Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(103)

“Oh. Um, hi?”

“I’m Eric.”

“I’m not interested,” I say politely. “I’m just here to have a little fun with my friends.”

“Well, I’d love to be your friend. Then you could have fun with me.”

He’s got the looks, but the lines he’s feeding me are a little too rehearsed for me to be overly flattered. Thankfully, I’m saved by my ringing phone. I don’t even look to see who’s calling before I

answer with an apologetic wave of my hand.

“Hello?”

“Paige.” His voice is a rumble that I feel in my toes.

Shit. Why did I answer?

“Hi, Misha. What’s up?”

“Where are you?” he asks.

“We’re still out. Satan’s Palace, I think. Is something wrong?”

“I just…” He hesitates with a long, winding exhale. “I wanted to make sure that everything was okay.”

I snort in disbelief. “Please. You were calling to keep tabs on me. Why do men always think they can have it both ways?”

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my elbow. Eric is at my ear—the same ear I have a phone pressed to.

“Come on, baby,” Eric croons. “Hang up on the loser and come dance with me.”

I try to wave him away, but it’s too late.

“Who the fuck was that?” Misha growls.

“No one. I gotta go.”

I hang up before he can protest. Eric is immediately in front of me again. I back away, both hands up.

“Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really want to dance.”

“How about a drink then?” he asks, moving forward and invading my space again. He’s wearing far too much cologne. It’s making my head swim.

“No, thank you.”

“Okay, so you don’t drink or dance,” he says. “Tell me, gorgeous—do you fuck?”

My eyes go wide, but before I can come up with an appropriate response to that question, Eric is knocked off-center. One second, he’s in front of me; the next he’s on the floor, groaning and bleeding from a busted lip.

I turn in shock to see my husband standing over him with murder in his eyes.

“Misha!”

How on earth did he get here so fast?

Misha gives me the once-over, but he isn’t checking me out in that kind of way; he’s looking to see that I’m not hurt. The moment he sees that I’m okay, he bends down, picks Eric up by the sleeve, and hoists him back up to his feet.

“What the hell?” Eric splutters, blood flecking his designer beard. “Who are you?”

“Me?” Misha growls. “I’m her fucking husband.”

Then he slams his head forward, connecting with Eric’s forehead in a vicious crack. Eric drops back to the floor, unconscious.

Misha grabs my arm and twists me towards my bachelorette party, all of whom are watching the scene unfold with expressions that range from pure shock to barely contained amusement.

“Party’s over,” he informs them hotly. “Stay or leave. That’s up to you. But I’m taking my wife home.”

Then, without giving me much of a choice, Misha drags me out of Satan’s Palace.





78

MISHA

Paige doesn’t talk to me the entire drive back home.

She sits with her arms crossed and her face turned towards the window. The second the car stops, she gets out and races up the steps.

I think about leaving her to fume for a bit, but I can’t stay away. In the end, I walk into the eye of the storm and brace myself for the hurricane.

Paige is pacing back and forth across the room so quickly she’s almost a blur. Her towering heels are in a pile in front of the door, but she’s still in the dress. I wouldn’t be surprised if I have to cut her out of it later.

I wouldn’t mind it, either.

The moment the door closes behind me, she turns on me.

“So I’m your property?” she demands. “Is that a clause I missed in the fine print?”

I stand there and take her fury, marveling at how fantastic she is. Even when she’s ready to kill me, she’s a wonder.

“How the hell did you even get there so fast?” When I don’t answer, she answers for me. “You followed me, didn’t you? You were standing outside the damn nightclub when you called me.”

She takes a few steps towards me, but stops herself before she can get within striking distance.

“What’s the problem, Misha? You don’t want me, but no other man can have me, either?” Her cheeks are flushed, and the color has spread through to her chest. “Well?”

“You are currently carrying my child,” I say in an even voice. “I will not tolerate another man near you.”

“Okay, so the moment I pop this baby out, I’m free game?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

She shakes her head. She’s nearly trembling with rage. “I’m not going to sit by and twiddle my thumbs while you live your life and ignore me. If you think I’m going to let you turn me into your mother,

you’ve got another thing coming.”

I raise my eyebrows, but she barrels on as though she can’t stop herself anymore. “She stuck around to take care of her husband’s household and raise her husband’s children, all while he went around sleeping with every woman who turned his head. I’m telling you right now, Misha: I’m not doing that.