Page 134 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

He sighs. “You want me to give her freedom of the house.”

“Please?”

“I’ll think about it,” he says gruffly.

Then, before I can thank him, he turns around and pulls himself out of the pool, splashing me in the process.

“Where are you going?” I ask, staring up at him.

He’s haloed by a circle of sunlight. A living, breathing Greek god that’s taken form right in front of me.

My body quivers and I’m forced to clench my legs.

“I have work to do,” he says curtly. “I’ve been here too long.”

His whiplash about-face in demeanor is jarring. But the only cause for it has to be the fact that I spoke up for Charity. What else could have brought on such a stark and sudden change?

“You’re leaving?” I ask, knowing how disappointed I sound and hating myself for it.

His phone starts ringing, preventing him from answering me. He turns to the deck chair and answers the call. “Yes?”

A moment passes as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. His expression is screwed up in concentration.

Then: “What!?” He sounds pissed. “No. No. I did not authorize that! ... For fuck’s sake. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He doesn’t even grab a towel as he heads back into the house. I watch him go…

Hoping that he’ll turn back.

Knowing that he won’t.

28

Phoenix

I head straight to the hospital. I don’t stop to consult with Matvei. I don’t take any of my men with me, either.

All I know is that I need to put as much distance between Elyssa and myself as possible. So, as infuriated as I am with the call I just received, a part of me is relieved for the slap in the face from reality.

This has been the longest I’ve gone in years without thinking about Astra Tyrannis. About my purpose.

And I’m starting to feel very fucking guilty about it.

The world is still turning, and bad men are still out there doing fucked-up shit to innocent people. And where have I been? Oh, nowhere important—just giving fucking swimming lessons to a naïve little wallflower who shouldn’t even be in my house in the first place.

“Fuck,” I growl, slamming the palm of my hand on the steering wheel of the Rolls Royce. “Fuck!”

Another call comes in on my cell from the same area code as the first one. But since I’m only a few minutes from the hospital, I ignore it.

I tear into the parking lot, screech to a halt right out front, and leap out of the car. I don’t give two flying fucks about the security guard screeching at me that I’m not allowed to park there.

“You’re gonna get towed, buddy!” he warns.

I stop, whirl around, and get up in his face. “Lay one fucking finger on my car and you won’t live to see morning,” I snarl.

He goes ghost-white and backs away without another word.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

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