Page 12 of Brutal Union
He peels back his lips and reveals a blinding smile. There is something about Sho that truly melds my heart back together. It is mind boggling how a man this cute, could also be deadlier than me. I know from how I look, it is unsurprising when I am cruel, but Sho? He looks like sunshine. He looks like he’d help a grandmother across the street. Like he would coach little league and kiss his wife chastely on the cheeks. If it weren’t for the tattoos, you’d think he’d been on the straight and narrow his entire life.
“So what about me, keeps me alive, Hime.” He smirks. His arm stretches across the edge of the table, fingertips grazing against the sleeve of my arm, so gently I hold my breath, silently begging for him to do more. “My smile. My abs. Oh, I know, my winning personality.”
“Your personality is shit,” I smile.
“I can’t tell from the way you’re smiling.” He shrugs, moving in even closer, the smell of smoke wraps around me and I feel drunk.
I lean in, just close enough to blur the lines between threat and want. “Maybe I like watching you squirm.”
Sho’s smile deepens, lashes lowering in that infuriating, devastating way of his. “You like watching me, period.”
He shifts in his seat, arm still lazily stretched across the table, his fingers brushing the crook of my elbow now. It’s such a light touch—barely anything—but it steals the air from my lungs. I can’t stop staring at his mouth.
“I think you keep me alive,” he murmurs, “because you want to see what else I can survive.”
“And if I wanted to test that theory?” I ask, my voice a silky smooth that I have never heard before.
His eyes glitter a shade darker than playfulness. “Then I’d let you.” He lifts my hand, presses his lips to my knuckles—not as a gentleman, but as a man who knows how to break each of my knucklescleanly.“But you’d have to promise not to stop halfway.”
My mouth opens and I am about to tell him there is nothinghalf-assabout me when a phlegmy voice cuts through the tension.“That’s enough!”
The world seems to tune back in around us and I can hear the continuous moaning of Draco as his eyes drag up and down the exposed knife. A short, bald Japanese man storms towards the table in an expensive horribly red suit, flanked by two security guards.
The man stops right in front of us, hands on his hips as he narrows his gaze on me. “Miss?”
I reluctantly slide my hand out of Sho’s and present it to the man like a queen addressing a peasant. “Petrov.”
“Ah, Miss Petrov,” he bows, kissing the curl of my wrist with a wide smile as his opposite hand snaps, pointing to Draco’s whimpering body.
One of the guards grunts moving to fumble with the knives impaling Draco to the felt. Draco, the big baby he is, groans and curses in Russian as they finally wrench his hands free, blood dripping onto the floor.
“Miss Petrov, do you know the rules of Yurei Club?” He questions, grabbing my hand lightly in his as his eyes swipe across the room with flare. In the background, Draco groans as his seat yawns, finally released from the weight of him.
“No weapons? No killing other patrons?” I mock, tilting my head to the side as I tug my hand roughly out of his tightening grip.
“Oh, so you know that you’ve violated the rules of conduct, Miss Petrov,” he barks, the act of casual conversation disappearing behind a snarl. “This establishment does not tolerate acts of violence—no matter the offense, or attraction.”
Attraction? Is he referring to my dress? Does he think I am a sex worker? I mean no work is more honorable, but he must be deranged to believe that this is a proper way to talk to a lady. I rise to full height, chin tilted, ready to snap—but Sho beats me to it.
He sighs, long-suffering and charmingly apologetic, then pulls a gold-edged hotel card from the inner pocket of his blazer. It gleams under the low light like a badge of divine right. His hand rests heavily on the curl of my spine, right above my ass.
“She’s with me,” he says smoothly, flashing the card. “Apologies for the… misunderstanding.”
The man’s face pales as he glances between the card and me multiple times before his posture collapses into a frantic bow. The guards follow suit, heads lowered.
“Forgive me, Sho-sama,” the man stammers. “I didn’t realize. No offense intended. Of course she may stay—or leave—under your discretion.”
Sho waves a hand, all casual dismissal, and his control over the situation intrigues me. “No worries. I’ll be handling her…reeducation in proper conduct myself.”
The man nods so fast I snort at the idea that he might pass out. “Yes, of course. Please.”
Sho turns to me then, still smiling—but now with a gleam that makes my spine arch with heat.
“Shall we, Hime?” he asks, offering his arm.
I curl my lips into a smile of adoration, one I have learned from years of seduction during a mission. I must look gorgeous because Sho’s eyes darken with hunger and my thighs clench at all the nasty things he must be thinking.
I slide my hand through the crook of his arm and turn my smile on the order. “I do apologize for not following the rules of this establishment. I do havemuchto learn in conduct.”
