Her Rustanov Bully: the (possibly romantic?) tale of how I pucked around and found out
Her Rustanov Bully: Chapter 22

“Do not create a scene,” Rina advised in Russian as soon as Yom jumped up from his seat, where he’d been “having lunch” three covert tables away from Lydia and her friends.

“I will make sure he is dealt with,” she assured him. The mraz who dared to assault Lydia was already on the ground with Rina’s knee pressed into his back.

But it wasn’t enough.

Yom stormed toward the pinned boy, ready to, as his American friends often said, “choose violence.”

“Yom, don’t!”

Suddenly, someone was in front of him, pushing against his chest.

“Wow, it’s like trying to stop a moving stone wall!” a strained voice said, then pleaded, “Please stop. I really don’t want to get run over on top of being attacked with soda today.”

Yom came to a standstill, the storm clearing from his eyes when he realized it was Lydia doing the asking.

“Are you okay?” His focus shifted entirely from the frat boy to the girl in front of him. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine.” Lydia dropped her hands from his chest and glanced down at the ruined sweater he’d gifted her. “Just… damp.”

Damp. Because that mraz had assaulted her.

The dark storm regathered, this time in his chest. “He will pay for this.”

“Yep, yep, he totally will.” Perhaps sensing Yom’s intent to destroy the perpetrator in front of his no-longer-sniggering friends, Lydia took ahold of his arm. “And, yay, here’s security, talking to your, um… guard person. Problem solved.”

Not yet. Yom tracked Rina’s conversation with the security guard. She was probably giving the man instructions to escort the frat boy out—along with a wad of cash to ensure they’d get his address and anything else needed to hunt him down after the play-acting of releasing him to the school’s authorities was done.

“Hey, do you want to join us for lunch?”

Yom’s gaze swung back to Lydia, who was regarding him with a cheery smile. He had no doubt it was forced. It looked like the one she gave him this morning while waving him goodbye—before canceling their lunch plans with a voice text less than ten minutes later.

It didn’t matter. He would make her heed the Anything List in the future. Today was a one-off that would never be allowed again.

His eyes followed the soda thrower as he was led out, with his main personal attendant, Stepan, covertly tailing behind.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” Lydia waved a hand in his face to pull his attention back to her. “Right?”

Embarrassment seeped in, replacing the rage as Lydia waited for his answer with a confused look on her pretty face.

In actuality, he’d already eaten lunch while watching her and her friends from afar after Rina reported they’d headed to the student center from Lydia’s house.

But even he was sane enough to see how insane admitting that would sound.

“I will drive you to your volunteer shift,” Yom informed her, avoiding the question. “As I said this morning.”

“Oh, totally. Great!” The wary confusion seeped from her face. “Well, thanks for meeting me, but I actually have to run by my house first to pick up the suitcase I packed. I thought we’d be meeting there.”

“Nyet. Lunch. Then shelter. That was the Anything List agreement,” he reminded her. “Though you are already skipping lunch part.”

Yom didn’t bother hiding the accusatory note in his voice.

“Yeah, well, like I said, my friend needed me.” Lydia took a defensive step back.

“Da, you are being too nice,” Yom muttered, glancing at the friend Rina had mentioned. The lighter Black woman still sat in the booth they’d chosen for lunch—the lunch Lydia should have spent with him. “This is your fatal flaw, as you told me in Berlin.”

“Correction.” Lydia tilted her head with a wince. “My mom thinks I’m too nice. But, like I also said in Berlin, I like helping people.”

“Speaking of helping, I’d love to assist here.”

The best friend, whom Yom hadn’t noticed standing just a few feet away, chose this moment to interject.

“Lyds, maybe I can finish packing your suitcase, and Yom’s friend who handled that D1 a-hole could pick it up. What was her name again?”

“Trish, seriously?” Lydia asked with a disappointed shake of her head. “I’m not going to let you do that, just so you can get your flirt⁠—”

“Her name is Rina,” Yom answered Trish. He then turned back to Lydia. “Da, I will send Rina to your place to pick up the suitcase, and she will drop it off at my house.”

Lydia blinked at him. She looked like she wanted to argue. But then she seemed to notice all the onlookers in the food court openly watching them have this conversation.

“Fine. You can drive me to the shelter,” she muttered, lowering her voice. “I’ll just take the bus to the library after my shift.”

Yom furrowed his brow, his chest tightening at the brittle edge in her voice. The fake cheer she’d been clinging to had splintered completely. He didn’t miss the way she self-consciously glanced around, her shoulders curling inward, as if trying to make herself smaller.

“Can we go?” she asked again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Like, now?”

Yom followed her gaze to the crowd that was still gaping at her, their curious eyes burning into her like a thousand tiny daggers. Then his eyes returned to her face—her wide, wounded eyes. Her trembling hands as she wiped at the sticky soda clinging to her skin. Something sharp and primal erupted in his chest, slicing through his usual calculated control.

Nyet.

The word roared through his mind. He could not—would not—leave this here.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice flat but resolute.

Her wary expression returned, and she glanced up at him, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean, not yet?”

Instead of answering, Yom turned and climbed onto the nearest empty table. The vinyl surface groaned under his weight, but it held. He barely noticed it—his focus was laser-sharp now.

“Yom? Yom? What are you doing?” Lydia’s voice rose, tight with worry.

But Yom couldn’t stop. The memory of her face—the shock, the humiliation, the pain she tried to hide—was like gasoline on the fire already raging inside him. Galvanizing him to act.

“Listen, everyone! I am making an announcement,” he called out, his heavily accented voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. “And I want you all to hear it.”

He didn’t have to glance around to know every eye in the food court was now on him. But his gaze stayed locked on Lydia whose expression was a mix of shock and dread.

“Especially Lydia,” he added, his voice steady as a storm settled over him.