Ravil
The guys are gathered in the living room when I come out, no doubt waiting for me. The television is on, but Oleg turns it down when I enter.
Dima’s already taken Lucy’s laptop out of her bag and is doing his thing with it. Making every bit of it accessible to me. Inserting tracking chips in it, her purse, and her phone in case she somehow gets away.
“She is beautiful,” his twin, Nikolai, observes from an armchair, still speaking in Russian as I ordered.
A thread of irritation ripples through me. I’m not the jealous type, but I suppose I am possessive. Not that I believe for even a microsecond any of these men would ever touch what belongs to me. We are brothers in arms, and I am their pakhan. Loyalty runs deep between us.
“You will make pretty babies,” Maxim agrees in English.
