Page 117 of Dance of Defiance
“Try me.”
Val eyes me a moment. “Fine, fuck it. You drink a lot.”
“I’mRussian.”
He cocks a brow. “Is that your answer?”
“Did you have a question?”
He exhales, sighing. “Clearly not something you want to discuss.”
“I don’t know what there istodiscuss. I enjoy having a drink. Shoot me.”
“I think the issue might be that you don’t just enjoy havingadrink.”
“You know, I could just take my shit and go,” I growl.
“I’d rather you didn't.”
My face heats at the earnest, straightforward way he says it.
“Any more comments, then?”
Val smiles, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good for now.”
“Awesome.”
I help him put away the groceries. Then I turn to check out his place properly. It's…reallynice.
“This apartment issick, by the way.”
Val grins as he leans against the fridge, wincing a little when he crosses his arms over his chest. “I know, right?”
“Vaughn?”
His face sours instantly. “I don’t take handouts.”
“Oh, I—” I stumble over my words. “I wasn’t insinuating?—”
“You kinda were.”
I smile as I look down. “I just…like, this place is out of reach on a dancer’s salary, right?” I raise my head, eyes dragging to his. “So, your brother…”
“Pays me a salary to do occasional work for him,” Val says crisply.
I think back to that night at Vaughn’s mountain retreat, where Val appeared to be…I don’t know. One of the guards? One of the Obsidian Syndicate men?
“What sort of work?”
He rolls his eyes with a lazy grin. “Don’t lecture me, Roman. I know how your family keeps the lights on.”
“I’m just curious,” I say quickly.
“Relax, I’m not gonna be a hitman anytime soon,” he winks. “Don’t worry your pretty head, wreckage.”
Fucking fuck.
Why is that name growing on me?
