Page 6 of Devious Truth

I’m not sure which of us I’m trying to convince. But I have a feeling neither of us believe me.

He moves back and puts the bottle down on the bar.

“All right. Fine. How’s your hand?” He grabs my left hand before I can answer and turns the palm up to inspect it.

The scar is less obvious, but still visible from the deep cut a few weeks ago.

“It’s fine. It was fine last week when you asked, too.” My attempt to pull out of his grip doesn’t work, because he tightens his fingers around my wrist.

“It was a deep cut.” He traces the thin white scar on my palm from where a broken shard of glass sliced me weeks ago.

Watching his fingertips glide across my palm sends heat trickling down my spine. This man can crush a grown man’s throat with his hand— and has, if the rumors are true— but then be as gentle as a feather when touching me.

“You made it more than it was,” I mutter while he continues his inspection.

“The doctor needed to stitch it; that’s not nothing.”

“Well, it’s fine now. Thanks.” I try to take my hand back, but he keeps holding it until I bring my gaze back to his. “I’m fine. I promise, Mr. Volkov.”

Adding the proper address is intentional, and the subtle reminder that we are not on the same level gets the same reaction as it always does. His jaw ticks.

“If someone does something to frighten you, I want to know about it. Even if it’s just a comment, do you understand me?”

My insides are on fire. The man has just ignited an inferno inside me with one sentence. It’s not right, how easily his voice can trigger a hunger inside of me I’ve refused to feed for years. A desire that I can’t ever entertain. You only get one love in your lifetime, and I’ve had mine.

It’s more than what he says, it’s how he says it. Like he’s the ruler of the entire world, and he would crush anything that is a danger to me.

But what he doesn’t understand is that he’s the danger. His lingering stares, the possessive way he treats me. And it’s all so casual for him, so natural. When he comes into a room and sees me, his demeanor shifts. I sense him before I put eyes on him.All of these things are dangerous. If I’m not careful, little things like that could soften my resolve.

And that’s one thing I can never do. I had my chance, and my soul’s been burned. The scars might heal, but I won’t ever forget.

“Do you offer such protection to all of your employees?” I counter his comment, adding a little bitterness to my tone.

He continues to stare at me.

“You’re my boss,” I remind him. “Please let go of my hand.”

His eyes narrow on me, and I realize I haven’t answered his question yet. He looks more than happy to stand here all night until I do. Unless I want to cause a scene, which would most likely result in me losing my job, I need to give him this little win.

“Yes.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep tone in check. “I understand. If something happens, I will report it.”

“To me,” he emphasizes.

“Yes, to you,” I agree.

Never going to happen, but they’re just words. And saying them gains freedom for my hand.

“The doctor hasn’t sent the bill yet for my hand. Can you give me his name so I can get a hold of him?”

His jaw drops at the same time his eyebrows lift. I think I’ve offended him somehow.

“It was a work injury; it’s been taken care of by the club.” He shakes his head a little, like he can’t believe I’d offer to pay my own medical bills.

“Thank you, then.” My fingers fidget at my sides. “I appreciate it.”

A figure steps up, hovering at the edge of our conversation. I flick my gaze up to him to find the man I don’t recognize grinning down at me.

“Are you going to hold this beautiful woman hostage all night?” His accent is unmistakably Russian and thick.

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