Page 163 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“Too late,” I say from the threshold. “Come on in.”

Her face is twisted in frustration, though it doesn’t take away from how beautiful she is. But Elise was right—something is off. Belle’s cheekbones are a bit sharper than usual and her collarbone juts out more than before.

I step into the pitifully small kitchen and wrench open a cabinet. Inside is a box of sugary chocolate cereal, protein bars, and a half-empty bag of coffee grounds. Not exactly Whole Foods.

“Have you eaten? I’m starving.”

“Then go find a restaurant. You can’t be here.”

Since we got out of the car, Belle has maintained a five-foot distance from me at all times. Like she’s afraid I’ll reel her if she gets too close with a gravity all my own.

Her fear isn’t so far off. The desire to feel her body in my hands, to examine her with my own eyes up close, is strong.

Dangerously strong.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because… because…” She glances towards the hallway and then snaps her focus back to me. “Because Elise is asleep, for one. Flying to Iceland and then leaving the way we did… She’s been through a lot. I don’t want to confuse her.”

“Elise is the one who asked me to come,” I remind her. “Try again.”

Her lips press together so hard they turn white. “For two, your fiancée is probably wondering where you are.”

“Almost certainly.”

Not that I would know or care. I set my phone on Do Not Disturb. Arslan is the only person I authorized to bypass the setting and reach me, and he knows that is for emergency use only.

“You should get back to her,” she finishes.

“Not until I make sure you’re okay.”

Her brows pinch together. “Why do you even care? I don’t belong in your world, right?”

“I’m not going to sit by and let you die if I can do something to stop it.”

“I’m not dying,” she groans. “I just get sick sometimes. It’s nothing.”

“Explain.”

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she shoves her hands into her back pockets. “In the afternoons before work, I get, like, nauseous. It’s probably just anxiety.”

“Anxiety about what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawls. “Maybe the fact that I lost my job and almost got raped and had my entire life turned upside down in a matter of weeks. And now, I’m working at a dive bar to make ends meet. Maybe it has something to do with that! But who’s to say? I’m just guessing here.”

Her sarcasm is as feisty as ever, but there’s an undercurrent of desperation that didn’t used to be there. It troubles me.

“Then quit,” I suggest.

“I can‘t just quit. I need the money. I know you’re not familiar with the concept, but ‘money’ is the thing ‘normal’ people use to buy stuff like ‘food’ and pay ‘rent’ and ‘bills.’ Wild, I know.”

“Find a job somewhere else. You’re smart. You’re attractive.” I don’t miss the way her eyes flare at the casual compliment. “You could get hired somewhere else.”

“You can’t do this anymore, Nikolai. You don’t get to walk into my life and tell me how to live. You lost that privilege.”

“Oh, and what a privilege it was.” I press a hand to my chest, my voice drenched in excessive mock sincerity. “The honor of a lifetime, surely.”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “Get out.”

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