Page 42 of Brutal Union
“What?”
“Mymen.”
I pause, fingers resting at the waistband. “Sho, they are my men.”
His jaw ticks. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
I look at him then—really look. His green eyes flick to the scar again, then to my face. “At least let me come with you.”
“No.” I huff the word like smoke as I suck in a sharp breath, pain winding up my side again while I struggle to button my jeans. Each movement feels like pulling a stitch through raw flesh.
Sho doesn’t flinch, but his jaw clenches. “You can’t walk into the Bratva looking for a fight when your body’s still screaming in Morse code.”
I glance at him—he’s sitting there, cool as ever, but his fingers are tight around my leather jacket. Like he already knows I’ll ask for it and he’s debating whether he’ll let go.
“I can’t show up with backup either,” I snap, limping toward the closet. “Especially notyou.I can’t have a man fighting my battles for me.”
“You think I’m worried about fightingforyou?” he scoffs.
I ignore him and crouch down with a hiss, grabbing the one pair of black Doc Martens tucked behind a stack of half-burned files and an unopened box of ammo. The leather’s scuffed and worn—gifted by Nikolai on my twenty-first birthday. The same day he named me his right hand and told me never to let anyone think I was less than him.
I lace them up slowly, my body barking in protest, but my fingers move fast. I stand up and move around the room, grabbing my two Glock 43s and a couple of knives, placing a holster around my thigh and hiding the other weapons in discrete parts all over my body.
Sho watches me, my leather jacket firmly in his lap. I cross the room and hold out my hand, palm up, expectant. He looks down at the jacket, then back up at me.
“I’ll give it to you,” he says slowly, “on one condition.”
I tilt my head, suspicious. “Sho.”
“If you want your jacket, let me come as backup,” he says, voice calm but loaded. “I’ll stay in the shadows. No one even has to know I’m there. You just give me a signal if things go sideways.”
I eye him hard, chewing the inside of my cheek. Ihatethat he’s right. I hate that I know I might need him. And Ireallyhate how much of me wants him close.
“Fine,” I say, voice clipped. “But under conditions.”
He lifts a brow. “Hit me.”
“One: you don’t get to kill anyone unless I say so. That includes my brother.”
“Easy,” he says, handing me my jacket, already standing to grab his bomber jacket from the edge of the bed.
“Two: you don’t move unless I tell you to.”
Sho snorts, shrugging on the jacket. “Youdolove telling me what to do.”
I ignore it. “And three…”
He leans forward slightly, that smug glint returning. “Yeah?”
“You don’t talk.” I shrug into the jacket, tossing my hair over the collar.
His lips part in disbelief. “What?”
“No commentary. No smug little jabs. No smart-ass flirting. No interruptions while I’m trying to keep my brother from trying to kill me. I want silence.”
Sho stares at me like I just asked him to chop off one of his fingers. “You’re asking the impossible.”
“That’s the point.” I shrug, heading for the door as he mutters something under his breath.
