Page 71 of Wicked Proposal

On her ass.

It slaps her once, then it’s gone.

And everything I see gets tinted blood-red.

“Yuli!” an older male voice booms cheerfully. “Blyat’,look at you! You’ve grown so big!”

I turn to look at the man who spoke. My hands are flexing and unflexing, knuckles popping, as the surge of blood into my muscles wakes up every last nerve ending.

I’m going to hurt this man. I’m going to do it slowly and painfully and publicly.

But not yet.

“Ieronim,” I greet coldly. “You seem to have misplaced your hand there. Did you want to lose it permanently?”

Ieronim Salnikov—one of my parents’ closest friends.

Once, he was a legend in the Bratva world. Then he started clinging a little too close to his liquor, and the legend faded into myth. Now, the Salnikov Bratva is a footnote in New York’s history.

I’m about to wipe it the fuck out of existence for good.

I pull Mia closer to me. The room falls silent around us, every other businessperson gathered here suddenly too busy staring at their drinks to come greet us. Waiting for the storm to pass, too scared of getting caught in it.

Clinking ice cubes in glass tumblers go still.

Murmurs cease.

The red tide in my vision darkens.

Finally, Ieronim seems to realize just how badly he fucked up.

“Now, now,” he says in an attempt to pacify me. “You know I can’t resist a good piece of ass when I see it. Besides, I hear you’re not the type to get attached. What’s the harm in sharing, right?”

I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he speaks. A haze of bourbon and unbrushed teeth.

Fucking vile.

“Why are you talking to me,friend?”I say.

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“Don’t talk to me.” I jut my chin toward my date. “Talk to her. Apologize.”

Ieronim blinks again. Drunk, confused, or stupid, I’m not sure which and I don’t fucking care. All I know is that his abject, groveling, and heartfelt apology is the only thing that will stop me from ripping his head clean off his spine right here and right fucking now.

“For…?”

“For daring to lay a single one of your greasy fucking fingers on a woman of her stature.”

His jaw drops.

From my side, Mia blinks at me, eyes wide. Like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Like the thought of me defending her clashes with some deep-set conviction that this is not what’s supposed to happen when some gropey, idiotic stranger takes liberties with her body. “T-that’s really not nec?—”

“I insist.” My voice goes cold as ice. “Ieronim. Now.”

He doesn’t catch the threat in my tone. Instead, he gives another booming laugh. “So sorry about that, Miss! Like I said, you’re quite pleasing to the eye. Can’t blame me for being tempted, yes?”

Nor can you blame me for filleting you like a fucking fish.