Page 66 of Twisted Prince

That first night we spent together, I tried desperately to put the past behind me.

But I couldn’t.

And I destroyed the potential between us in the process.

Now he’s here, shouldering the guilt for failing me when I’m the one who failed myself.

My love for Gleb floods me with overwhelming warmth. I want to go with him. I want to be with him. I really, really want to try and put the past behind me—to trust him this time like I should have in the first place.

And though I don’t know if I can, I want to give it my best try.

Because I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel about Gleb.

There’s just one more thing I have to confess. Because I need to know that he’ll still mean what he said when he finds out I have more than myself to think about here.

“I have a daughter,” I say, my voice rich with emotion as I talk about Gabby.

Gleb studies me, his face as calm and composed as always. And though his eyes show a hint of surprise, it’s not nearly the shock I’d anticipated.

I know now would be a good time to mention that she’s his daughter, but I’m too scared to admit it. One bomb at a time, I coach myself. There will be plenty of time later to drop the next one—if he even wants to help me anymore.

“We can take her with us,” he assures me, not the least bit deterred.

“You mean it?” I breathe, emotions coursing through me at a mile a minute. “You would help Gabby and me start a new life in New York?”

“Just say the word, and we can leave tonight. Right now.”

28

MEL

Heart full, my yes on the tip of my tongue, I part my lips to answer Gleb.

But all that comes out is a startled yelp as the door behind him crashes open. It hits the wall with such force that the drywall behind it cracks.

Gleb whirls, his lithe body settling into a defensive crouch as he braces to see who’s coming. Five men enter—four burly bouncers with Vinny at their head. And a snarl contorts the Irishman’s face as his eyes land on Gleb.

“That’s the bastard who hit me,” he growls. “Get him.”

“No!” I gasp, leaning harder into the glass as I desperately will it to vanish.

The four hulking Russian bouncers stalk cautiously forward, and I can tell from the way they hold themselves that they’re not taking Gleb lightly—even if they outnumber him and outweigh him by nearly fifty pounds each.

Vinny remains by the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches on with a sneer.

And though I want to cry out, to say something—anything—that might cause a distraction, the last thing I want to do is pull Gleb’s focus. Two knives glint in his hands as he slinks forward on silent feet. Where the blades came from, I have no clue. Weapons aren’t allowed in the club, according to the Kellys’ rules.

Mouth dry, all I can do is watch helplessly as the four large Russians surround the man I love, cutting off any chance of his escape.

“You think you can beat us with a few blades, brat?” Harper taunts, his passive expression contrasting his mocking tone.

Brat? The Russian-sounding word catches my interest, but before I have a chance to fully lock that question away, Gleb darts forward.

He’s so fast it leaves me breathless. His movements are fluid as he stays low to the ground. And in a flash, he’s slipping past Harper, though the man’s supposed to be one of the best bouncers at the club. He’s head of security, for Christ’s sake. And yet Gleb practically dances a circle around him.

Harper snarls, reacting just a hair too late to avoid the blade that slices across the back of his knee.

Oh god, run, Gleb! I bite my lips to stop myself from shouting it, but he’s so close to the door, he could almost make it.

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