Nightfall

by Nicole Fox

I shift against the car again, hoping to disguise the growing hardness between my legs.

  I need to fuck her. That’s the problem.

  Right now, she’s this elusive woman. Beautiful and fiery and, aside from my fingers, unexplored. As soon as I get between her legs, the mystery will be gone, and I’ll be able to focus on work. On what is really important.

  I thought it would be nice to let her settle into the house before jumping into sex. Courtney put on a brave front, but I could tell she was freaked. I didn’t want to traumatize her from the onset and then spend six miserable months together.

  So, I’ve tried to make her feel comfortable at my house. We’ve eaten meals together and even had short but polite conversations. Every interaction has dripped with tension, though. Our first night together sits between us like an elephant in the room, and we won’t be able to avoid it forever.

  I wondered whether she’s been thinking about it as much as I have.

  I roll my neck on my shoulders and take a deep breath.

  Tonight.

  Tonight will be the night. We’ll fuck and whatever spell she has over me will be broken.

  My phone rings. I dig into my pocket and pull it out to see who’s calling.

  “Nico?” Rurik asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know the number.”

  Rurik stands up, arms crossed over his chest like he’s going to guard me against whoever is on the other end of the phone. I answer.

  “New location,” an unfamiliar voice says. “I work with Nico, and he can’t make it out there tonight. You have to come to him.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” I say. “We agreed on here and here is where we’ll meet.”

  The man makes a disinterested noise. “Then I guess you’ll be waiting all night. I just sent the address where we’ll be for the next hour. Show up if you want your weapons.”

  Before I can say anything, the man hangs up.

  I growl and shove the phone in my pocket. “Nico is fucking dead.”

  “Dead?” Rurik asks, eyes narrowed.

  “He will be, once I kill him,” I clarify. “One of his guys called to tell me they’re changing the location.”

  “Oh.” Rurik sighs and then turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “And you’re going to let him do that?”

  It’s a show of disrespect to change the location last minute, especially through an intermediary rather than calling me himself. While I want to ignore the demand, I can’t. Nico is a major key in our weapons shipments. Though, if I get my way, he won’t be for long.

  “I’ll make sure Nico gets what’s coming to him,” I say. “But we need to go.”

  Rurik calls in more men to back us up. If the location is being changed, we don’t want to take any chances.

  “Not with the Italians on our asses like they have been the last few months,” Rurik says. “You and I make a good team, but we won’t win in a firefight that’s just the two of us.”

  I nod in agreement and then pause. “Do you think this could be the Italians?”

  He thinks on it for a minute and then shakes his head. “They’re showmen. If they wanted to attack us, they would have done it at the first location. Probably with a pyrotechnics show to announce their arrival.”

  I laugh. “You’re probably right. Subtlety isn’t their strong suit.”

  Still, something about the situation rubs me the wrong way. Nico has always been up front with me. He’s used middlemen to communicate a few times, but he’s one of the few business relationships I have that I talk to directly. I mean, he came as a guest to my father’s third wedding. The man is as close to family as one can have in this line of work.

  The new location is closer to the city. It’s on a frontage road just off the highway and cars trickle down the road despite the late hour. It’s much more public than I care for.

  Streetlights illuminate the sidewalk and part of the road, but the middle of the lot is dark. And in the dark center sits one car.

  “That him?” Rurik asks, turning off the headlights and squinting.

  “I can’t tell.” There’s no signal to let us know the person in the car sees us or knows we’re here. “Send a few men over to check it out.”

  Rurik nods and pulls out his phone. After a few seconds of sending out texts, I hear a car door open and close behind us and then two of my men walk towards the lone car, guns drawn.

  I watch carefully as they approach the vehicle from both sides, surrounding the driver to ensure he can’t get out. When they reach the front windows, they pivot and aim at the front side. Then, they drop their guns.

  “What is going on?” I say, mostly to myself.

  “Not good,” Rurik says. “It’s not good.”

  As proof of Rurik’s guess, the two men turn and jog back towards our car. I get out.

  “Who is it? What’s wrong?”

  I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but clearly this was some kind of trap. I look around, expecting to see Italians approaching us from all sides.

  “It’s Nico,” Pasha says. His face is so white, it’s practically glowing.

  “In the car?” I lean around to look over his shoulder.

  Pasha nods. “He’s dead.”

  I hide my shock. I already relented to a change in the location and now my supplier is dead. We are being played, and I don’t want to look any more confused than I feel.

  “Are you sure?”

  They nod solemnly. “He’s definitely dead.”

  I wave for Rurik to follow me, and we walk towards the car slowly, keeping an eye on the edges of the lot. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else nearby, unless they’re hiding in the trees. Still, there is no such thing as being too careful in a situation like this.

  I inch around the back of the car, keeping my distance, and already I can see the blood splatter.

  On the driver’s side window and the rear window. There’s a puddle leaking from the driver’s side door.

  No one could lose that much blood and survive.

  Still, I want to make sure it really is Nico, so I walk up to the car and reach for the handle.

