The War (Bratva Blood #2) - S.R. Jones Page 0,36

that score. Sometimes he infuriates me with the way he must have the last word, but I let it go. A row in front of his friends isn’t what I’m aiming for this morning.

“Did you have a good flight?” Andrius asks Bohdan.

“Great. I fucked the hostess in the toilet and ate her pussy. She’s invited me to a threesome with her and her girlfriend next time I’m in France.”

Konstantin cuffs Bohdan up the back of the head, shocking me.

“What?” Bohdan asks, but his cheeky grin says he knows.

“Don’t talk like that in front of Cassie.”

“You said to speak in English. I’m only doing as you requested.”

“Do you want to get right back on a fucking plane to Moscow?”

Bohdan sighs as if all the troubles of the world are on his shoulders.

“What sort of coffee do you want?” I ask.

“Oh, hazelnut macchiato,” he says with a smirk.

I smirk back at him. “Coming right up.”

If he thinks I can’t make a killer macchiato with Konstantin’s fancy machine, he’s got another thing coming.

I get to work, and two minutes later I present Bohdan with his drink. It’s served in a tall glass coffee cup that Konstantin has in his cupboards.

He stares at it, brows raised, then sips it. He smiles and nods at me. “Touché, Cassie, touché.”

“Anyone else fancy a coffee while I’m making?”

“No, I must go call Violet. See how she is holding up,” Andrius says, and his face softens when he mentions her.

How I’d love for Konstantin to feel that way about me. For his face to soften when he discusses me.

Andrius leaves, and I feel uncomfortable with Bohdan’s scrutiny now that it’s only me, him, and Konstantin.

“He’s working with us on this?” Bohdan asks Konstantin, nodding in the direction of the door Andrius just walked through.

“Yes, they’ve threatened his family. Things are moving quickly. Tonight, I’m taking Cassie to her apartment to pick up her passport, and then tomorrow we’re all going to Paris.”

Any excitement I had dies at the idea of Bohdan coming with us.

“All who? All the men, or you, me, and her?”

The way Bohdan says her pisses me off. Fed up of his sneering and implied insults, I turn to him and put my hands on my hips, gathering all my courage. “Why do you have an issue with me when you’ve only just met me?”

“Because.” He sips at his drink and swallows, and then he skewers me with a hard stare. “You told K you could hack Popov, but you got caught. You’re what? Twenty-two, twenty-three? You’re cookies, and macchiatos, and puppies, and happy-ever-afters. You’re a child. You don’t belong. Liza, she’s a horrible bitch, but she could deal with this world, if she weren’t a backstabbing whore, but you’re not able.”

Konstantin hasn’t said anything, which I find odd. He usually springs to my defense. I glance at him, and he’s watching us, interest etched on his face.

Fine, so he’s not coming to my rescue this time.

“Fuck you,” I snarl. “I lost my mother when I was only young, although, truthfully, I lost her long before then. I went in and out of foster homes for a year or two before finally being placed with my grandparents, and let me tell you, those places are hell. Even if you’re only in them for a week or two, it’s enough to screw anyone up. Now, I’m sure you’re a big, bad, hardened man, but until you’ve survived having a fifty-year old man try to make you suck his disgusting stubby cock when you’re only twelve, while your mother dries out in a rehab facility, you don’t get to lecture me. So either treat me with some respect, or leave me the fuck alone.”

I take his coffee, swiping the cup out from under him and pour it down the sink.

“Make your own damn coffee,” I say as I storm out of the room.

“Okay, I was wrong, maybe you have found someone able to stand by your side,” I hear him say as I leave the room.

I don’t feel any sense of triumph, though. No, my heart is pounding too fast and hard. I didn’t mean to say that. I lost my temper completely and let something out I’ve never told anyone, except the useless therapist I had for a few months.

Fucking shit. Why, why, why.

Now Konstantin will either view me with pity, or he’ll see me as dirty, the way I view myself whenever I let that memory in.

It’s still so vivid. The smell of him, cigarettes and

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