Page 24 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“Gee, you really know how to make a man feel special.”

She laughs gently. It still carries the same melody it used to when I was a boy. She’s older now, but just as beautiful. Time hasn’t taken that from her. “Goodnight, son.”

“Goodnight. Tell the old man I’ll handle things.”

“Tell him yourself.”

“He likes you better.”

Before she can argue, I hang up, knowing full well I’ll catch hell for it the next time we speak. Still—worth it.

I walk down the road, telling myself that I’ve stopped searching for the girl even though I know damn well that’s a lie. Anytime I catch sight of a blonde with a slender physique, I find myself taking another look.

I remember the way she’d looked at me back in the club. Pure terror—that’s what I’d seen in her eyes.

This was a girl who’s never been alone much in her life. She needed a security blanket and she’d found me.

Maybe it’s a good thing that she’s disappeared into the ether. I don’t have the fucking time to protect anyone.

Bad things happen when I try.

And still, my eyes dart from one corner of the street to the other. Even if I do happen to run into her, I don’t have a plan. It infuriates me that I’m still preoccupied with this. Especially given the mess I’ve made of what was supposed to be a simple kill mission.

Victor fucking Ozol.I’d stood barely two feet away from himand I’d missed.Solelybecause I’d been worried about the terrified child bride cowering behind the wing-backed armchair.

“Hey, handsome.”

I whip my neck to the side in the direction of the soft, feminine voice. The first thing I see is blonde hair curled over a half-naked breast. But a moment later, the excitement curdles in my chest.

The woman’s similarities to the girl from the club are hollow at best. A pale imitation, nothing more.

“You look like you could use some company,” she says with a seductive smile and a curled finger. She’s wearing a red leather skirt that barely covers her pussy, knee-high boots, and a V-neck vest that puts her sheer bra on full display.

“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress go by here by any chance?” I ask on a whim.

She raises her eyebrows with interest. “No, honey. You searching for your missus or something?”

My hopes plummet. I start walking away into the night.

But she follows me. “Where you off to, good-looking?”

“Stop following me.”

Her eyes spark the moment my tone turns harsh. Some women are just suckers for pain. “What if I don’t want to?”

I stop and turn to face her. “I’m not fucking interested.”

She looks me up and down, making no secret of the fact that she likes what she sees. “I won’t charge you.”

“Your pimp’s not gonna like that.”

“Fuck him. He’s not in charge of my body.”

I snort. “I think you need to look up the definition of a ‘pimp.’”

Her eyes flash again, and she grabs my hand. “I can make you feel better, honey. I promise.”

This has turned into a challenge for her. She doesn’t know how impossible that challenge really is.

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