Page 2 of Maxim
It’s pointless arguing with Rick. He’ll only hurt me more. I feel like I should message the girls to let them know I’m leaving, but what’s the point? They’re already sick of me canceling every arrangement we make. Me leaving early would piss them off even more.
I’ll call them tomorrow and explain. Say I got sick or something.
“Are you OK?” I look up to see the hot guy standing next to me. He’s so tall, I have to crane my neck to see his face. And what a face it is. Whereas Rick is good-looking, this man is on a whole different level.
He’s handsome but in a more dangerous kind of way. A thin scar runs along his jaw, cutting through dark stubble. Thick lashes frame black eyes, which right now, are burning with something that looks a lot like concern. Then he glances down and sees my bruised, swollen wrist.
“Did he do that?” he asks in a low voice.
I nod once. Rage flares briefly in his eyes before a blank mask falls.
“Stay here,” he orders. I shiver when he reaches out and strokes my cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. For the first time in forever, I feel safe.
Then he walks away.
Chapter two
Max
If there’s one thing I hate it’s abusive assholes who beat up defenseless women. I’m no angel. Far from it. I’ve killed more men than most people have had hot dinners. And enjoyed it. But I don’t hurt women.
I didn’t notice the couple in the bar straight away. I was too busy reading the latest messages from Sasha. Something about one of our guys going missing. Nothing he can’t handle, but still, it needs investigating. There have been a few too many issues lately.
Someone is trying to fuck with my Bratva, and I’m not willing to let it slide.
It wasn’t until I heard the woman whimper with pain that I looked up. The guy had hold of her wrist and she looked terrified. He mostly blocked her from my view, but I saw enough to know she was beautiful. Long, dark hair and a lush figure.
Her pale eyes meet mine and something stirs deep inside. My cold, dead heart maybe? Damn. Those eyes are like liquid pools of water. Unusually pale for someone with golden skin and dark hair. Then my view is blocked again.
The asshole says something about visiting the bathroom and he leaves her.
Once he’s out of sight, I walk over.
“Are you OK?” I ask her in a low voice. Not that the bartender gives a shit. He’s done his level best to ignore her so far. Her wrist is bruised and she’s obviously in pain. “Did he do that?”
She nods once. Tears glisten on her cheeks and she cradles her injured wrist. From the visible swelling, it could be broken.
Rage surges up through my chest and I clench my jaw, pushing the urge to kill someone back down. The last thing this woman needs is me losing my shit. She’s already scared.
I reach out and touch her cheek. The way she stares up at me like I’m her savior stirs some long-dead emotions buried deep inside.
And my protective instincts.
Thank fuck I’m a few drinks in. The top-shelf vodka this place stocks has mellowed me out this evening. My senses are still sharp, but I’m less inclined to murder first and ask questions later. With the possible exception of the fucker who thinks he can hurt this woman.
Speaking of…
“Stay here,” I say. He won’t be touching her again. Or any woman for that matter.
***
The asshole is washing his hands when I walk into the men’s bathroom. I suppose that’s one point in his favor.
I glance around to make sure the place is empty before I flick the lock on the door. He looks up and then turns away dismissively when I stride over to the wash basins.
That’s his second mistake; his first was hurting the woman in the bar.
“Do you get off on hurting women?” I ask in a conversational tone. He’s several inches shorter than me and from the way he grits his teeth, it pisses him off.