Page 34 of Her Vicious Angel

Well, shit.

I tried to wrap the sheet tighter around myself as I walked slowly and reluctantly over to him, but Grigoriy had seen the marks of Andrei’s hard, ravenous hands on my arms and hips and thighs.

“What are you doing to her?” he said, and his voice was like steel.

Andrei’s eyes darkened angrily. “I’m doing whatever the fuck I want with her. You brought this woman for me, and she’smineto do what I want with.”

Grigoriy’s eyes bored into Andrei’s, and I thought I saw sharpened interest in them.

“The Petrovics do not lay hands on women,” he said, slowly.

Andrei made an impatient gesture. “Do what you want with your own women, but this one ismineto do what I want with. Does she look like I lay hands on her or does she look like she was fucked and ridden hard all night long?”

His father looked at me. “Is my son treating you well?” he asked.

I hesitated. For a second I toyed with saying no, and I flicked my eyes over to Andrei’s steely face. I wondered what he would do to me if I did.

“He treats me like Lucifer coming across a human woman after falling from heaven,” I said.

The Pakhan chuckled.

“Get dressed,” he said. “I’m here to accompany you back to our St. Petersburg base.”

He and his men left and I could hear them outside our door.

I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, wincing as I pulled my jeans on over my sore ass. I was just glad Grigoriy hadn’t seen it. I felt a hot prickling on my skin and turned around to see Andrei watching me.

“Your ass looks good with my marks on it,” he said.

“I’m not going to be able to sit down for a meal with your father,” I retorted, but I felt heat pooling in my core at his words.

“Good,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

He pulled a crisp collared shirt on and started buttoning it up.

I felt my mouth going dry watching those hands. I wanted them on me.

* * *

Grigoriy Petrovic livedin a building in the Golden Triangle, one of the most exclusive and expensive neighborhoods in St. Petersburg. His home was filled with huge paintings in heavy frames, and a variety of statues. They ran the gamut all the way from tasteful nudes to not-so-tasteful nudes.

I sat down with Andrei’s father and Andrei’s grandmother to a late brunch. His grandmother’s name was Yevgenia and she was a tiny woman in her 70s with a snowy white bun and an apple-cheeked cheerful face. She looked nothing like the matriarch of a Bratva.

“I’m not going to lie and tell you my son is a good person,” the Pakhan said. “He’s not. He’s an asshole.”

I glanced over at Yevgenia, to see if she would object as a grandmother, maybe tell me he wasn’t that bad because he loved baking bread with her or had a soft side.

But she nodded crisply. “Grisha is right. Andrei is a cruel man.”

I didn’t have any response. I knew it was true.

Grigoriy looked speculatively at me.

“For your own good, I should probably take you asmywife,” he said. “You’d be a lot safer with me.”

I gulped. Grigoriy Petrovic was a powerful man. He was pretty damn hot, too, with his beard and the thick muscles in his arms.

But I didn’t know which option was riskier: marrying Andrei or not marrying Andrei.

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