Page 79 of Under His Control
“What the hell are you doing here withthem?”
He turns slowly, like a kid caught doing something he knows he shouldn’t. Except instead of looking guilty, he’s smirking.
“Oh, Taylor. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” I ask. “Are you serious? You drop off the radar for weeks, ignoring my calls and texts, then show up here, at my place of work, and all you have to say is ‘what’s up?’”
Chris smirks at me, lounging between the two goons like they’re his personal security. One of them—tall, broad, and bald—gives me a dismissive look as if I’m interrupting his groove. The other just keeps tossing dice, rolling his eyes at the interruption.
“I’m just blowing off steam with some work associates.”
“Work associates?” I hiss. “They’re Bratva, Chris. I know exactly who they are. And I didn’t do what I did to get you out of debt just to see you snuggled up to the men who threatened your life!”
Baldy gives a snort. “Lady, take a hike. We’re on a streak.” His words drip with a thick, Russian accent.
Chris chuckles like that’s somehow witty, then turns his back on me, facing the table like I’m not even worth a second look. The humiliation burns worse than the anger. I grab his arm, yanking him back toward me.
“Chris don’t do this,” I say through clenched teeth. “They don’t care about you, trust me. You don’t need them.”
He jerks his arm free like my touch burned him. “Don’t tell me what I need.”
My purse slips off my shoulder and thuds to the floor. The contents scatter—a lipstick, my phone, a pen, and right in the middle of it all, the folded sonogram photo I’d shoved into the side pocket this morning.
I don’t want to scramble to pick up my things. Instead, I step over, positioning myself in front of my purse and its contents. If Chris noticed, he’s not showing it.
I reach for him again, desperate now.
One of the men snatches my wrist, yanking me back with more force than necessary.
“Back the fuck off,” he snarls, breath hot with the smell of vodka in my face. “Before I make you.”
My eyes narrow.
I could scream. I could call security. I could flash my keycard and have this entire table escorted to the curb in under five minutes.
But I don’t.
Instead, I stare him down. “Touch me again,” I say quietly, “and I’ll have you and your little friend banned from theHospitiumfor life. And that’s if you’re lucky.”
He laughs, but Chris speaks before he can.
“You guys know damn well she can make that happen,” he mutters. “You’re already well aware she’s the owner’s whore.”
The slap happens before I realize what I’m doing.
It rings out like a gunshot. Chris’s cheek instantly goes red with the imprint of my hand.
“Don’t ever say that to me,” I snap, my voice shaking. “I did what I did to keep you alive.”
He stares at me, stunned, and for a split second his hand twitches, like he’s actually thinking about hitting me back.
And that’s when a shadow falls over us.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Damas’ voice is calm, but the steel beneath it is unmistakable.
He takes Chris’s wrist in his grip, firm but not violent, not yet. Chris jerks his arm back like he’s been stung.