  “Wait,” Rurik says, grabbing my shoulder. “It could be a bomb.”

  He drops down onto his stomach and looks under the car, studying it. “I don’t see anything, but stand back while I open it.”

  I wouldn’t ask Rurik to risk his life for me like this, but I won’t refuse his offer.

  With a safe distance between me and the car, Rurik slowly pulls open the door. When nothing happens for several seconds, I approach again.

  The smell of iron hits me like a wall, and I cover my nose with my forearm.

  “Shit,” I mutter, shaking my head. “This is bad.”

  There are blood smears all over the console and the steering wheel, and tears in the upholstery. Nico struggled. Hard.

  Rurik turns away and wrinkles his nose. “It’s rare to see a takedown this brutal. He must have pissed off the wrong men.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think this had anything to do with Nico. I think this has to do with me.”

  Rurik leans into the car and pulls out something smeared with blood. “I guess we’ll find out. The killers left a note.”

  This will happen to every single one of your men and every single one of your contacts unless you back off. We will dismantle your tower brick by brick. Don’t test us.

  The note is signed with three slashes of color in the bottom corner: green, white, and red.

  The Italians.

  6

  Dmitry

  I throw the note on the ground and move quickly back towards the car. “We need to get out of here, now. And call Vadik. He’s waiting at the docks for a shipment.”

  “You think this has something to do with that?” Rurik asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit. “But I want to know if it does.”

  Rurik calls Vadik while I call the number that brought me to this damn warehouse in the
first place.

  Predictably, there is no answer.

  I open up a browser and search the number online, but no names pop up. Nothing to give me any clue where it could have come from.

  Though, I don’t really need additional proof.

  The three-colored stamp on the bottom of the letter is enough.

  For months, the Italians have been encroaching on our territory and questioning our hold on the city, and finally, they’ve taken action.

  My father would berate me for not acting sooner if he were still alive to do so. My grandfather, too, for that matter.

  I was always too soft for their taste. Too measured.

  You have to act fast. Strike now. While the iron is hot.

  I like to know every option. For instance, if I’d walked into Lawrence’s shop and killed him outright for missing a payment, I wouldn’t have Courtney back at my house waiting for me.

  Though, when it comes to Courtney, I can’t help but think I should have struck that iron while it was hot.

  Because, oh damn, is it hot.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus. One of my most reliable suppliers is dead—murdered in a gruesome way as a message to me—and all I can think about is fucking Courtney. For fuck’s sake, I need to break her and end this stupid mind game I’m playing with myself.

  Rurik walks over, pulling me from my thoughts.

  He shakes his head. “There was no answer. I called a few other guys, but no one has seen or heard from Vadik all night.”

  “Shit.” I pull out my phone and make a few more calls. Rurik is right. No one has seen or heard from Vadik since he left to pick up the shipment.

  Which probably means he’s dead.

  I’m just about to suggest a Bratva-wide meeting—something I do very rarely—when Pasha walks up, chewing nervously on his lower lip.

  “What is it?” I bark when he doesn’t say anything immediately.

  “Vadik is in the hospital.” He shakes his head. “He was ambushed. Luckily, he’s alive and someone found him. But he’s in rough shape.”

  “The Italians?” I ask, clenching my fist.

  Pasha shrugs. “We don’t know.”

  “But we can assume. Where is the shipment?”

  “Gone,” Pasha says, shrinking back like he’s afraid I’ll lash out at him for the mistake.

  Unfortunately, even if I wanted to, there’s no one to blame but myself. I should have dealt with the Italians when they first started overstepping the boundaries we’d established.

  “What do you want to do now?” Rurik asks. “Should we call a meeting?”

  I was considering it, but now it seems too reactionary. I’ve allowed the Italians to take ground and our weapons, which looks bad enough. If I overreact and call a Bratva-wide meeting, my authority will be called into question. I have to play it cool.

  I shake my head. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

  Rurik frowns. “Are you sure?”

  I snap my attention to him, eyes narrowed. He backs down without a word, lowering his head and nodding.

  “Everyone should go home for tonight,” I say. “Keep your guard up, but the Italians won’t strike again just yet. They have what they want, so now we need to take time to formulate our plan as well.”

  Doing nothing after our supplier has been killed and one of our best runners has been beaten feels like defeat, but I need time to formulate the best way to strike back. As much as my father would push me to fight and charge and take no prisoners, maintaining my calm and not changing my behavior is the best thing to do. For now.

  Rurik rides back with Pasha, leaving me alone in my car for the drive back.

  I turn on the radio, but hate every song playing and flick it off. Sitting alone with my thoughts isn’t any better.

  I hear my father’s voice in my head, giving life to all of the doubts I’ve ever had about my role as leader of the Bratva. I spy a half-full bottle of whiskey in the console. I brought it to share a drink with Nico, as was our tradition. Now, I decide to have some without him.

  With no one to share with, I put the bottle to my lips and tip it back, taking a big swig. Then, I immediately take another.

