Page 7 of Bratva Prisoner
“I was just… getting coffee.” I gesture vaguely toward the coffee shop behind me.
“In the alley behind the shop?” One eyebrow arches in that way that’s both amused and skeptical.
“I like the ambiance.”
That earns me one of his panty-dropping smiles, the kind that probably makes women do stupid things on a regular basis. “Of course you do.”
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms and forget about everything else. The other part knows that right now is not the time.
“Listen,” I start, wrapping my arms around myself like armor, “this is really bad timing—”
“Have dinner with me,” he interrupts, and the words come out more like a statement than a question.
“What?” My brain struggles to process the request. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t on the list.
“Tonight. I know this place that makes the best—”
“I can’t.”
“Tomorrow then?” He doesn’t look deterred by my refusal, which is both flattering and problematic.
“Maksim, I really can’t. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I take a step backward, putting distance between us before I do something stupid like say yes.
I turn to leave, but he catches my wrist, much gentler than Troy. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning at the simple touch.
“Wait,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me pause. “What’s wrong? You look…”
“I look what?” I don’t really want to hear the answer, but I can’t help asking.
“Scared.”
I want to deny it, to tell him I’m fine and just busy, but something in his eyes makes me pause. There’s genuine concern there, not just wounded male pride or frustrated desire.
“It’s messy,” I finally answer, which is the understatement of the century.
“Try me.” He doesn’t let go of my wrist, but his grip remains gentle. He could easily overpower me if he wanted to, but he’s choosing restraint.
Before I can answer, movement at the mouth of the alley catches my eye. My blood turns to ice water in my veins, and every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Troy.
He’s standing at the corner of the street, partially hidden behind a delivery truck, but I’d recognize that profile anywhere. He’s wearing the same black jacket he always wears, and his gazeis fixed directly on me. On us. The familiar surge of panic claws up my throat like a living thing.
“Alyssa?” Maksim’s voice seems to come from very far away, filtered through the rushing sound in my ears. “What is it?”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except stare at Troy and wait for him to make his move. He’s not alone this time. There’s another man with him, someone I don’t recognize but who gives off the same dangerous vibe as those men in Troy’s apartment.
“Hey.” Maksim steps into my line of sight, and his large frame blocks my view of the street. His free hand comes up to cup my face, and he brushes his thumb across my cheekbone in a gesture so gentle it almost breaks me. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
I look up at him, this beautiful, powerful man who probably has no idea what he’s walked into, and I realize I’m about to drag him into my mess whether I want to or not.
Because Troy has seen us together. He’s seen Maksim touch me, talk to me, look at me like I matter.
And knowing Troy, that’s not going to end well for anyone.
Chapter 3 - Maksim
I’ve always felt that luck is for people who don’t know how to make their own opportunities, but right now I’m starting to believe in miracles.
