by Renee Rose
“Who waited at Rue’s?” Ravil turns his quiet authority on Story.
“Some guys. Russian. They seemed like they were waiting for me,” Story says. “Out the back door, in the parking lot. Oleg…” —her throat works as she swallows— “um, Oleg took care of them.”
Maxim sends me a grim look. To Story, he says gently, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Ravil pins me with an assessing gaze. After a moment of charged silence, he says, “Story, I need to have a word alone with Oleg.”
“No.” Story steps closer to me. I tuck her into my side. “I’m a part of this now, and I need to know what it is,” Story asserts.
Maxim shakes his head. “No, doll. Everything you hear puts you more in danger. We’ll help you two communicate, but—”
“I’m a part of it.” My shalun'ya lifts her chin in challenge.
“Oleg?” Ravil asks me.
Fuck. Of course, I don’t want her to hear any of it. But as she pointed out, she’s already a part of it. And I’m incapable of denying her much of anything. She said we were in a fight because I hadn’t told her what was going on.
I nod.
“All right.” He waves an arm toward the office. “Max.” Ravil orders Maxim to follow, and the four of us troop into Ravil’s office, where he closes the door and takes a seat behind his desk. Maxim sinks into the chair in the corner. I yank a chair over beside mine for Story, but she drops into my lap instead. My arms band around her, pulling her in close as I adjust my wounded leg away from her weight. It’s a hot, throbbing point of pain at the moment, making it hard to stay focused.
Ravil considers me for a moment. “In the two years since you’ve been with me, you’ve never talked about your past.”
I don’t move.
“I know you spent twelve years in a Siberian prison on a drug charge. I believed you were with the bratva before that, and they had cut out your tongue, but now I’m not so sure. I do know that while on the inside, you acted as enforcer for bratva members. Timofey Gurin wrote your introduction to me.”
I make no movement. There wasn’t a question, and I can’t speak to fill silences. Story toys with my fingers where they lie on her thigh, squeezing my thumb.
“I assumed you were running from something or you wouldn’t have left Russia. I’d thought it was your old cell. The introduction would’ve worked just as easily in Moscow. Or St. Petersburg. Or Kazan. But you came here to a country where you didn’t know the language. To work for me, a pakhan you’d never met.”
Another pause for silence to settle.
“You refused to say who cut out your tongue.”
It’s true. He asked me point-blank at least three times when I first arrived, and I stonewalled him, like I stonewall everyone.
“Either it was cut out as punishment for something you already told, or it was to keep you from talking in the future.”
When I remain passive, he snaps, “Tell me which.”
I scramble to pull out my phone and text him.
He reads the text aloud. “Future. That was my guess. So now someone’s come around to get your secrets out of you, is that it?”
I nod.
“And they figured out that Story is leverage.”
I drop my forehead against her shoulder, the pain of my situation flowing fresh again.
There’s a long pause, then Ravil asks, “Who cut out your tongue, Oleg?”
I don’t move to answer him. I need his help. His protection. If he throws me out, Story and I will be sitting ducks. I may excel at killing, but even the simplest things are difficult for me without being able to communicate. But my answer will also damn me. He may get rid of me anyway.
There’s a huge bounty on Skal’pel’. Clearly on me now, too. People must think I know how to get to Skal’pel’. Or know the new identities of his past clients. Maybe someone is looking for a particular client—who knows why I’m suddenly on the radar.
Story watches me even more closely than Ravil.
“It was an interesting choice, cutting your tongue out. Did they frame you for the drug charge, too?”
I jerk with surprise at the question, giving Ravil the answer he sought.
“You see, to me, it shows a certain affection. Why not simply kill you? Unless this was a person adverse to murder. But considering your training and skill with all manner of weapons, not just your fists, I doubt that was the case. You didn’t learn what you know in prison.”
My heart thuds painfully in my chest. I tighten my hold on Story, who attempts to soothe me by lightly trailing her fingernails across my inked forearm.
“Am I right? There was love between you. He opted to silence you rather than kill you. And so you keep his secrets.”
I let out a shaky breath. Is that true?
