Wicked Boss (Bratva Brothers 2)

FIVE

Luka

For five minutes, can Madisyn stay out of trouble?

Exhaling a heavy sigh, I stand and approach the two girls. I should stay far away from Hannah, but I can't. The truth is I don't want to. Mikhail has finally settled down, and he's happy.

I never thought I'd want that life, but seeing the two of them together, it's hard not to be jealous.

The lights are dim in the bar, and the crowd grows loud. I stalk up to the troublesome duo and reach for Madisyn's drink.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asks, sliding off the barstool. She steps between her friend and me, blocking Madisyn.

Hannah likely doesn't know that Madisyn is pregnant. And it's not my place to tell her.

I reach around Hannah and snatch the red drink, sniffing the liquid. It's hard to tell if there's alcohol in it or not. I take a sip.

It's sweet and not the least bit strong or bitter. I don't taste any hint of alcohol.

"It's a Shirley Temple, asshole," Madisyn says and smacks me in the arm. "Give me back my drink."

I relinquish the glass and step back, out of the way.

Hannah folds her arms across her chest. "Are you going to explain yourself?"

Great, she's defending Madisyn. I gesture the bartender over and order a whiskey. Madisyn's glass is still full, and Hannah is sipping her girly drink. I'd guess it's a Fuzzy Navel.

Why can I remember what she ordered several years ago? That night is etched into my mind, and I can't help but fantasize about undressing Hannah and fucking her.

Did she make that big of an impression on me? I shift uncomfortably at the thought, and my gaze wanders down over her cleavage.

"She's not supposed to have alcohol," I say and meet her stare. "I wanted to make sure the bartender didn't mess up her order."

Hannah rolls her eyes. "It's not up to you what she orders."

While she's right, it is up to me to protect Madisyn. And if Hannah is with her tonight, then she's my responsibility too.

Madisyn sips her Shirley Temple and grabs Hannah's hand, dragging her onto the dance floor. I hold Hannah's seat at the bar, watching their unattended drinks and ensuring no one messes with them.

The girls dance and shoo off several men who show interest in them. I keep an eye out to make sure that they're not being bothered or harassed by anyone as I sip my whiskey and order a second.

Every so often, I glance at my watch and am relieved when Madisyn comes up to tell me she's done and ready to head home. That's my cue to drive her back to the compound. "Does Hannah have a ride home?" I ask.

"I'm right here," Hannah says and jabs me in the side, perturbed that I was asking Madisyn instead of directing my question at Hannah.

"Well, do you have someone picking you up?" I ask. I'm not keen on her driving home. She's had a few drinks, and I've seen her attempt to walk from the dance floor to the bar. The girl isn't the least bit steady on her feet. Although it could be the heels that she's wearing.

"No, I'm planning on driving home." Hannah pulls on her coat and grabs her car keys from her pocket.

"Nonsense. I'll drop you off on our way." I reach for her keys in her palm, and she closes her hand.

Madisyn is buttoning her coat, watching the exchange between us but not interfering. There's a hint of a smile on her lips, and I'm not sure what she finds funny.

"You're not driving home," I say. "Let me drive you or get you a cab."

Hannah emits a heavy sigh and zips up her coat. "Fine. If you want to drive me home, have at it. I live across town."

"The same place you lived in a few years ago?" I ask.

Her cheeks flame, and her eyes widen. "Luka!" she snarls and smacks my arm.

"What did I say?" I ask. Why are women so difficult to read? What did I do?

Madisyn's grin has only further grown on her face. She grabs her purse. "Are you two love birds ready?"

Hannah scowls at me, and I close the tab and pay the bartender for our drinks before leading both ladies outside to my vehicle. Madisyn climbs into the backseat, letting Hannah sit up front with me.

I'm not sure whether I should thank her or not.

While I don't remember the address of her apartment, I do know the general whereabouts. I shouldn't recall quite so easily where she lives. I've slept with dozens of women, and most I wouldn't remember if I walked past them on the street, let alone where they reside.

But Hannah was different.

I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because she kicked my ass at pool. I didn't let her win. I never even had a chance.

From the first moment that I spoke with her, it was evident that she is way out of my league. We're from different worlds. She probably wants kids, a family, and a white picket fence.

"I'll need your address when we get close," I say and head in the vicinity of her apartment complex.

"You don't remember?" Hannah jokes and pulls the seatbelt low and tight across her lap, securing the buckle.

I pull out of the parking lot of the bar. Madisyn is impeccably quiet. I glance in the rearview mirror, and she's staring out the side window. I'll take it as a win. Hannah probably tired her out on the dance floor.

She points to the red brick building as we near the apartment complex. "I'm in there," she says. I pull the SUV over to the side of the road and put the vehicle in park.

I glance back at Madisyn. She's playing on her cell phone in the backseat. "I will walk Hannah inside and make sure she gets home okay. Do you want to sit up front?"

"Sure," Madisyn says. She climbs into the front seat, and I leave the vehicle running, letting her stay warm. She locks the doors, and I hurry to the front entrance with Hannah, my hand on her lower back as I escort her to the door and inside the building.

"You didn't have to walk me all the way home," she says with a nervous laugh.

"It's the least I could do after tonight." I don't deny that it was a disaster. Seeing her again has been the highlight of my evening.

Once we're inside the lobby, Hannah hits the button for the elevator. She shuffles her feet and exhales a heavy sigh.

"You don't have to walk me to my apartment door. Madisyn is waiting for you," Hannah says. Her voice is soft and tentative. She licks her lips, the ones that taste remarkably like strawberries. I want to kiss her, but we've been battling all night.

It doesn't feel right.

I'm not the kind of guy who takes advantage of a woman. And she's been drinking.

"She's in a warm vehicle. The doors are locked. I want to make sure that you get home safely," I say.

The elevator doors open, and we step inside together. She hits the button for the third floor. "Listen, I'm sorry about tonight."

"About tonight?" She laughs, and there's an edge to her tone. She's not happy. She's pissed. But I'm not sure what I did yet. "What about lying to me several years ago? Are you sorry about that?"

"Lying to you," I whisper, trying to recall what I might have said that wasn't true and must have offended her.