Chapter 2 #2
I’m going to need to check outside for the crest, if I can do it without being noticed. That’s if Romanov and Assisi aren’t ripping apart the grounds because of the bombs.
For a moment, I grip the edge of the sink.
I risked everything for that crest. And now Romanov wants me in the fold, in his clutches.
With a sigh, I pull out the lipstick I hid in my bra, which is miraculously still there. I reapply and leave the bathroom.
“If you’re trying to get to Tatiana,” Iosif says, his blue eyes cold, sounding completely American even though I know he’s Russian through and through, “you need to forget it. The only reason I don’t have your head or forced your hand into marrying my son is for your stepmother and your father’s sakes. ”
“You were close, I know,” I say evenly. At least he was to Elena. “Tell Tatiana—”
“Nothing from you.”
“Whatever,” I mutter.
I turn away from him, but he grabs my arm, fingers biting deep into my flesh. “She’s safe here, as are you. When you turn twenty-five…”
“Surely you’ve got more on your plate than my safety,” I say, curling my other hand into a tight fist. “With this merging of families,” I say, sarcasm and disdain dripping from my words.
His eyes narrow. “It’s a mutual act to grow strength, but I won’t bore you with politics. Stanislav was weak and a fool—”
“And murdered.”
“He died in a bar fight he started, everyone knows that. Don’t even pretend you care beyond the fact that you think his death took away your chance to rule. You’re not a fool, even if you act like one. Run along, Ava. Back to where you came from. My offer stands.”
I try to hide the flinch. “Being under your so-called protection is nothing more than a prison sentence.”
“So be it. But with me, your money issues end.”
“I think,” I say, ripping my arm free of his grasp, “I’ll forgo the rest of the festivities.”
I walk toward the door.
“Be careful, the fireworks display malfunctioned,” he says. “I’d hate for one to accidentally go off if you got too close. I hear the cartel and other unsavory enemies are interested in all things Volkov. Stay inside, and I’ll have a car for you out front with an escort.”
Like hell am I getting into his car. I storm out the door, and it’s not until I get to the party that I slow my gait and skirt the edges of the crowd so I can make my escape.
I’m shaking as I slide out through the mostly empty foyer and into the front courtyard.
I have a crappy car parked two streets over, so if I leave now, maybe I can check for the crest.
But as soon as I step outside, I let out a frustrated breath. I don’t have my little penlight with me, and it’s too dark to see a damn thing. I didn’t even really see the face of the man who tackled me.
Or rather felt me up.
And then I kissed him.
A wave of heat hits and I ignore it. Iosif’s warning is ice enough to chill the memory.
Shit. What if I’m wrong and he wants to kill me—?
“Where the fuck are you running off to?”
The Irish voice is soft, warm, and utterly deadly, and it hits me with a jolt of electricity.
He moves quick, light on his feet, and before I can take off, he cages me in the shadows at the edge of the courtyard against the wall. The brick presses into me. And wild heat blooms inside. Everything’s so alive.
“That’s none of your business,” I say, my voice a little breathy. “I was taught not to talk to strangers.”
I keep my eyes down, trying to center myself as he laughs softly. Despite myself, I breathe him in. All that hypnotic, smoky darkness fills me.
For a moment, everything flies high, a roller coaster in my stomach. Then I look up.
And everything goes cold.
Because I know him. He’s…
I squeeze my hands tight, trying to control the fury bubbling in my veins.
He’s a Murphy. The high cheekbones, sensuous mouth, dark brows, dark-green eyes, and hair that curls. He needs a shave, and the cynicism in his eyes twines with a wicked awareness that threatens to send that roller coaster hurtling down.
Even with a smear of soot and dirt on his face, the rip in his pants, he’s hotter than fuck. Handsome, maybe even beautiful in that male way.
Before he just had on a shirt and a shoulder holster.
Now there’s a jacket over those weapons—and by weapons, I mean his muscles and that metal.
The man should look ridiculous. The veneer of sophisticated gentleman with the soot and dirt.
But he doesn’t.
He looks dangerous. Animalistic. A predator, and fuck, I think that makes me even wetter.
I swallow, throat thickening.
Romanov and Assisi hired a third party for security. A party known to be hard and brutal should anyone be stupid enough to attack. A party with no cards at the table.
The Murphys.
The Murphys play a different game. I know enough about them. But they’re too protected and close-knit for me to get to Seamus. For me to take my sudden need for revenge.
A part of me hates that the revenge play isn’t really for the cousin I barely knew. Stan was exactly as Iosif described, but he still stole my birthright. And that pisses me off to no end.
Still, Stanislav was family.
It’s enough to spill blood.
But whichever Murphy this is, he isn’t Seamus, the man I saw in the photo. So I stand down.
“We’re not strangers, not after that run-in earlier.” He looks me up and down. “How did you escape? The ties weren’t too tight, but it takes most a while to get free. You should still be lying there like a special gift waiting to be opened.”
“And you should be in little pieces,” I spit, ignoring the fact my bomb wasn’t that powerful.
He smiles, and while my heart swells, the anger burns. “You should have built a better bomb.”
“That’s the thing, though, you see, I was out for a little stroll when some brute attacked me.”
“If that was a stroll, sweet thing, then we should do it again, because…” He pushes against my ear with his mouth, his demanding hands skimming over my hips. “I think you liked the, ah, attack more than you want to admit.”
“No—”
“Or wait,” he says, silky and full of bite, “didn’t you attack me?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Only if you tell me your name.”
“None of your business.”
He clicks his tongue. “It’s definitely my business.”
Before I can respond, Romanov storms out. “Murphy?”
Reality crashes down on me.
I’ve been so caught up in this man that I didn’t notice the others near us, two other men who must be his brothers. But when the light hits, I realize that the one who looks over to Romanov is the one I know from the picture.
Seamus Murphy.
The cousin killer. Fate destroyer. Future victim, I suddenly decide, by my hands.
This Murphy, my tormentor, glances away, then back to me before he says, “Wait here.”
It’s an order.
I don’t follow orders.
The moment he turns his back and steps away, I run like hell.
Because fuck him.