Damaged Prince (Koalistia Bratva 1)

He looked confused and took a step back as I passed him to go to the front door, already opening it before he started to follow. He waited until we were outside to put his hat on and I almost snorted. “Yes, Mrs. Koalitsia. Where is it that you would like to go?”

“Back to where you took me for dinner.”

It was a hasty, last minute sort of plan—cobbled together between too much alcohol and happenstance. But I wasn’t about to wait in the house all night for him to reappear. Either he was going to come find me there or I was going to get some answers.

I just wished that the drive between our home and the club wasn’t as long as it were. It gave me too much time to waver in my decision making again. I hesitated as I approached the front entrance of what I knew to be the club. I didn’t even know if I could get in.For all I knew, I had only been allowed through last time because Dmitry had summoned me.

“Oh fucking fuck balls fuckity fuck shit damn goddamn shit motherfucking bitch,” I muttered under my breath as quietly as possible so as not to attract attention. I needed the extra confidence the curse words inspired in me, lifting my chin as I approached the door and not even blinking as it was opened for me.

It was a different atmosphere, entering this way instead of the door I’d been brought through earlier.

There was no long hallway waiting for me to ease me into the sudden noise, no walkway in which to get my bearings. One moment I was standing just outside of what looked like a soon-to-be demolished building, and the next, I was stepping over the threshold into a loud, modern club.

Lights flashed from the ceiling, the Russian music playing so loudly I could feel it vibrating through my very bones. The upbeat atmosphere almost made me regret coming. A feeling that was amplified as eyes moved to me, tracking my movements as I walked slowly through the club. I tried to appear as if I were just passing through, even though I was searching every table for my now-husband’s face.

“Zdravstvooyte,” a voice called out from my right, almost directly in my ear, making me turn.

A large man was suddenly standing next to me, his face contorted into a grin and eyebrows raised. What looked like diamonds glinted from insets in his teeth and his attractive features were held loosely despite the danger that seemed to rest in his gaze. “Manya Koalitsia, are you running from your husband already?” the giant teased, his head dipping.

It was that motion that jogged my memory, making me remember that he had been at my wedding . . .standing next to my groom.

“I—what? No. And it’s Mandy, not Manya,” I corrected blithely, trying to hold on to that same arrogance possessed by my husband. Dmitry.Fuck, I needed to stop calling him my husband so possessively inside my own head. “I came here for dinner with him earlier. . . .”

“So, Dmitry is here then?” the giant called out over the music, looking behind me as if expecting him to appear out of thin air.

“What? No. Who are you?” I finally gathered myself enough to ask, my eyebrows lifting in my confusion.

“Shura,” he answered shortly. “byki to your father-in-law . . . best friend to your husband. Why do you not know these things? Did you not see me at Dmitry’s side yesterday?” His gaze sharpened, growing suspicious, and I had to fight back the sudden wave of apprehension that came with it. Something told me that he was just as adept at making people disappear as he was at appearing suddenly beside people without warning.

He was byki to a Pakhan after all.

I leaned in, insecurity crawling up my spine as I realized the position, I’d put myself in. “Look, Dmitry is missing and—”

“Missing?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Da, missing. Look, he was supposed to meet me back at home like three hours ago and—”

He cut me off again, his friendly expression sobering into a look of intense displeasure. “You mean to tell me that you are here without him knowing?B’lyad'!” His fingers gripped my elbow suddenly, pulling me with him towards a side door. “If he is missing, you call someone. You do not just leave and run about the club—”

“I didn’t know who to call!” I interrupted him, raising my voice and my distress finally breaking through my words.

His eyes ran over me once more, his expression grim. “Da, da. I hear you. Come with me.” He started to weave us through the crowd, opening the door. But before we could pass through it, I dug my heels in.

I met his gaze with more conviction than I actually felt, setting my own jaw and staring into his narrowed eyes. “Are we going to look for Dmitry?” I demanded.

His jaw ticked, and the imagined sound of his teeth grinding played through my head as he stared woodenly at me. “We?”

“Yes,” I snapped, “We.”

He seemed to weigh my insistence for a moment, before exhaling roughly and pulling on my elbow again, making me stumble forward a half step. “Da. I bring you. So, you do not find your way into any more trouble. Also, to watch you go red when I say you insisted because you were so worried. Da! Like that!” He crowed, a grin breaking past his lips once more.

My face was heated, my teeth snapping shut audibly as he laughed, leading me from the building to the same car that I had arrived in.

I wasnotworried.