Page 39 of Death's Favor


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Tommy walks away, leaving me dumbstruck in the living room, my entire life teetering in the balance.

CHAPTER 15

TOMMY

I run so hardmy legs threaten to give out. Then I run a little harder. It’s the only way I know to burn up the radioactive energy blistering my insides. That damn woman is going to drive me insane.

Danika is Biba’s daughter. I thought that realization was enough to give me an aneurysm but add to it the fact that Biba wants to force her into a marriage with The Reaper, and I was blacking out with fury. The fucking Reaper.

Never.

Going.

To happen.

I’d rather kill her myself than hand her over to that psychopath. Not that it would come to that when marrying me would remove The Reaper from the equation. Biba’s going to be pissed, but he can suck a bag of dicks. Piece of shit motherfucker using his own daughter as a bargaining chip—makes me sick.

Danika deserves so much better, and I’ll give it to her if she’ll let me. If being the keyword. I could see the shock and despair written all over her face after my proposal. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a proposal, but the point is, she was horrified.

Her rejection was a spoon carving out my insides.

I know we’ve only known each other a week. I know that I’ve held her hostage and threatened her, but I’ve tried to explain myself. I’ve tried to show her the things I’m not good at saying—that I want to help her. That I desperately want her to want me. I’m beyond obsessed with her. Every minute I spend with her, every touch and taste of her, only solidifies my madness.

Jesus, the taste of her.

And the way she responded to my touch? Everything I ever could have dreamed of, only to be dashed away when she tried to mince words and squirm away from a life beside me.

The problem is, I’m not made to charm. I’m logical and practical and blunt. I tend to see things in black and white, which is why reluctance on her part feels like complete rejection. My defenses were up before I had a chance to calm myself, which only made me sound that much more frigid. Not the ideal way to convince her I’m worthy of her surrender. Now, I don’t know what she’ll choose, and I hate the uncertainty.

As if you’ll give her up if she chooses to go.

True. I’ve already started planning for the fallout of our marriage. It’ll create ripples. Renzo’s going to be furious, but he can share that bag of dicks with Biba because he married a woman from the Irish outfit. He has no room to argue about me wanting a woman linked to the Russians. This is happening, even if I’m the only goddamn person on board.

When I get back to the apartment, Danika is cooking breakfast. We didn’t talk much during the rest of the evening, so I’m not sure what she’s thinking regarding my offer. I want to demand an answer to alleviate my suspense, but that would be selfish. I’ve already been an ass. The least I can do is not force the issue any further. Besides, now that I’m back in the apartment, I’m plenty distracted, keeping control of my dick while she walks around my kitchen in those tiny pajama shorts she wears. When she reaches for an upper cabinet, I can see thetiniest bit of ass cheek peeking out. It makes me hungry for a hell of a lot more than eggs.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind.” She flashes a shy smile. “I was hungry and thought I’d get breakfast started.”

Smile at me like that and you can do whatever the hell you want.

As soon as the thought drifts across my mind, I realize it’s true. She’s frying the eggs rather than scrambling them, which is how I make them, and she’s using the wrong pan, yet I hardly notice. My fixation on her is practically rewiring my brain. Things that seemed important a week ago aren’t even registering.

I wipe up a dab of raw egg on the counter—some things are too ingrained to be overlooked. “If you’re going to be my wife, my home is your home.” Okay, so I didn’t leave it alone, but I didn’t force an answer, either. I’ll call it a win.

She turns toward me as though she’s going to say something before her gaze sweeps down my sweat-soaked body. Gold-flecked heat flashes in her eyes when they return to mine.

“Um…” she says distractedly. “Okay.”

Yeah, Danika Dobrev is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

When the phone rings, she answers, and I take over at the stove as though we’ve been together for years. A natural transition that is so minor in the grand scheme of things but fills me with hope.

“Mom, I told you when we texted earlier, it’s not safe there.” She listens to her mother’s reply before continuing. “This new friend I’m staying with, his name is Tommy. He said he’d find a place for you guys to stay. Listen, he’ll tell you.” She puts the phone on speaker and stares at me pleadingly.

“Danika’s very worried for you. I’m happy to help get a place and make sure you and your mother are safe while we deal withBiba.” I meant to work on it yesterday but was too distracted by the evening’s bombshell of revelations.

Petra Dobrev’s voice is firm when she responds. “That’s very generous of you to offer, but we don’t want to go into hiding. This is our home.”

“Mom,” Danika says with exasperation. “You know it’ll only get worse if Biba sends one of his men over again. He could kill you next time.”