Page 45 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

The books thump to the ground as Sal grips my wrist tight, jerking me away from the wall.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, dragged along as he maneuvers further back in the store. His men follow, silent and as dark as shadows as they move through the shelves. In moments we’re at the back door and I stumble out into the alley.

“Sal—I didn’t come alone, I?—”

“Your friend can’t help you,” he scoffs, turning to face me. His hair falls into his eyes, still wild with anger and excitement. “That money, Audrey. A stupid bitch like you won’t be able to scrape up that much, so I’m going to try another way. Do you really think he believes you’reworth something,” he taunts, mimicking the words I said the night we fought in my apartment.

“Would he pay for you, Audrey? Buy you back like a piece of property?”

He jerks me closer to him, the movement making me cry out at the pain in my wrist.

“You slut,” he hisses. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing with him? You’ll get on your knees for anyone, won’t you?”

My heart is pounding so hard I think I might pass out.

Before Sal can say anything else, a fist comes out of nowhere and catches him in the jaw so hard he falls against the brick building.

“Fuck!”

The sounds of a fight draw my attention, and suddenly Lev is there, taking out Sal’s two goons easily with a baton.

But it’s not just Lev.

Konstantin steps into view, his face impassive as he stares at Sal, half-crumpled against the wall. The brick has scraped away a patch of skin on his face and he’s already bleeding.

Wordlessly, Konstantin reaches out and grabs Sal by the hair. Sal screams, stumbling into the Bratva leader.

Seeing the two of them so close is shocking. Konstantin makes Sal look like a sack of meat, inelegant and coarse as he curses. Konstantin lands another punch, effortlessly, and a crunch sounds out.

Sal falls back, dazed. His nose is badly crooked, blood pouring down it and soaking into his shirt. Nausea makes my mouth water. I turn away, turn into Konstantin’s outstretched arm.

“Malen'kiy volk.”

“A fuggin’ ped name,” Sal slurs through the blood. “She has you whipped Martynov. She’s not worth it.” He’s swaying on his feet but still facing Konstantin—braver than I expected.

The crunch of gravel signifies Lev’s arrival; he stands just behind and to the side of us, eyes on Sal. When I glance back, I see two bodies on the ground and blood soaking into the asphalt and stone.

Sal straightens, chin raised.

Oh, God. He’s squaring up as if ready to meet his maker. It’s both ridiculous and gut-wrenching, and before I can stop myself I ask: “Let him go, please. He’s not worth it.”

Konstantin’s body is rigid against me as I tuck myself close to his side. He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge what I’ve said, but a slow smile breaks across his face.

“Go running back to your owner, dog,” Konstantin says coldly.

Sal’s eyes narrow. He looks from Konstantin to me, and then to Lev. Then he laughs.

“Damn. She really has you pussy whipped, old man.”

Konstantin’s hand flexes, and for a moment I think he’ll change his mind. But Sal stumbles off down the alley, breaking into a run, and disappears around the corner.

A large arm wraps me closer.

I bury my face in Konstantin’s wool jacket, pretending that the itchy fabric is what’s making my eyes water.

“Can we go home?” I whisper.

He gently grips my chin and makes me look at him. His eyes are serious, brows furrowed. “Will you stay there? If I take you home?”