Chapter 18
ARTYOM
I’m already waiting outside.
Finneas Keane. The Irish Mob’s prize boxing champion.
Of course, that’s who my girl ends up seeing to spite me.
I storm into the bar after a few minutes. She doesn’t need to know that I was waiting outside, waiting to be proven right. She shouldn’t have come here. I don’t understand what kind of game she’s trying to play.
I shouldn’t even be here. Even driving down this street is a risk, but parking a distinctive sports car right outside the Irish Mob headquarters? I’m asking for trouble.
But Nina is not gonna make it that easy for me.
“Are you stalking me?”
Nina spits the accusation in my face when I appear at their table.
The Irish bastard doesn’t look worried or set down his glass when I approach, but I’m sure he’s as dangerous and vicious as the rest of his mob.
“Who are you?” he asks me.
I don’t dignify that with an answer.
I can tell from the rosy flush on Nina’s cheeks and the slight unsteadiness of her gaze that she’s been drinking, probably too much.
My jaw clenches so hard I think I’m going to shatter my molars as I take in her outfit.
A black leather jacket perfectly molded to her curves, unzipped to reveal her cream silk slip dress, patterned with tiny embroidered flowers. A thin belt over the dress accentuates her waist. Her dark hair swings down her back in a high ponytail, leaving the delicate curve of her neck exposed.
Fucking ravishing.
No wonder Keane is practically drooling at the sight of her, making my blood boil.
My first instinct? End him right here and fuck her in the Irish headquarters. But that would be needlessly risky, and she’d enjoy it in the end, so it wouldn’t teach her the lesson she’s begging for.
“We are leaving.”
I keep my tone even, not wanting to attract too much attention.
“You’re leaving,” she insists, shoving me towards the door. I don’t budge an inch.
Nina is not weak — her strength is what I love about her — but I’m a full two feet taller than her.
“Not without you,” I say calmly, looking around the place.
The Irish headquarters is a dive. They might not have as much cash as the Bratva, but they could pay for a cleaner so that the floor wasn’t sticky with spilled beer and whiskey.
Mercifully, the place is practically empty aside from Nina and the bastard who’s eyeing me like I’m his rival.
He’s asking for blood and he’s going to get it.
“I was having a nice time,” she insists. She bites her lip. That’s always been her tell.
Lies, secrets, pretenses. They’ve been ingrained in me since I was a child.
Nina is the opposite. She can’t call in sick — even when she is —without feeling a rush of guilt. Her father might have been abusive, but he was also obsessed with honesty. Like a mirror version of my family, where the opposite was true. And they both ended up equally as bad as the other.
“You want to say that again like you mean it?”
“Fine.” She puts her hands on her hips, the motion only making her look more irresistible in that dress. “I want to stay here, Art. I’m on a date.”
“You heard the lady.”
The Irishman had been observing quietly, but now he steps towards me, sizing me up.
His eyes flicker back to my face nervously. I don’t think it’s my size he’s worried about — the guy is a prize fighter. It’s my pure rage that is making him nervous.
Good.
“Nina.” I fix her with a hard stare. “You go anywhere with this guy, and what happens to him next is on your hands.”
With a defiant smile, she takes his hand and lets him lead her towards the private rooms behind the bar.
Every muscle in my body tenses and I follow automatically.
The man turns around, puffing his chest out.
“Your girl’s clearly not satisfied with you. She’s chosen me. Accept it and leave like a man.”
That does it.
I’ll never fucking accept that Nina is not mine. But I will make sure this meathead knows the consequences of touching her.
“Okay.” My voice is ice cold. “But I thought I’d join you.”
The Irishman’s eyes flicker with interest. He must be drunk too, or he’d have detected the obvious danger in my tone. Maybe a lifetime of taking knocks to his head has killed his brain cells.
“You can watch,” he scoffs as we head into the room.
“Oh, I will.” You’re just not going to like what I’m watching, buddy.
My hands bunch into fists when I see what’s inside, where he was taking Nina. I have to hold back from leaping on him right there.
I could pummel him into this exposed concrete floor and leave it smeared with his blood.
