Page 6 of Bratva Prince
“Couple’s retreat,” she answered, cutting off Viktor and shooting him a glance.
“Well, that’s one way to put it,” he said. “What about you? Did you come to enjoy the clear blue waters of Crete?”
“That’s one way to put it,” I answered, mimicking his line, which seemed to flatter him. “Would you like to sit with us? I’m sure Mihailo would enjoy the company of a few fellow Russians.” I gestured to him, and he watched, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it, but I knew he was interested.
Viktor plopped his ass in the sand by Mihailo and Willow snuggled into the sand beside him, her body tense and stiff. The bimbo beside me in the black bikini settled in closer, an attempt to lay claim over me. She was foolish if she really believed that.
If anyone were to claim me, it would be the woman who stumbled right into my lap, spilling her drink all over my chest and stomach.
3
Willow
You know when you do something totally embarrassing, and your friend uses it as a catalyst for playing the wingman in a potential hook-up? No? Well, that was what Viktor did.
We’d just arrived on Crete the night before. By the time we got settled into the hotel suite, it was late, and we were exhausted, so we decided to take advantage of Uber Eats and order in as we watched television.
Honestly, it was nice to have a night where we could just chill out and relax, without having to make ourselves up and pretend we were fine. PretendIwas fine.But in exchange for that night of doing nothing, I promised Viktor an exciting night out and a fun day at the beach. Which was where we were when I methim.
Mr. One-Girl-On-Each-Arm-Like-He-Owns-The-World.
The air was crisp and the sun burned bright, shining over the gorgeous crystalline waters that pulled into the beach, and receded in the most relaxing repetition of sound.
Damn, I wish I brought my suit.
The water looked spectacular to swim in, and plenty of beachgoers were doing just that. I was envious. Stupid me didn’t wear my suit under my shorts and tank top. A quick stroll on the beach turned into cocktails on the beach. I could go in wearing my clothes, but the walk back might get a little uncomfortable when my wet shorts rub against my thighs. A rash was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
That was where my attention had been when I was too distracted to notice the outstretched legs I’d tripped over—not only stumbling on top of the man, but spilling my drink on him, too.
I’d seen him earlier, walking on the beach with the two women, their arms linked with his. They all looked like supermodels—they were so beautiful and glamorous—and the sand was their runway. Striking, indeed—but a total turnoff.
I apologized for spilling my drink over and over again, but the bastard looked amused, only fueling my humiliation further. Viktor wasn’t helping with sexual innuendos he kept throwing at the man. Only one hour out of the hotel and he was already playing wingman.
Normally, it was an endearing quality, but at that moment, I wanted to smack him in the back of the head and tell him to shut up. I didn’tneedorwanta man. Especially not one with two girls fawning all over him.
I grabbed my glass and stood up, straightening myself as I averted my gaze from him. Though, I couldn’t keep my eyes from lingering for a moment before I pulled them away. He was gorgeous, in a dangerous way that was both enticing and repulsive.
His long, dark-blond hair was pulled into a bun, and strands hung loosely over his intense blue eyes that matched the waters of Crete. The sides of his head were shaved, which made him look like a Norse Viking God when paired with his muscular physique that was covered in tattoos, and a five o’clock shadow around his jaw.
Damn.
I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. And he was from Russia, which I found fascinating. If it weren’t for his smug expression and arm candy, I might’ve had more of an interest to talk with him. But I knew better. The man was trouble. I could see it written all over him in invisible ink.Trouble, trouble, trouble.
He was the complete opposite of Dillweed—A.K.A. my ex. Where Rolan was pretty, this man had an edge. If those women curled up next to him in the sand weren’t careful, he would be their downfall.
Not just him, really. Any man. They were all the same.Selfish.
Every man I’d ever known had always let me down—starting with my father and ending with Rolan. Though, my father was the most despicable.
I detested him with every fiber of my being. If you looked up the term ‘dirty politician,' my father’s picture would be smack dab in the middle of the page. Power, wealth—he cared about nothing else. Not me nor my alcoholic mother.
Though, in her defense, her alcoholism was a coping mechanism to deal with my father’s cruel behavior.
He was a mean, bitter asshole who put his career before everything else, even the wellbeing of his family. Sure, we looked happy in the pictures. A well-dressed, well-behaved family, with our arms wrapped around one another, my father holding my mother’s hand. And we couldn’t forget the smiles. ‘With your teeth,' my father insisted.
But it was all an act.
Behind closed doors, my father was cruel. He was demeaning. Manipulative. Controlling.
