Page 112 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“Yes, but everyone will knows it’s yours.” I realize how childish I sound the second the words leave my lips.

Phoenix must agree, because he scoffs, “You’re my wife, Elyssa. They already know we’re fucking.”

I cringe, freeze, and yank my arm away from him.

He turns to look at me. “Now what?”

“Can you not say it like that?”

He stares at me with detached amusement. “The part about us fucking?”

I bristle again. “Yes.”

“It’s just a word.”

“A vulgar one,” I tell him. “A nasty word. A word that people use when they… when it doesn’t mean anything to them. When they don’t mean anything to each other.”

It’s an honest explanation. And yet the moment I say it, I regret it.

Phoenix’s eyebrow arches high on his forehead.

“Never mind,” I blurt quickly. “Forget I said anything. Call it whatever you want to. Let’s go.”

I don’t wait for him to answer. I just stride past him so I don’t have to see those dark eyes raking over me again and again.

Out of nowhere comes Charity’s voice again:So insecure.

“Not you again,” I mutter.

“Did you say something?” Phoenix asks, falling into step with me.

“No! Nothing,” I say quickly. I pick up the pace.

This time, Phoenix doesn’t follow. “Elyssa?”

“What?” I ask, glancing back over my shoulder.

“It’s this way.”

He points towards another broad corridor, one that was been untouched by the attack—though the Bratva’s construction crews have swooped down so quickly to fix the damaged areas that it won’t be long until all evidence of the Yakuza ambush is wiped away.

I shake my head and take a deep breath before walking through the door that Phoenix is holding open for me.

He’s not smiling anymore. Hie eyes have gone flat with darkness, which only makes my nerves rise.

It does help that it’s not the boardroom full of sneering mafiosos I expected. There are only three other men standing around waiting for us. I’m surprised not to see Matvei amongst them. I consider asking Phoenix where he is, but then I think better of it.

All the men stay standing while Phoenix walks to the head of the table. No one moves or speaks. The windows are thrown open and the light streams in, but it still feels dark, somehow. Ominous.

“Elyssa.”

“Huh?” I jerk, turning to him.

“Sit.” He points out the chair at his right hand.

Swallowing back the anxiety rising in my belly, I sink to the seat. When I sit, Phoenix sits, and when Phoenix sits, everyone else follows suit. There’s a weird tingle in the air. Like we’re all playing by a set of rules I’m not familiar with.

Though not a single man seems surprised by my presence.

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