Page 16 of Bratva Prince
He cowered beneath me like the gutless swine he was, and stumbled over to his friends who were already leaving. The bartender watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. Still in fight mode, I threw him some money, barking at him to clean up the mess. Not my best moment, I’ll admit—but my moves were badass. It was my attitude that was sour.
Fortunately, my past experiences in the bratva world made it easier to take this guy down. A piece of cake, really. And it helped that he was already wasted.
Turning to face Willow, I asked, “Are you okay?”
She nodded and I patted her back once, ready to head back to my table—possibly even my room after what had just happened. The last thing I needed was for this fight to come back and kick me in the ass. My patience was running thin, and if someone approached me in the wrong way right now, I would probably rip their head off—in a manner of speaking.
She grabbed my hand, stopping me in my tracks. I jerked around, astonished she would touch me so freely after I pounded into that guy.
Sure, he was asking for it and she would’ve done the same thing if she had more upper arm strength, but I’ve been told I look scary when I fight. Dimitry said there’s a wild look in my eyes when I focus in on my prey—his words, not mine—and she dared to touch me while I was still in ‘wild’ mode.
“Please,” she said with pleading eyes that shone from the twinkling lights at the bar. “Don’t leave.”
I stared at her for a minute, trying to figure out her angle. After how she reacted to me earlier, I thought it was safe to assume she hated me. But there she was, begging me to stay.
Why should I? I helped get rid of the pest, so she had no reason to want me there. Not after she’d been lying about being with Viktor. And for what? To keep me away?
No, I was too annoyed about her lies.
“Why should I?” I asked, taking her by surprise. I’ll admit, my tone was sharp, and it made her look down in shame.
“I’m sorry about what I said on the beach,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed—from the alcohol or the apology, I wasn’t sure. She tucked a piece of long, blonde hair behind her ear, and took a deep breath.
“I shouldn’t have made such assumptions about you. I saw those two women hanging all over you and… well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for my accusations. If you weren’t here tonight, who knows what that guy would’ve done.”
Her arms were crossed, covering her body, and her shoulders hunched up, tense from the situation. Was she hugging herself? Maybe it was how she dealt with abuse.
I shook the thought from my head. “Why did you lie to me?” I asked, my voice louder than I’d intended. My anger had taken control, which was unusual for me. Typically, I kept my cool, but something about this woman made me react with such drastic emotions—I resented feeling so unstable.
Gesturing to Viktor, who was now making out with the man he’d been dancing with, I asked her, “Why tell me you’re engaged when he is obviously gay?”
Her eyes were focused on the ground, and she refused to look at me. When she finally did look up, her eyes were glossy, and she bit her lip to hold back the tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice lilting in the middle.
“You didn’t answer my question.” I demanded, “Why?”
She winced at my tone, and experience told me she was used to being scolded and yelled at. A sliver of guilt ran through me and my expression softened. “Why did you lie?” I asked again, my tone less aggressive.
She sighed heavily. “I’m getting over a really bad breakup and I didn’t want any guys to hit on me. So, I made Viktor pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“Fiancé,” I corrected.
She rolled her eyes and nodded. “Right. Whatever. Look, I know my reason might sound stupid, but I swear it wasn’t personal. I just didn’t want to talk to anyone besides Viktor.”
Her jaw ticked and I could tell she was growing irritated. Maybe it was because I was calling her out on her lies, or talking about her old boyfriend was bringing up some negative emotions. Either way, I shook my head, and a small laugh escaped me, which did not help her irritation.
“This boyfriend,” I said, holding her gaze. “What’d he do to you?”
Obviously she was affected by him, so he must’ve done something bad. There’s a reason they say ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’
Her eyes darted around, as if she were expecting him to walk in at any moment. Debating whether to tell me, she finally groaned and admitted the truth.
“I was with this man, Rolan, for a year. Stupid me thought he could be ‘the one,'“ she quoted with her fingers. Was she more pissed at this Rolan guy, or herself? “We were at my best friend’s wedding…” she trailed off at the end, and I took that as my cue to guess.
“And he slept with one of the bridesmaids,” I said, sure I’d had the answer. It would explain why she was so resentful of men, of herself. She’d been burned because he’d slept with a bridesmaid and felt stupid for trusting him. Cliche, but makes sense.
“Not exactly,” she said with a short laugh. “He ran off with the bride.”
