Page 40 of Prince of Control

Eric shoots a glance my way at the sound, but Denis’ back is to him, and my face is a calm mask.

Blood pours from Denis’ broken nose. He grabs a napkin and holds it, dropping the bumbling nerd act and glaring at me with blazing eyes.

“I’ll give you a choice.” I flex my hand to flash the tattoos on my fingers–the ones that prove I’m lethal. “Leave before she comes back or stay, and I’ll beat you over the head with that laptop to see which breaks first.”

He stacks his books with one hand, keeping the other clamped with the napkin on his nose.

“Don’t talk to my wife again.”

He shoots me another glare.

It occurs to me I shouldn’t have shown my hand. I should’ve had Alex and Feliks pick him up later and torture the truth out of him. Found out what Brash knows. What his plans are. Why he sent a spy here to watch Lara.

But that would’ve required me to sit here for another moment observing this jellyfish of a man sitting next to my woman.

“If you or your sick friend ever touch her, I will end you both.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” he mutters in Russian, scooping his laptop and books against his chest and hustling out of the bar.

I pick up another French fry and pop it in my mouth.

When Lara returns, she sends me a suspicious look. “Where is Denis?”

I eat another fry. “He had to go.”

The puddle of blood on the bar catches her eye, and she gasps. “What did you do to him?”

I stare back blithely. I know I need to switch gears. I’m not going to woo my wife by being an asshole or scaring her, but my blood is still hot. The need to protect her with violence still too strong.

Eric walks over with our beers, and I toss a spare napkin on top of the puddle of blood.

“Thanks, man.” I pull a twenty out of my pocket, but he shakes his head.

“On the house. I’m looking forward to working with you again this year.”

“Me too, man.” I lift my beer as if to toast him. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I drain half my glass and set it down to study Lara.

Her face is pale, but her lower jaw juts out in defiance. She doesn’t touch her beer.

“What did you do to him?” she repeats. The words start out angry, but her voice breaks on the word do, and then her eyes fill with tears.

Blyad’.

I didn’t mean to make her cry. I stand and reach my hand out to her. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

She jerks her hands protectively to her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

I slide back onto my barstool. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

We stare at each other. There is no contest of wills I won’t win. I am the fucking prince of control.

Control is the only way to anticipate everything that might go wrong. To protect everyone who needs my protection. It’s how I learned to deal with the guilt of having someone I loved gunned down while trying to protect me when I was a child.

Lara must see that in my face because she gives an exaggerated huff and stands. “Fine. Take me home. Seeing how you own me and everything.”

She strides toward the door–a gorgeous bundle of rage and fear.

I should be sorry she’s upset. I am sorry. But the man in me who needs to maintain control of everything to keep the people I love alive is satisfied.