Page 49 of Fangs for the Memories (Budapest Bites #1)

I t’s been a week. Nothing from Ferenc. The more time has gone on, the more reluctant I’ve been to make the first move.

After all, he bundled me out of his country without even a goodbye or an explanation as to why I had to leave, save for my safety .

While I admit being attacked by those things, the Darasz, wasn’t a fun moment in my whole Budapest stay, I didn’t think it was a reason to be summarily deported without a word and without a single contact since.

Which is why I’m walking down the street towards my original boutique, the one with the shutters down and, as I already know, all the stock inside. The one which, by rights, should belong to me but due to a pre-nup I should have never signed, now belongs to Mark…by default.

He screwed someone else and then screwed me over. My hatred of him rises with each familiar step. He disliked my business with a passion and now it belongs to him?

I want it back, and I don’t want to play nice. Not now I feel like every single male in my life has done their level best to get what they want from me and then leave me in their dust.

I check my phone one last time. The message I sent late last night and instantly regretted hovers there like a millstone around my neck.

The shutter on the main door is raised and inside I see movement. I push on the door and enter, the familiar scent of Jo Malone candles, again sourced at jumble sales in some expensive parts of London, wafts over me.

“Hi, Grace,” Mark says brightly.

Everything is how I left it, confirming that he has absolutely no idea what he has or any intention of running this place like a business. Or running it at all.

In his hand is a sheaf of papers. On my usually pristine counter, there is a take away coffee cup. Mark is already treating this place like it belongs to him.

I glare at the cup, bringing my eyes up to him. He’s nowhere near as tall as Ferenc, his sandy hair thinning on top already, his watery blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He has the body of a Greek god, providing that god is Dionysus.

“What do you want, Mark?”

“I wanted to check you were okay,” he says, putting the papers down and picking up the cup.

As expected, it’s left a ring mark. I feel like growling.

“No, you didn’t. If you cared how I was at all ,” I say through gritted teeth, “you wouldn’t have embarrassed me in front of all our family and friends.”

Mark doesn’t even blink.

“That’s all you care about?” he says, with the inflection in his voice I’ve come to understand as annoyance.

“You think I care about you?” I scoff. “She’s welcome to you, geciputtony .”

“You learnt some Hungarian on your travels,” Mark says, teeth gritted. “At least you got something.”

“And you got nothing?” I snarl. “You got everything.”

“That was the one thing I was looking forward to,” he says, taking a step around the counter.

I take a step to one side, keeping it between him and me. The last thing I want is him anywhere near me, but also, I don’t want this descending into any sort of tit for tat argument.

Instead I fold my arms.

“What do you want, Mark? I didn’t come here for the good of my health.”

His eyes flare, and he takes another step towards me. I have to back away again.

“You look good to me, Grace. You’re positively glowing after your little holiday.”

“It’s none of your business anymore.”

I’m still having to back up as he comes at me.

“It might not be, but if you want your business back, then you’ll want to tell me what you found in Budapest,” he says.

I don’t like the light in his eyes. Nor the way his jaw is clenched.

“I think you should go back to your…secretary and leave me alone. If you want to give me my business back, fine. But if it means I have to deal with you ever again, you can keep it,” I spit, surprising myself with the force of my anger.

And the fact I mean it. Even if I built this place up from nothing, it’s not worth keeping if I ever have anything to do with Mark again. The slimy twat.

“Fuck, Grace, when you’re like this…” He licks his lips, and I’m already at the door to the back room, with nowhere else to go. “I wonder why I even left you.”

I can’t stop my lip from curling. “You’ve got a pregnant partner, and you’re coming on to me, the woman you left almost at the altar?”

“Yeah, maybe I knocked her up,” he says, “but she’s become very boring since then. It’s all ‘baby this’ and ‘baby that.’” He huffs. “Maybe I want a bit of fun again, Grace.”

“You disgust me.” I try the handle of the door behind me, but it’s locked.

Even if I had the keys, which I don’t, I wouldn’t have put it past Mark to have changed the locks already. After all, I’ve been gone a month.

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve been cavorting with something far more disgusting than I ever have. Wolf fucker,” he snarls, his face twisting into a mask of distaste.

I gasp.

“How…”

“How did I know? I have ways,” he says. “And I always get what I want.”

He has me caged. There is nowhere to go. No one is going to hear my cries for help.

But I will fight. I slash out a hand at him. It rings across his cheek, and he slaps me straight back, so damn hard I see stars, and it feels like my eye is going to pop out of its socket as I drop to my knees.

“Little wolf whore,” he spits. “No one gets to have you but me.”

“I think you’ll find she is already taken.” A familiar voice growls.