Blyad'. I don’t know. Maybe it is. I came from nothing. I was nothing. Skal'pel' gave me a home and a job when I was still an eager-to-please youth. He made me feel like a man when I was just teetering on the edge of adulthood. He was a father figure when I had none. In return, I was loyal as hell.
I’d thought that loyalty died when he ruined me, but maybe some of it is still there.
No.
I shake my head.
“No, you’re not keeping his secrets?”
I stare at Ravil suddenly feeling sick. I guess I am keeping them. But it wasn’t a conscious choice. I can’t fucking speak! Except I think Ravil might be right. Some part of me might still be protecting Skal'pel' and, by default, his clients. Loyalty is a character trait I don’t know how to turn off.
Ravil laces his fingers and rests them against his chin. “If I made you choose, Oleg, between me and him, who would it be?”
Story twists to look me in the face. I don’t expect the mountain of grief that pours over me, even though I’m sure of my answer. It’s grief over what Skal'pel' did to me. The pain of betrayal from a man who was like a father to me.
I point at Ravil.
No contest. He’s the better man, a hundred times over.
“Good.” There’s sympathy in Ravil’s gaze. Like he sees my pain. “Then you have my protection. Story, too, that goes without saying.”
“But?” Story demands.
Ravil raises his brows.
“It sounded like there was going to be a but.”
She’s right, it did.
Ravil shrugs. “But if and when I need you to spill, you’ll spill.”
I’m sweating but cold. I stare at Ravil.
“I don’t give a fuck who you worked for, Oleg,” he tells me, and I can suddenly breathe again. “You’ve never crossed me. Your fierce loyalty is part of who you are. I’m not going to fault you or read more into you still being loyal to someone who fucked you.”
The room seems to spin. I don’t know why I want to cry like a fucking baby.
Story seems to sense it because she nuzzles her face into my neck and nibbles my skin.
Maxim folds his arms across his chest and looks from me to Ravil. “Something tells me you know exactly who he worked for.”
Ravil spreads his hands. “I have a guess.”
“Please,” Maxim prompts. “I can’t fix if I don’t know what the fuck we’re dealing with.”
Ravil looks his way. “Have you gotten a good look at Oleg’s tongue?”
Story tightens her hand on my thumb, turns her face into my neck in solidarity.
Maxim shoots me a look and rubs his nose, knowing it’s a touchy subject for me.
Ravil answers his question, which apparently was rhetorical. “I have. And it looked pretty damn clean. Not a rough cut. No visible scar tissue. Almost like it got cauterized. Or was done by laser.”
Laser. That never occurred to me, but it makes sense. I didn’t wake up with a mouthful of blood. A cut would’ve caused me to choke on my own blood. I woke up with a stub. It was swollen and terribly sore, but it didn’t bleed.
Story swallows, pulling back to eyeball me. I pull her in closer.
I’m all right, I want to tell her.
She seems to understand because she nods.
“So how many doctors do we know who worked on the wrong side of the law? Black market surgeries? Maybe identity changes?”
“Blyad',” Maxim curses. “Skal’pel’. You worked for Skal’pel’?”
I don’t answer.
Maxim gets up and walks over. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You can tell me. I don’t give a fuck what you did in the past, either. You’re my brother now.”
I blink at the smarting in my eyes and nod.
“So I’m guessing you can identify at least twenty guys the bratva wants dead.” Maxim says.
I shrug. Maybe. It wasn’t my job to memorize faces or names—not the old ones, nor the new ones. But yeah, maybe.
“And you don’t know where your old boss disappeared to?” Ravil asks.
I shake my head.
“I’m going to find him for you, Oleg,” Maxim promises. “And if you won’t kill him for what he did to you, I will.”
I acknowledge the unease that brings me. I don’t want to kill him. At least, I didn’t before.
Have I been waiting all these years for him to contact me? To take me back?
It seems insane, but I think some part of me was. Like I still belonged to that cruel father figure. I hadn’t forgiven him, but I was waiting.
Story presses the back of her hand to my neck, then her lips to my head. She turns to look at Ravil. “I know this conversation is important, but he needs a doctor. Oleg’s burning up.”
