Page 160 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

I already know what the price is if I don’t.

“I never teased you,” I snap. “You harassed me repeatedly and I was nice enough not to kick you in the dick the way you deserved. But I’m not sure even that would have gotten the message through your thick head: I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Roger’s face flushes with anger. A vein bulges in his forehead. “Is that why your new boyfriend dumped your ass, too?”

Pain lances through me at the reminder of Nikolai. The only thing that has kept me standing up and moving forward the last six weeks is activelynotthinking about him. “Aggressive avoidance,” I’ve decided to call it. It’s been easy because Elise is the only other person who knew about the two of us.

I guess I forgot about Roger.

“He was not my boyfriend.”

There’s a lazy clap to draw my attention from the end of the bar. “I asked for another one,” the man hollers over.

Roger snorts. “Of course he wasn’t. You were leading him on, too, I’m sure. But believe me: anyone willing to beat another man up on your behalf is expecting to get some pussy out of it. And the Zhukova guy is not what anyone would call generous. He expected payment.”

It’s hard to hide my wince. Mostly because Roger is right, more or less.

Nikolai was fucking me in his office while he had a fiancée waiting for him. I was probably his last hurrah before the big day and the happily ever after.

I ignore the ache in my heart and the uncomfortable swirling in my stomach. “Drink your beer and get the fuck out of here.”

“And what if I don’t?” Roger asks, a stupid smile smeared across his stupid face. “If you’re back in town and working here, that means Nikolai must not be in the picture anymore. Your bodyguard is half the country away. He’s probably forgotten all about you by now.”

Angry tears burn the backs of my eyes. For weeks now, I’ve been on the verge of a breakdown. It feels like every single one of my emotional wells are fit to burst at any moment.

But I can’t cry in front of Roger. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” I spit. “Then or now. I’ll handle you myself.”

Roger laughs and stands up. He plants his hands on the bar, his face coming far too close to mine. “There you go teasing me again. If you want tohandle me, Belle, all you have to do is ask.”

He reaches towards my waist, but before I can shove him away, a shadow appears over Roger’s shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch her.”

For one fleeting second, I think it’s Nikolai. Somehow, against all odds, he’s here to save me. Here to protect me like he promised.

But then I realize it’s the man from the end of the bar. He looks different standing up than he does slumped in a stool. He’s lanky but tall, and Roger is enough of a coward that he immediately backs down.

“Ease up, man. We’re old f-friends,” Roger stammers.

“I don’t care who you are. You’re slowing down service. Hit the fuckin’ road, bud.”

Threatening to assault me? Nobody cares. But slowing down the endless flow of booze?

That, my friends, is unforgivable.

Roger seems to sense that there’s no way to get back in the drunk man’s good graces, so he backs away from the bar. With one final glance my way, he ducks out of the front door and into the night.

The man drops back down into a new barstool and slaps the counter. “Now, for the last fuckin’ time:another one.”

I slide another glass his way and spare him the chit-chat.

* * *

Three hours later, the bar is finally closed. I lock the front door behind me and step out into the night.

The only nice part of the job is this moment right here. When my shift is over and it’s both too late and too early for anyone to be out. The sidewalks are empty, the streetlights flash eerily yellow, and the world is quiet. Blessedly, blissfully quiet.

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