Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)
Twilight Sins: Chapter 4

I look from Sergey to Not-Sergey, my mouth hanging open.

With the way tonight is going, this whole date being some kind of sci-fi, body doubles mix-up isn’t completely out of the question. I mean, Kayla set me up on a decent date. No, it’s more than that—she set me up on an amazing date. That’s unheard of. It’s ghosts and ghouls and alien invasion levels of impossible.

So, on a night where the impossible is possible, there could be two Sergeys.

Except there aren’t two Sergeys. Not quite.

The two men in front of me could not be more different. The Sergey I’ve been with for the last twenty minutes is evolved, charming. He’s standing tall next to me, brooding, watchful. This new Sergey is sloppy drunk. He’s hunched over, his upper lip pulled back in some kind of Neanderthal grunt. And he’s lying.

God, I hope he’s lying.

“No, you’re not Sergey.” I shake my head and lean back, closer to the man I desperately want to be Sergey. I can feel the heat from his body soaking into my shoulder. “I’m with Sergey.”

The new guy taps his chest, sloshing whatever he’s drinking over the rim of his glass. “I’m Sergey. Your friend Katie… No, no… Kayla! Yeah. Kayla told me to meet you here.”

I frown. “How do you know… You talked to Kayla?”

Did that sneaky bitch set me up on two dates? I wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe she sent in reinforcements. She rapid-fire found me a backup date from whatever janky dating app she has me plugged into and sent Mr. Barfly here to find me in case the first one went poorly.

But… how did she find two men named Sergey?

I shake my head. “This doesn’t make any sense. I showed up fifteen minutes late and you weren’t here yet. You’re—You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he slurs. His eyes roll around like loose marbles in his sockets.

“You’re blitzed,” I snap. “Which would actually make a lot more sense. You’re absolutely the kind of guy Kayla would have set me up with. She has terrible taste.”

I wouldn’t usually insult someone to their face. I’ve made it through countless godawful dates with nothing but serene smiles and way too much forgiveness. But I’m mad now. I was having a good time. Mostly. Now, this guy is ruining it.

“Listen, sir…” This guy is not a sir, but I feel bad for being mean. Even if he’s so drunk he won’t remember it in the morning. “You’re drunk. You overheard our conversation and are trying to pull a prank. You’re Sergey. Ha ha. Very funny. Now, could you please leave and⁠—”

Suddenly, he lunges forward and grabs my arm. His palm is sweaty as it slides around my bicep. He jerks me towards him. “I’m not leaving without the date I was promised. You’re here to see me and⁠—”

There’s a flash of movement and the man lets go of my arm. I didn’t even see him move, but now, my actual date is standing between me and the drunk man. His hand is on Fake Sergey’s chest.

“Don’t lay a fucking hand on her unless you want to lose it,” he growls.

Violence has never been a turn-on for me. Emotional regulation is sexy. Using words instead of fists is how adults handle problems.

But now, there’s a wall of muscle between me and a possible threat, and my libido is suddenly singing a very different tune. Turns out having a man protect you from danger is really fucking hot.

Who knew?

“I’m not going to hurt her,” the guy protests. “You’re the one who stole my date. You some kind of serial killer or something?”

“You have no fucking clue what kind of killer I am.”

I shiver. A chill moves through me. I have no clue how this drunk guy isn’t backing down. Maybe if he was sober, he’d realize he doesn’t have a shot in hell of winning this fight.

People are starting to stare now. As much as I wouldn’t mind watching Sergey haul this guy out and lay him flat on the sidewalk, I want to finish our date. So I stand up and rest a hand on his shoulder. “He isn’t worth it, Sergey. The manager can throw him out. He’s been overserved, clearly.”

“He isn’t Sergey!” the guy argues. “I’m Sergey. You’re supposed to be here with me, you stupid⁠—”

“Watch it,” the first Sergey snarls. “Watch your mouth when you talk to her.”

The man wilts slightly, but he still doesn’t back down. “I’m the real Sergey. Kayla told me to meet you here at seven, but I got… held up. I was a little late, but⁠—”

“You were an hour late,” the first Sergey says. “It’s eight o’clock. You were going to make her sit and wait for you for an entire fucking hour. Do you not know the meaning of respect?”

His words wash over me all at once.

He isn’t denying that this guy is Sergey. He isn’t claiming that he’s the real Sergey. He is… He’s…

He’s confirming his story.

I look up at Sergey—er, Not-Sergey—and his face is creased in a frown. Yep, still handsome. “You deserve better than this fuck-up, Luna.”

“Who are you?” I ask in a barely-there whisper.

He doesn’t respond, but the real Sergey shrinks away. “I canceled plans to be here. A sure thing. Now, I wasted a whole night on a slut who can’t wait a few minutes.”

“I told you to watch your fucking mouth.” Handsome Stranger Who Is Not Sergey grabs Drunk Guy Who Is Sergey by the collar of his wrinkled shirt and hauls him towards the door. “I’ll give you one chance to get out of here. Get moving while you still have functioning legs, mudak.”

They both disappear out into the night. I’m left there, stupid and dumbfounded. All I can think is, What just happened? I saw him through the window. He had dark hair and a nice face, just like Kayla said. It’s not a bulletproof identification system, but there’s nothing attractive about the real Sergey.

Then again, I’m sure Sergey could pass as handsome if you take away the aggression and the alcohol… and maybe if the picture is kind of blurry.

But I called this terrifying titan Sergey. I walked into the restaurant and stood in front of him and apologized for being late. I call him by his name.

And he said…

What’s your name?

Oh my God.

He didn’t know my name. He never said his name was Sergey. He also didn’t answer a single question about his own life.

I drop down into my chair. At some point during all the excitement, our waitress must have brought out our food. Two steaming bowls of beef stew are on the table. It does look delicious, but I suddenly feel nauseous.

Kayla didn’t set me up on the best date of my life—she set me up with a drunk asshole who showed up an hour late and expected me to still be there waiting for him. He grabbed me like he owned me.

He grabbed me like Benjy used to.

He was going to haul me off to some dark corner of the restaurant until the man who didn’t have to ask me to sit down at his table stopped him. Until the man I don’t know at all protected me.

Confusion and gratitude are still swirling in my stomach when he walks back into the restaurant alone, no sign of drunken Sergey.

I can’t take my eyes off of his shoulders as he navigates tables and servers to get to me. People are staring at him, but he is looking right at me.

Now that I’ve seen what my night could have been, he’s even more handsome. Incredibly, the fact that he’s also a liar hasn’t touched the sizzle of chemistry I’ve felt between us all night. I’m still drawn to him.

Without a word, he settles back into his seat, grabs his drink, and takes a sip. His throat bobs. His finger taps absently against the condensation gathering on the side of the glass.

He’s a man in complete and utter control of himself.

Meanwhile, I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.

Before I can stop myself, I jump out of my chair. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Not Sergey.” He looks up at me, amusement sparking in his amber eyes. “But I can see you’ve already figured that out.”

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