Page 57 of The Wrong Brother

“You should probably be more worried about your brother than me.”

The men to my right glance quickly between us. Andrei’s expression darkens. I lean forward anyway, committing. If he wants to leave more bruises? Fine.

Because Ruslan Smirnov promised to keep me safe. And from how stirred up Andrei is, I’m assuming that means something.

“Whatever happened between you two, I don’t think he’s the one who’s scared. In fact, I think you’re being hunted, Andrei. And Ruslan always catches what he’s after.”

For the first time in months, I don’t look away. Whether I’m staring at my demise, my future, or my past. I’m done running.

* * *

By the time I return to the hotel, I’m exhausted. And still hungry.

The encounter with Andrei keeps replaying in my head like a bad movie I can’t shut off.

The coldness.

The threat.

The way he’d grabbed my wrist.

I spent months convincing myself our relationship hadn’t been entirely fake. That some part of what we had was real, that a part of him liked me.

Now I’m not so sure.

The suite is quiet when I step inside. For a brief moment, relief washes through me. I want to be alone. Maybe I’ll be reckless and charge a spa visit to Ruslan’s card. Let someone massage the tension out of my taut, sore muscles.

Then I hear Ruslan’s voice from the sitting area.

“What happened?”

I go still, mind racing. How does he know?

Then I remember the men he sent with me. They must’ve told him what happened if they managed to see it in the split second it took.

“I’m fine,” I say, immediately confused as to whythatwas my answer. But still, Ruslan’s angry expression shifts to one of relief. He walks toward me slowly, gets close, and tips my chin up. Searching…for what?

“What happened?” he repeats, the words softer this time. “I couldn’t find you.”

As if he was out looking himself. I know it’s not true. He would’ve just had the men searching, hunting, but something in me still warms.

“Nothing.” The lie is automatic. I don’t know why. I feel it echoing inside, the same way that hollowness used to echo when my parents would ask after Andrei.

Ruslan’s eyes narrow. I turn toward the bedroom, wanting a shower despite how early it is. Unfortunately, the sleeve of my loose, long-sleeved t-shirt falls back.

Just enough.

A bruise is starting to bloom on my wrist.

Ruslan reaches out, a low sound rumbling out of him, but he doesn’t touch me. He’s close enough that I can see the dangerous stillness settling behind his eyes.

His gaze locks onto the mark. Then slowly lifts to my face.

“Emma.” My name comes out low. Controlled.

I instinctively take a step back, knowing thatthistime I won’t be able to lie. This isn’t Russ Smith; this isn’t a mix of the two men I’ve been both intrigued and wary of?—

This is Ruslan Smirnov.Allof him.