.

Artem Makarov is so comfortable about it. Like this is his penthouse.

His bathroom.