Page 41 of The Bratva Betrayal

“You should be more concerned about someone taking a shot at you,” she tosses back.

“I’m not concerned.”

“Well, I am. Because the person who did it to me just slept on my couch.”

A laugh almost breaks loose from me.

My shirt sticks to my skin from the water she threw on me, and annoyance settles in.

“You done acting insane?” I ask.

“You pulled a gun on me.”

“You assaulted me in my sleep.”

She folds her arms across her chest, and the movement makes the situation worse because my attention catches on the swell of her breasts before I force it away again.

Everything about her is dangerous.

Not because she’s violent.

Because she distracts.

“I want you out,” she says.

I stand slowly from the couch, towering over her, and her chin lifts on instinct even though she has to tilt her head back to hold my gaze.

Most women step away from me when I get too close.

Cady plants her feet harder.

“That’s unfortunate,” I say, “because your boyfriend asked me to stay.”

A flicker of annoyance crosses her face at the word boyfriend.

Interesting.

“You mean Misha asked his brother to babysit me because he panicked.”

“He cares.”

“He’s incompetent.”

That one nearly gets a smile out of me, but I peel my soaked shirt over my head and toss it onto the couch behind me, catching the second her eyes drop.

Not long. Barely a second.

But long enough.

Her throat moves when she swallows, and the air shifts.

I know what I look like. I know what women see when they look at me, and judging by her reaction, Cady Gallagher isn’t immune to it, either.

“I need a towel,” I say.

She steps around me, her shoulder brushing mine hard enough to feel intentional. “Go home and get one.”

I watch her disappear toward the kitchen before following a few seconds later, mostly because leaving her alone in another room feels stupid after yesterday.