Page 4 of Claimed By the Boss

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DAMIEN

Iclimb into the back seat of the car and slam the door harder than necessary, thethunkechoing through the enclosed space. The driver doesn’t flinch, but takes his cue to check the mirror and pull into traffic, the city lights beginning to blur across the wet pavement. Alek slides in beside me. The leather creaks under his weight, his usual unhurried grace on full display.

He settles in, then raises one eyebrow at me like he’s waiting for me to speak first.

I scowl. “What the hell is your problem?”

Alek shrugs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Nothing. I’ve just never seen you like that with a broad before.”

The way he says it pisses me off more than it should.

“Don’t call her that,” I snap before I can stop myself.

His smirk widens, his eyes sharpening. He heard it. Of course he did. He never misses anything. I grit my teeth and look out thewindow, watching the neon signs and headlights streak across the glass.

“Touchy tonight,” Alek says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

I grind my molars together and don’t answer. My hands rest on my knees, fingers tapping once before I force them to still. I’m angry, but not really at Alek. At that asshole in the restaurant. At myself for jumping in like that.

It was supposed to be a quiet dinner. We planned to go over our accounts in person, check the latest transfer schedules, and discuss Rurik and his family’s latest interference. Instead, I found myself halfway across the dining room before I even realized I was moving.

Alek watches me carefully. I can feel the weight of his stare.

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say flatly, not bothering to hide my irritation.

He sighs, tilts his head back against the seat, and looks at the ceiling.

“I mean the way you reacted. You don’t get involved like that. Even with official business, you let your men handle it. I’ve never seen you get so defensive over some girl you don’t even know.”

I scoff, shifting in my seat. “He put his hands on her.”

“Right,” Alek says, his voice so mild it’s insulting. “So are you gonna start policing the whole city now? ’Cause there’s a lot of assholes out there who put their hands on women.”

I glare at him.

“She was in my line of sight, and she was just doing her job. He was yelling so loudly that half the room was watching. It was bad for business.”

“Right,” Alek repeats.

I ball my hand into a fist against my knee. The memory of that asshole’s face makes my knuckles itch. The fear when I yanked him back, the way he choked on panic. The satisfying silence in the room when everyone saw who was in control.

Then I think about Lyra.

She had her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in that neat bun, curls fighting to get free around her face. Her green eyes wouldn’t back down even when she was scared.

I didn’t do it for her, I tell myself. I did it because it was necessary, because no one should make that much noise in my presence without consequences. But that’s bullshit and I know it.

“She could have at least thanked you properly,” he says obscenely, making a lewd gesture with his hands. “I would have waited.”

I snort. “Fuck off,” I grumble, slapping his hands away. “Her thank-you was fine.”

“‘Ooh, Damien, you have such a hot Russian accent, want to do me in the alley?’” he mocks in a high-pitched, awful imitation of Lyra.