“Soft?” he chuckles with a light scrape of his stubbled jaw on my cheek. The sensation causes me to shiver with the heat that courses through me. “There’s nothing soft about me. You more than anyone know this.”
“Don’t jest.”
Nerves vibrate my insides as he pulls back. Instant cold assaults me with the short distance between us when Tomasz takes my hand, guiding me down the few steps to the lobby of the club.
“Shit goes wrong, you get the fuck out, understand?” The authoritarian edge of his words is reinforced with the tight squeeze to my hand. When I don’t reply, he repeats, “Understand, pet?”
“Yes…” I gasp when he tugs me into his side and wraps his arm around my waist.
“Keeping our child safe is your only priority. Nothing else matters.” The words are barely a whisper as we approach Anton.
“Mikheil and his wife are inside.” He nods towards the ballroom. “He has four men with him, however, his main security guy isn’t here.”
Tomasz glances around us, clearly assessing the situation before they share a silent exchange.
This is it.
This is war.
Whether or not he sees it this way.
“That door closes, and it doesn’t open until it’s done,” Tomasz tells Anton. “You don’t take your eyes off her,” he continues, nodding down at me. With his arm curling tighter around me, he moulds his hand to the side of my belly. “If it comes to it, you protect her and our child. You know the plan, and my uncle is ready.”
Acknowledging the recap of Tomasz’s order with a tip of his chin, Anton peers down at me. He knows where I stand. I’ve made it abundantly clear that I will do whatever it takes to protect my husband. Loving the child growing inside me only makes me more determined to do so.
“The men need to be ready and alert. There’s no way Sarapov only has four men with him…”
“We have reinforcements surrounding the place.”
“We’re walking into a trap,” I state, looking between the two of them.
Coiling his arm around me tighter, Tomasz levels me with a battle-ready cock of his brow. There’s nothing but certainty in his voice as he tells me, “It’s never a trap if you have the vantage point.”
The second my eyes flicker back to Anton, he nods at me, acknowledging the conversation we had earlier. Tomasz may be confident, but he is very aware of the danger surrounding us. I can feel it prickle over my skin, a pinching, electric current that refuses to die down even as I steady my breaths and allow Tomasz to guide me through the double doors.
The room is stunning. Dark polished wood reflects the flickers of all the candles dotted about the place. Gauzy tulle drapes from the chandeliers, holding red rose petal clouds above us. The room is muted and sultry. Nothing like our wedding that was all open air and easy touches. Death lingers in the air around us, and as we sit at the head of the long table, my eyes meet those of Mikheil Sarapov.
Hate burnishes the bottomless pits of his stare, making my chest tighten. And I can’t help it. My arm coils around my belly, reaching across me so that I can grab hold of Tomasz’s jacket.
“We need to leave,” I tell him when he lowers his head close to press a kiss to my temple. I’m about to make up a lie and tell him that something doesn’t feel right with the baby when Dimitri walks in with Luda at his side. “She was meant to stay in the suite.”
“Shit,” he curses sharply. “I told them this wasn’t the place for her tonight.”
Visions of the last supper bombard me as I look around us, trying to spot our weak spot through the laughter and smiles. Our Judas kiss is somewhere in here. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones. But my eyes lead me right back to Mikheil. The man using me as an excuse to spill my husband’s blood. From the unwavering hook of his stare, he seems confident that it’s already his. A sinking feeling strangles my insides. Something is off. A man doesn’t walk into the devil’s lair with that much surety unless he possesses a coup de grâce.
“You need to call this off.”
“No,” he asserts, turning into me to cup my face. With his lips ghosting mine, his other hand grasps mine, and slowly he guides it beneath the table. “Open.”
At his order, I part my legs. It’s second nature to me now. What Tomasz wants, Tomasz gets. Wherever, whenever. A grin hitches one side of his shadowed face. The look would be menacing if it wasn’t so handsomely devious.
“Your hand, Red. Open your hand,” he chuckles darkly, lifting it to the bottom of the tabletop. “You’re protected by the men, but you’re not defenceless.” My palm burns at the feel of the cool, secured weapon. “Never defenceless.”
“You knew.”
“Of course.”
“Then why go through with this?”