Page 12 of Bratva's Mercy
I scoffed. “You’re what? Early fifties?”
He all but preened, his teeth gleaming white against his dark-brown skin. “Damn, that’s a compliment. I’m sixty-two. Hao’s turning fifty next week. I’m thinking of doing it then.”
“He’ll say yes for sure. I’ve seen the way Hao looks at you, and he’s completely smitten.”
“So am I. He’s wonderful.” A dreamy look came over his face, and his smile turned soft.
Tendrils of jealousy wove through me, and I had to look away from the pure happiness radiating from him. The feeling was involuntary. I was happy for him, dammit.
Seeing Hargrove with his partner was what had done it—made me envious of a couple who were enough for each other. A couple who still looked at each other with so much love and spark.
Brad and I had lost our spark. And it wasn’t just the sleeping with other people thing. I’d been down for that, but over time, we’d started to rely on that a little too much without finding time to nurture the intimacy between us. Before I knew it, the closeness we once had was almost gone.
We slowed along the corridor until we stopped altogether. He placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned closer. “Do you think a candlelit dinner is too cliché?”
“I think classic is more like it. That’s never out of style.”
“I’d do something fancier, but Hao likes quiet things. Something about the rush of his day so when we’re finally together, he enjoys our time away from other people.”
God, that sounded good.
“Seems like you know Hao very well. I’m…happy for you, Hargrove.”
Yet tears filled my eyes. Shit. Now was not the time to be thinking about the way Brad had proposed to me. Thecandlelit hotel room and the custom-made bear with the “Will You Marry Me” stitching on its little shirt.
“Dammit, Cavanagh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to prattle on about Hao when?—”
“It’s fine. Sometimes I remember things, and yeah, I get teary, but see? Healthy grieving, not repressing at all. I really hope things work out for you and Hao.”
“But still I shouldn’t—” He stared over my shoulder, frowning. “You know that guy?”
“What guy?”
“The one who’s been staring at us for the last two minutes.”
A chill slid down my spine, and I reluctantly followed his gaze down the corridor, not surprised at all to findhimstanding near the vending machines.
Fucking Sergei.
He gulped down a can of Mountain Dew, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He made no attempt at all to hide that he was staring at us.
Did he truly think he was untouchable? Was that the reason he no longer even tried to hide that he was stalking me?
“Yes,” I said tightly. “Unfortunately I do.”
Hargrove glanced between us. “Umm, the way he’s looking at you is unnerving. Is he a danger to you? I can get security to escort him out.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s an…acquaintance and harmless. I’ll go talk to him.”
“Harmless” was hardly the right word to describe Sergei.
The man was built like a fucking battle tank. If he were a Transformer, that would have been his machine form—one of those matte-black monstrosities that rolled over everything in its path, grinding it into dust without even slowing down.
That was the feeling I had whenever I saw him.
Not that he would attack me immediately, but that he was simply…waiting. Biding his time until the moment came to crush me beneath those massive combat boots he insisted on wearing like he was permanently deployed in some private war.
His hair was an inky black, the strands gleaming under the fluorescent hospital lights when he moved. It was the only thing about him that looked soft in the slightest, but even that impression didn’t last long when you took in the rest of him.
