Page 13 of Bratva's Mercy
He wasn’t classically handsome. His features were too severe for that. His jaw looked carved out of stone, his cheekbones sharp, his mouth set in a line that suggested smiling was an activity he rarely indulged in. Black cargo pants hugged his thick, muscular thighs, and the plain dark-blue T-shirt he wore stretched across a chest so broad it looked like it had been engineered purposely for combat. The fabric clung to the well-defined shape of his pectorals, and a deep exhale of air might rip the shirt open. He had to be a gym rat to have such a physique.
And yet he somehow finds the time to stalk me.
At six feet, I was considered tall, but he was several inches above me. He had one of those mean faces that couldn’t be friendly even if he smiled, although I’d never seen that from him before. His default was the passive expression he wore now. The only other facial cue he gave was a narrowing of his brows that let me know when he was displeased about something.
“Alright then. I’ll send you a reminder about your appointment tomorrow.” Hargrove squeezed my shoulder once and walked away. I waited until he disappeared around the corner before striding down the hall.
Sergei didn’t move but kept his eyes on me, watching myevery step until I was upon him, eyes flashing and breath hissing.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” I demanded in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
He knitted his brow as he scanned my face, and his nostrils flared slightly. “You look like shit. You haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Maybe it’s because of this asshole who thinks he’s being discreet while constantly watching my home.”
His expression remained maddeningly calm. “With me there, you should feel safe enough to sleep.”
My eyes bugged out of my head, and my jaw fell loose. I had to scan his face to see if he’d found his funny bone, but he was serious.
“Why would I feel safe around a man who’s one order away from killing me?”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” The pinch between his brows deepened. “Because that was before.”
“Geez, what now? Should I prostrate myself at your feet to show my gratitude that you’ve decided to spare my life?”
Sergei’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His gaze dropped to my chin—or was it my mouth—then his eyes skittered away. Color bloomed into his cheeks, and his next inhale was sharp enough for me to hear.
Was he…blushing? I blinked, certain my eyes were deceiving me, but nope. If anything, his cheeks were redder.
“This isn’t the place to discuss this,” he said, dropping his voice. “Just…know that I’m not here to harm you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“You didn’t eat breakfast. I brought you lunch.”
He’d brought me lunch? Coffee was one thing, but this was madness. I stared at him for a long time, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Why he looked suddenly shy and why he seemed so fascinated by the plain hospital tiles.
Realization dawned on me, and I let out a low laugh. “Coffee and lunch can’t atone for what you’ve done, so if you’re doing this with the hope that your conscience will be free, think again. I hope you live a long, tortured life haunted by the memory of every victim you helped to hurt.”
He straightened up then, and the deceptive slip in his character disappeared. “And that is fine. If you want to live long enough to see me tortured, then you better eat and get enough rest, doc. You keep working like this, you’ll be joining your husband sooner or later, and it won’t be because of me.”
“How dare you?” My palm flew toward his face before I had a second to think. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t grunt, didn’t react at all as my hand connected with his cheek. My chest rose and fell, and a ringing sound filled my ears. Slowly, the hushed sounds pierced through the fog, and I was aware of the people staring at us—people I worked with.
Damn him for provoking me to cause a scene in my workplace.
“If that makes you feel better, you can slap me again,” Sergei said, his voice so soft I wasn’t even certain I heard right.
My jaw tightened. “Stay away from me. Stop coming to my hospital. Stop following me. Stop inserting yourself into my life like this means something. If you want to atone for what you did so badly, you should be doing so at my husband’s grave. Maybe fresh flowers every day for the rest of your life might let his ghost rest in peace, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
4
SERGEI
When Maxim first told me he intended to replace Vasiliev with me as one of his brigadiers, I’d balked at the idea. As the head of Maxim’s security team, there were few people he trusted more than me—maybe Archie. And, well, none of us could have seen that betrayal coming. Although technically, he hadn’t betrayed Maxim. He’d just tried to kill Maxim’s husband.
My position as director of security paid me more money than I could reasonably spend, and the work suited how I was wired. My instincts had always leaned toward protection, watching for threats and eliminating problems before they reached the people who mattered. Probably because I grew up on the streets, where survival depended on noticing danger before it noticed you.
For most of my life, though, there had been no one worth protecting.