But the plan that’s forming in my head will be so much more effective.
Nina doesn’t take her eyes off me as I follow them into the room, like she can sense exactly what’s brewing in my mind.
Dancing with some limp-dicked colleague is one thing. But getting in bed with Irish mob?
That’s a whole lot of story. She’s gonna learn a lesson from this, too.
The room is dark, chains lining the walls, a padded bed with restraints in the center.
Nina’s soft, amber eyes widen. Her paling face tells me that she definitely expected fewer whips and spikes to be involved.
“Nenoka?” I purr. She looks utterly confused at what’s happening. I gesture at the restraints on the bed. She pauses for a second, then pushes him onto the bed.
The Irishman is already unbuttoning his shirt.
Good.
Less bloodstains.
He turns his eyes to me. “You want to watch her ride me on this?”
I wait until Nina has strapped him into the last restraint before I strike. I pin him down to the bed with my elbow on his windpipe.
“Yes. I will watch. I will watch her use this on you,” I hiss.
Then I shove the handle of my silver hunting knife towards Nina. She raises her hands, as though signaling she doesn’t want to be involved.
Keane’s eyes widen until I think they’re about to pop out of his head.
I release his airway and he gasps for breath.
“No, you can’t. Please. Please. You crazy Bratva motherfucker. What are you going to do to me?” he sobs, each word more pathetic than the last.
“Don’t worry,” I smile at him. “She’s a doctor. She knows what she’s doing.”
I turn to Nina.
“You wanted to play with an Irishman, Nenoka? So play with him.”
Nina backs away until she’s against the door, looking horrified. She looks more sober now.
“Artyom. No. I can’t. I won’t. I’m the one who went on a date with him.”
I go to her, cupping her face and stroking away her tears.
“I know you did. You let another man touch you again? You let him think he could have you? There are consequences.”
“I’m not like you. I can’t hurt people for fun.”
“You’re not hurting him, Nina. You’re saving his life. Because if you don’t carve the word ‘thief’ into his chest, and make it hurt, I will. And I won’t be nearly as careful as you are.”
The man lets out a strangled sob.
But no sound he could make would be enough to arouse suspicion in a place like this.
I know exactly how the Irish treat their women.
Nina doesn’t. But still, it was fucking stupid of her to come here.
I hand her my knife and she takes it with a trembling hand.
I raise an eyebrow. “Better stop shaking or he really will die.”
“Fuck you,” she replies, pressing her mouth together in a line. But she turns, leaning over his chest, and traces the word out with her fingers. She can recognize when I’m deadly serious.
Keane falls silent, probably realizing it’s better not to have his chest heaving with sobs while Nina uses the knife.
At first, the man screams so hard I think the Irish might really be alarmed. Then he passes out on the table.
She works with deft, efficient strokes. And fuck, maybe I have a competency kink, but she’s hypnotic to watch.
The lines she carves are perfectly straight, and she’s using enough pressure to cut through a few layers of skin but not enough to kill the man.
It’s his chest, so the wounds bleed freely, his chest becoming a crimson mess.
But the blood doesn’t make her flinch, even as it pools on the padded leather.
Nina makes eye contact with me as she makes the final cut. There are tears gleaming in her eyes, but they haven’t fallen. She was holding them back so she could get the job done, because she’s a survivor.
The word THIEF is spelled out in stark crimson cuts across Finneas Keane’s chest, blood smeared around the wound. The scars will be visible in his every fight from now on. Most importantly, he’ll never touch Nina again.
“I hope you’re fucking happy.”
“This isn’t about being happy, Nenoka, this is about teaching you a lesson. Do you see what happens when you forget you’re mine?”
I stalk around the table and place my hands on her shoulder, spinning her to face me. I lean down to meet her amber eyes, hoping she realizes how serious I am.
She gently strokes the soft hair at the nape of my neck, then she shoves my face forward. I feel the point of the blade prick my skin.
I can’t help it, a smile spreads across my face.
She’s holding the bloody knife at my throat.
“If you ever test me like this again, I will cut off your balls with this knife, Artyom.”
The hunting knife drops to the concrete floor with a metallic clang as she leaves the room.