  The alcohol burns going down and then warms my chest and my stomach. I like the burn. I need it, so that this all doesn’t feel like some fucked-up nightmare. I take another drink.

  By the time I open the gate at the end of my drive and then pull up in front of the house, my head feels hazy. Usually, it takes more than a few shots to tilt me off my axis, but I haven’t eaten anything most of the day, and the liquor is wreaking blissful havoc in my empty stomach.

  I stumble on the first stair walking into the house and accidentally slam the front door closed. It’s loud enough that everyone in the house must have heard it, but Courtney doesn’t come to see who it is.

  I walk down the hall, looking in rooms as I pass. She isn’t in the sitting room or the kitchen or the dining room. So, I take the stairs to the second floor, gripping the railing to keep from tipping backwards, and go to check her room.

  She’s staying in one of the larger guest rooms in the house. Usually, it’s the one I reserve for very important business associates, because it has a full bathroom with a vanity and a balcony.

  I lift my hand to knock on her door, but then I hear the music.

  It’s the kind of music I heard on the radio on my drive home—bass-filled pop music that usually sets my teeth on edge. Apparently, it’s what Courtney likes.

  I turn the knob slowly and push open the door.

  Courtney is facing away from me in the middle of the room—the desk chair and trunk at the foot of the bed pushed out of the way for additional space—dancing. She moves with the music, fluid and loose but also structured, like it’s a routine she has worked on before. Watching her feels like a physical kind of poetry. Foreign, yet tangible.

  She’s almost near enough to touch. To tease. To taste.

  Almost.

  I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, watching her move.

  She’s wearing a tiny pair of shorts that cuts off high on her thigh and a white tank top that is thin enough I can see the lacy white bra she has on underneath. Her tan skin pops in comparison with the white, looking deep and rich, and her dark hair is piled in an artful bun on top of her head.

  I’m shamelessly admiring the curve of her body when she turns around, arms thrown over her head, hip jutting out, eyes closed so she can feel the music. Then, she opens them and yelps when she sees me.

  She pulls her arms in to cover her midsection as though she’s naked and then darts over to the radio to turn it off, plunging the room into a thick silence.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” she says, breathing heavily. She wipes her forehead with the back of her arm and looks nervously at the floor.

  “I didn’t know you could dance like that,” I say, making no move to hide my own arousal.

  “I didn’t know I was being watched,” she says again.

  I move into the room, closing the door behind me, and sit down on the office chair she has pushed into the corner. She follows me with her eyes like a nervous cat.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” I say. “Please. Continue.”

  “I was done anyway,” she says, crossing her arms.

  Tonight is the night, I think, remembering my promise to myself earlier. I didn’t act with the Italians when I should have, and if I don’t act soon with Courtney, she’s going to think she has more control than she does. She will think she can defy me.

  It’s my duty to show her that I make the rules. At least for the next six months.

  “Continue.” Any warmth is gone from my voice. It’s an obvious command.

  Courtney hesitates, staring at me for a moment, her eyes wide and glassy. When she realizes my decision is made, she walks slowly to the radio and turns it on.

  The song has changed, this one a slower R&B kind of song, but I’m not p
aying any attention to the lyrics.

  Even walking, Courtney is graceful. Each movement is thoughtful and measured, and she pauses for only a second in the middle of the room before she begins.

  Her full hips taper into a tiny waist, and she circles her body, sending ripples of movement up her arms where her hands are swirling above her head. Then, she bends at the waist, popping her backside out towards me, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and grab her.

  Pull her into me.

  Push into her.

  She curls her body out and up, arching her back, and then turns to look at me over her shoulder.

  I curl a finger for her to come to me, but she has only taken one step when I stand up and meet her in the middle of the room.

  I grab her hips with greedy hands and press myself against her back. Courtney arches her lower back and grinds into me, letting out a moan.

  The noise is small, but it rocks through me like she screamed out my name. In my drunken, horny state, it’s all the encouragement I need.

  I grab her arm and spin her around, threading my arm around her lower back; then, I walk her back towards the bed.

  Her lips are full and pouty, mouth opened in surprise, and I lean down and capture them with mine. Her breath is sweet, like a cinnamon mint, and it smells like flowers when I run my hands through her hair.

  Every inch of her is as soft as it looks. Her skin is smooth and warm, and I can’t stop myself from sliding my hands under her shirt and feeling the flat plane of her stomach.

  I’m about to pull her tank top over her head when suddenly, she grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it up. I’m surprised she’s taking any initiative at all, so I don’t hesitate to lift my arms and let her pull my shirt free.

  As soon as she does, she stands back as far as my grip will allow and studies my body, one eyebrow raised.

  “Like what you see?” I whisper, circling my hips into hers.

  Courtney doesn’t answer, but based on the points of her nipples peeking through her lacy bra and tank top, I can guess how she feels.

  I tug at the tank top again and Courtney brushes my hand away and grabs her own shirt, peeling it up her body.