Page 2 of Thrown to the Wolves
My decision’s been made for me. I can’t leave her here like this, and who knows if the bartender will start a fight once I start poking around. I jerk my head towards the door. “C’mon, let’s get you out of this shithole. If your car hasn’t been jacked yet.”
Surprise flits across her face before melting into a grateful smile that does something stupidly fluttery to my insides. She puts a hand on my arm. “I’d appreciate that, Lyssa.”
I tuck her arm around mine, just to make it clear who she’s with, and we make our way to the exit, a few last drunken catcalls and jeers fading behind us. I’ll have a word with those gentlemen once I head back. But for now, the night air is a welcome reprieve from the bar’s stifling atmosphere.
“So, Scarlett...” I give her a sidelong glance, taking in her profile. “What possessed you to willingly meet some strange guy in that pit?”
“Uh, a strange woman, actually,” she tells me.
This Scarlett just gets more and more interesting.
A wry chuckle leaves her tempting lips. “And honestly? I was bored of all the clubs uptown. Thought I’d try something…adventurous. I met her on an app. I mean, if she even exists.”
“And you agreed to meet her here?” This chick must be naive with a capital dumb. But maybe that’s not fair. “Let me guess—you’re a hopeless romantic who likes the idea of reforming a bad girl.”
Her ears flush an adorable shade of pink, visible even in the low yellow streetlights. “Look, I get that it was a stupid idea,” she admits with a self-deprecating grin. “This adventure didn’t exactly deliver the grand romance I was hoping for.”
“Well, the night is young,” I tell her, unable to resist flirting.
It’s been a while.
I don’t like to bed the same woman twice—for their protection, I tell myself. No point making some innocent lesbian a target—and even in a city the size of Chicago, the lesbian community is a little insular, so while I have a rep as a player, I also have a rep as amazing in bed.
I do okay, is what I’m saying.
But this girl… There’s something about her. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Our walk is unhurried, lending a sense of lightheartedness I wouldn’t normally allow myself. But I don’t miss the way Scarlett’s gaze darts about, studying her surroundings with a wariness that belies her soft demeanor.
“You’re okay with me,” I tell her, pulling her a little closer so that her shoulder is flush with mine. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
We reach a battered sedan sooner than I’d like, and Scarlett turns to face me. “Well, this is me.” She smiles shyly. “Thanks for walking with me. But now I’m worried about you. Can I drive you somewhere?”
I snort. “You don’t need to worry about me, honey.” No, it’s those assholes back at the bar who should be worried. I plan to go back there not just to interrogate the bartender about Yuri, but to remind the customers of their manners.
But I take an extra moment to enjoy the way Scarlett’s nose turns up at the end, a pretty, perky little swoop that makes me wonder if her tits do the same thing.
Her smile has changed into something closer to a hopeful smirk. “Hey, do you wanna maybe go somewhere else and get a dr?—”
The words die on her lips as figures detach from the shadows, surrounding us with eerie silence.
Shit. I’m brought right back down to earth—back down to Sokolov territory, to be exact.
My hand strays to the gun holstered invisibly at my back as the men close in, their grins all teeth, except where they’re missing a few. Five—no, six of them.
Eh. That’s decent odds, even with Scarlett to protect.
“Well, well, well…” A thick Russian accent grates against my ears. “If it isn’t the Big Bad Wolf.”
The Sokolovs have had an issue with the Syndicate for a while now. Some little misunderstanding over a debt they didn’t pay, and a few of their guys I killed as a helpful reminder that it was overdue. I suppose it’s no surprise they’re looking to even up.
Scarlett tenses beside me, and I slide in front of her, pushing her behind me where she’ll be safest. But I keep my hand on her hip, because some primal part of me wants to keep her close, feel her warmth and softness pressed up against my back.
“Don’t suppose you mutts would be willing to call it a night?” I drawl. “Places to be, and all that.”
The brute who spoke lets out a grating chuckle. “Not a chance, darogaya.” He pulls out a knife.
Knives are quiet, at least. The last thing Hadria would want is police attention from a gunfight. Not right now. Things are tricky in Chicago right now, as she’s endlessly reminding us all. So I let the hand behind me slide from gun to blade and take it out, twisting it in the light, just so this asshole can see I’m not going to walk away.