Page 10 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Kostya walked beside Azriel as she stalked down the sidewalk, her dark hair whipping behind her with each angry stride.

The woman had fire; he’d give her that. Most people cowered when he made his presence known, yet here she was, practically vibrating with indignation as she led him toward what appeared to be the most rundown diner in a three-block radius.

Figures.

She’d grudgingly agreed to let him buy her lunch after he’d pointed out that her stomach had been growling loudly enough to wake the dead. Of course, she’d insisted on choosing the place, and naturally, she’d picked somewhere that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies.

The bell above the door chimed as she pushed inside, and Kostya followed, taking in the smell of grease and burnt coffee. The vinyl booths had seen better decades. Azriel claimed a corner booth, her back to the wall, and was already glaring at the laminated menu like it had personally offended her.

He slid into the seat across from her, noting how she’d positioned herself strategically.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” she muttered, still not looking up from the menu.

“You could have kept walking around with your stomach making those charming growling sounds.” He settled back in the booth, amused by her obvious irritation.

“It wasn’t that loud.”

“Half the campus could hear it. I was doing you a favor.”

She finally lifted her smoky gray eyes to glare at him. “A favor? Is that what we’re calling forced companionship now?”

Azriel finally lifted her smoky gray eyes to meet his. “What do you want?”

“To make sure my investment doesn’t skip town again.”

“Investment.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Is that what you’re calling kidnapping and forced marriage these days?”

A waitress with tired eyes and a name tag reading ‘Dolores’ approached their table. “What can I get you folks?”

Azriel ordered coffee and wheat toast. Kostya raised an eyebrow and ordered eggs Benedict, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and orange juice.

“Hungry?” Azriel asked dryly after Dolores left.

“I work up an appetite dealing with stubborn women who think they can run away from their obligations.”

“My father’s obligations. Not mine.”

“Your father owes me. You’re payment. That makes them yours now.”

She stared at him over her coffee cup, and Kostya found himself oddly fascinated by the way she refused to back down. Most people wilted under his stare, but Azriel Hartford met his gaze head-on, her chin tilted in defiance.

“You know what I find interesting?” she said, stirring sugar into her coffee with deliberate precision. “You’re sitting here ordering half the menu like it’s nothing, but you’re supposedly so concerned about money that you’d kidnap an innocent woman over a debt.”

Kostya leaned back in the booth, amused despite himself. “Are you questioning my business practices?”

“I’m questioning how someone who clearly has enough money to buy this entire diner six times over can be so petty about whatever my father supposedly owes you.”

The food arrived, and Kostya cut into his eggs Benedict with practiced ease. “Your father didn’t just owe me money, little dove. He compromised one of my operations. Cost me considerably more than whatever he skimmed off the top.”

“Little dove?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“You don’t like it? I could go with little wildcat instead. Seems more fitting.”

She ignored the comment, but he caught the slight flush on her cheeks. “So you’re rich enough to eat fancy eggs for brunch but poor enough to need me as collateral?”

Kostya paused mid-bite. No one had ever spoken to him like this.

No one questioned his decisions or challenged his logic with such casual audacity.

Well, no one except Irina, but his sister was a completely different matter.

This woman, this slip of a girl who should be terrified of him, was sitting across from him, picking apart his reasoning like she was solving a puzzle.

It was... refreshing. Dangerously so.

“I’m not poor,” he said, taking another bite. “I’m thorough. Your father needed to understand that crossing the Nikolai family has consequences.”

“And I’m the consequence.”

“You’re the lesson.”

Azriel set down her coffee cup with more force than necessary. “How noble of you. Punishing an innocent woman to teach her deadbeat father a lesson.”

“Innocent?” Kostya studied her face, noting the way her jaw clenched when she mentioned her father.

“Tell me, Azriel, if your father makes so much money from his various schemes, why are you living in a student apartment that’s one step above a cardboard box?

Why are you eating toast and coffee for brunch instead of something substantial? ”

The question hit its mark. He saw the brief flicker of something raw in her expression before she masked it.

“Maybe I like living simply.”

“Or maybe dear old dad isn’t as generous with his ill-gotten gains as he should be.”

