Page 67 of Twisted Prince
But he doesn’t.
Doubling back, he twists to dodge the larger man’s heavy fist and opens a long gash along Harper’s ribs in retaliation. Bellowing something in Russian, the bear-like bouncer only seems enraged by Gleb’s attack. He lumbers forward, but whatever he said must have been a command to the remaining three bouncers. Because they all leap into action at once.
Hand over my mouth to muffle my scream, I watch in horror as they close in on Gleb. There’s no chance he can escape all four of them.
But rather than fear or defeat, Gleb’s green eyes shine with laser focus. As if this is what he was meant for. This is what he was made to do. I’ve seen him kill men before. But I’ve never seen anything like this.
Before they can grab him, Gleb’s over the back of a chair, somersaulting through the air and landing in a low crouch. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing hard over the effort. His first victim, on the other hand—Harper—falls to a knee, his hand clasping his wounded side as blood starts to spill across the plush carpet.
The three remaining bouncers pause, their cold eyes shifting to surprise as they take in the severity of his injury. And when they turn back to look at Gleb, he unleashes a bone-chilling smile.
“What? Did you think I forgot how to spar since I’ve been gone?” he challenges.
Confusion washes through me, and I realize for the first time just how little I know about Gleb’s past. Or about Gleb at all, really. I didn’t even know he’d been to Boston before. Though as the words come together now, he clearly has a personal relationship with these men.
They must not have left on good terms.
Because every man in this room looks like he’s ready to kill Gleb.
As one, the three remaining bouncers rush him. The middle man launches the chair separating them clear across the room. And my heart skips a beat as it comes crashing down with enough force to tell me just how heavy it was.
Trapped in the center of them, Gleb moves with lightning speed, dodging punches, blocking knees, and delivering injuries with such ease, that he might as well be dancing. He’s everywhere at once, somehow tracking each of their moves and able to respond before they land a punch.
Pulse roaring in my ears, I watch in stunned fascination, unable to breathe or blink for fear that I might miss something.
Twisting with feline dexterity, Gleb slashes upward, drawing a thin red line from Hans’s jawbone up his cheek and through his eyebrow. Hans releases a howl of pain, his hand clapping over his face as blood pours over his fingers. And with sickening horror, I wonder if he didn’t just lose an eye.
But though the slick move took a second man out of commission, it also left Gleb exposed for the breadth of a second. And as outnumbered as he is, that’s all it takes. Fedor buries his fist in Gleb’s solar plexus, doubling him over with the force of his blow.
Mishka leaps into action, twisting Gleb’s arms behind him and wrenching the knives from his grasp.
Still, that doesn’t stop him. Recovering quickly, Gleb kicks out behind him, sending Mishka stumbling back. Gleb drops to the ground and sweeps out with his leg, bringing Fedor to the floor with him.
Back on his feet in a flash, Gleb dances out of reach as Mishka comes at him. Fedor scrambles off the carpet, joining his companion as they close in on him once more. Their fight brings them right before me, giving me a close-up view of Gleb’s taut and straining neck muscles, the way a vein pulses in his temple, even as he looks far too calm.
Hoisting a side table meant to hold drinks, he wields it like a weapon, jamming it into Fedor’s chest and then blocking Mishka’s punch as they attack him simultaneously. And though the bouncers don’t seem to think quite as creatively about their surroundings, that’s all it takes to inspire their own improvised weapons.
While Mishka rains blows down on Gleb with futile ferocity, Fedor snatches up another side table and grips it by the legs.
“Gleb, behind you!” I scream when he doesn’t seem to realize what’s coming.
He turns, bringing his makeshift shield with him, just in time to block Fedor’s attack. Then, with a feral snarl, Mishka sees his opening. Grabbing Gleb by the throat, he slams him so forcefully against the glass beside me that the entire wall reverberates.
The side table falls from Gleb’s hands as his head hits hard enough I’m terrified he might black out. But he seems to cling to consciousness, and his hands come up to grasp Mishka’s thick wrist. Back pressed firmly against the glass, Gleb is so close I could almost touch him, and yet he’s entirely out of reach.
Tossing aside his own side table, Fedor steps up to grasp Gleb’s thumb and wrenches it forcefully away from Mishka. Together, they manage to wrestle Gleb to his knees and bring his arms behind his back. Panting from their efforts, they turn their eyes back toward Vinny, who still stands in the doorway.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Mishka growls.
“I think the Boss made it perfectly clear. Kill him,” Vinny says, his blue eyes dark with malice.
“No, wait! Wait!” I plead, hands scrambling uselessly against the glass as my body tries pointlessly to intervene.
But my protest makes Hans pause, one hand still covering his bloodied face as the other reaches for Gleb’s dropped knife. And all eyes turn to me.
“You can’t kill him, please,” I insist, my body still pressed firmly against the glass.
“Oh, I can’t, can’t I?” Vinny asks, his Irish brogue lilting with dry humor as he steps farther into the room to speak directly to me.
