Page 71 of Twisted Pact

“I like this,” I admit.

“Like what?”

“This version of us. The one where we’re just Alexei and Mila instead of all the other things we have to be.”

“This version doesn’t exist outside this restaurant.”

“Maybe it could. If we wanted it to.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but something over my shoulder catches his attention. I watch his face transform, his jaw ticking in a way that means someone’s about to have a very bad night.

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t turn around.”

Of course, I turn around.

A man in his mid-forties approaches our table holding a drink and wearing a drunken smirk.

“Excuse me,” he slurs. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just wanted to send this lovely lady a drink and introduce myself.”

Alexei stands so fast his chair nearly tips over. “Walk away.”

“I’m sorry?” The man’s smile falters.

“I said walk away. Right now. Before I make you regret approaching this table.”

“I was just being friendly. There’s no need for?—”

Alexei crosses to him in two strides, grabs him by the collar, and shoves him backward. Not violently enough to cause injury, but hard enough to make his point. After the scene at the college, I appreciate the restraint.

“Listen very carefully,” Alexei growls. “That woman is mine. You don’t look at her. You don’t smile at her. You sure as hell don’t send her drinks and approach our table. Understand?”

“I didn’t know?—”

“Now you do. If I see you within ten feet of her again, I’ll break every bone in your hand. If you speak to her, I’ll break your jaw. If you so much as glance in her direction, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your considerably shortened life.”

The man’s face goes pale. He nods frantically and stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his feet in his rush to return to the bar.

The restaurant has gone quiet, and everyone is staring at us as Alexei stands there, puffing his chest out, and I sit frozen with embarrassment.

Alexei returns to the table, sits down like nothing happened, picks up his wine glass, and takes a sip.

“That was excessive,” I tell him. “He was just being friendly.”

“He was making a move on what’s mine.”

“I’m not?—”

“Yes, you are. And everyone in this restaurant now knows it.”

I want to tell him he can’t just claim me like property, and that his possessiveness is over the top and inappropriate.

But part of me is thrilled at being claimed so publicly and being protected so fiercely, even if the execution was problematic.

God, I’m as twisted as he is.

Alexei pulls out his phone and quickly types something. His face goes from satisfied to furious in seconds.