She stood abruptly. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Sit down.” His voice carried the weight of command, and she froze halfway out of the booth.

“Make me.”

Christ. The woman had a death wish. Kostya felt his dark eyes begin to lighten, that familiar shift that happened when he was amused or intrigued. “You really want to test me right now?”

“What are you going to do? Drag me back to your mansion, kicking and screaming? In front of all these witnesses?”

She had a point. The diner was filling up with the late morning crowd, and causing a scene would draw unwanted attention. Kostya smiled, the expression sharp enough to cut glass.

“I don’t need to drag you anywhere, little wildcat. You’ll come willingly, or I’ll make good on my promise about your remaining relatives and friends.”

The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly, but she didn’t back down completely. Instead, she slid back into the booth with obvious reluctance.

“You’re a bastard.”

“Among other things.” He resumed eating, savoring both the food and her frustrated expression. “Finish your toast. You’re too thin.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re malnourished. When’s the last time you had a real meal?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Kostya signaled the waitress and ordered Azriel eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit without consulting her.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I’m not asking. I’m telling.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You’re my wife now, which makes you my responsibility. I don’t let what’s mine waste away.”

“I’m not yours.”

“The marriage certificate says otherwise.”

They ate in tense silence after that, though Kostya noticed she cleaned her plate despite her protests. Good. The woman needed to eat properly if she was going to keep up this level of defiance.

When they finished, he stood and tossed enough cash on the table to cover the bill and a generous tip. “Come on. Time to go.”

Azriel reluctantly followed him out of the diner, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a string of creative curses. Kostya was about to comment on her colorful vocabulary when he caught movement in his peripheral vision.

A man in a dark jacket, pretending to read a newspaper while standing next to a lamppost. Another was lounging against a car, smoking a cigarette with too much interest in their direction. Professional surveillance, but sloppy.

Kostya’s hand shot out, grabbing Azriel’s wrist. “We need to move. Now.”

“What are you—”

“Don’t argue. Don’t look around. Just walk.” He pulled her along, his pace quick but not quite running yet. “We’re being followed.”

To her credit, Azriel didn’t panic immediately. She matched his stride, though he could feel the tension radiating from her. “Followed by who?”

“People who shouldn’t know where we are.”

They turned the corner, and Kostya glanced back. Three men now, all moving with purpose. Not good.

“Run.”

This time, she didn’t argue. They sprinted down the sidewalk, Kostya’s hand still locked around her wrist, pulling her into an alley between two buildings. He pressed her against the brick wall, his body caging her in, and listened for the sound of pursuit.

Footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley, then faded as their followers moved past.

“Why are we being followed?” Azriel whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “Who were those men?”

“Shh.” He pressed closer, needing to keep her quiet, needing to listen for any sign that they’d been discovered.

But having her this close, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest against his, smelling the faint scent of vanilla in her hair, was doing things to his concentration that had nothing to do with surveillance.

“Kostya,” she whispered, and the way she said his name sent heat straight through him.

He looked down at her, noting the way her gray eyes had darkened, the way her lips were slightly parted. She was scared, but there was something else there, too. Something that matched the tension coiling in his own chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the sincerity in his tone, and Kostya realized he meant it. Somewhere between her defiance and her sharp wit, between her refusal to cower and her stubborn independence, she’d gotten under his skin.

The space between them seemed to shrink. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt. All he had to do was lean down, just a few inches, and he could taste those lips that had been taunting him with their smart remarks.

The thought hit him like ice water.

What the hell was he doing?

This was Danny Hartford’s daughter. Payment for a debt. A tool for revenge, nothing more. He didn’t get emotionally involved with business, and he sure as hell didn’t develop feelings for women who were only in his life because of their fathers’ mistakes.

Kostya stepped back abruptly, his expression hardening. “We need to get back to the car.”

The moment was broken, and he saw the confusion flash across her face before she composed herself.

“Fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the flush still staining her cheeks.

He led them out of the alley, checking carefully for any sign of their followers before guiding her toward where he’d parked. The drive back to the mansion was silent, but Kostya couldn’t shake the memory of how she’d felt in his arms, or the way she’d looked at him in that alley.

This was getting complicated. And Kostya Nikolai didn’t do complicated.