Chapter 9
Story
Ravil stands. “Get Svetlana,” he says to Maxim, who pulls out his phone to text. To me, he explains, “She’s a midwife who lives in the building. She should carry antibiotics.”
I want to hold Oleg. Not because of the fever although I’m worried about that. But because whatever just went down in this office seemed big. Important to him. And I still don’t understand any of it.
I’m part relieved, part frustrated to see that Oleg’s walls aren’t just for me. They’re for everyone around him—including the people he lives with and apparently loves.
Ravil called him fiercely loyal, and I realize that’s what he’s been to me, as well. He decided at some point to become my number one fan, and then nothing would sway him from that job. Now he has to be my protector.
His loyalty to me makes me feel it right back. I may normally be flighty and flakey in relationships—at least the intimate ones—but there was no question when I found him bleeding in my van that I was all-in with him. And no question when we got jumped at Rue’s. Whatever he’s into, I’m sticking beside him.
Once we see it through, I’ll probably bail, but I don’t abandon friends in need.
He’s more than a friend, a voice whispers in my head.
I nuzzle into his neck and kiss his hot skin. “You should go and lie down,” I murmur.
No. He doesn’t move, but I hear the word clearly projected in my head.
I stand and pull on his hand. “Come on. Svetlana will need to look at your wound.”
He catches me around the waist and lifts me back to his lap. With his phone, he texts one-handed and sends a message.
Ravil’s phone beeps. He reads the message and considers me.
“What does it say?” I demand. This literal game of telephone is going to drive me nuts.
“It says, talk to Story.” Ravil says it like an apology. Like he already knows it’s going to piss me off, and it does.
I rotate to glare at Oleg. “I told you not to do that.”
His stare back is blank. I want to slap that impassive wall right down. “Oleg. what the fuck, does talk to Story mean?” I demand.
“I’m guessing he wants us to straighten out the issue of you wanting to leave the premises,” Maxim says mildly from beside us.
Oleg nods.
Okay, that makes sense. But I’m still pissed. “Don’t say talk to Story,” I tell Oleg. His stoicism crumbles under my glare. He blinks. His lips move. I swear to God he mouths the word sorry.
“Was that sorry?” I ask.
He nods. He looks sorry.
“Thank you.” My shoulders sag. I point at my sternum. “You talk to me. Don’t make them do it for you. I don’t even know them.”
I barely know Oleg, I think, but then acknowledge it’s not true. I know him intimately. And I feel like I’ve always known him.
Oleg appears daunted. I don’t think he’s breathing. He looks at his phone and back at me. Then he types something.
Ravil reads it. “I need you to stay here. Please, lastochka.” Ravil looks at Maxim. “What bird is that in English?
Maxim clears his throat. “Swallow.”
Swallow. He has a pet name for me. And I’d never heard it. But like any songbird, I hate to be caged. The anxiety I feel before I break things off with a guy rears up strongly. “I have lessons to teach, starting tomorrow. And gigs Friday and Saturday.”
Yeah, I’m being irrational. I had a gun to my head last night. I shouldn’t be thinking about lessons and gigs.
Oleg scowls and shakes his head.
Maxim interjects, “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re going to sit tight while we figure out who’s after you and Oleg and make it go away.”
“That’s right,” Ravil says. “I hate to paint the picture for you, but I will. Someone wants what’s in Oleg’s head, and they know he cares about you, which means your life’s in danger. Unless you want to get picked up and tortured while Oleg watches, you’ll stay where we can protect you. I’m not going to elaborate on what would happen after they got what they wanted, if Oleg can even give it to them.”
A muscle tics in Oleg’s cheek. He sucks in a harsh breath through his nostrils.
“Right. Okay.” My voice sounds shaky. That makes sense. I twist my fingers around each other. “Um, yeah. I’ll cancel my lessons.”
“You will.” Ravil walks around to the front of his desk and leans against it.
“But what about the gigs this weekend? I don’t have a replacement.”
Oleg growls his displeasure.
“You’ll cancel them, too, if we don’t have this sorted out,” Ravil says.
Maxim gets up to pace. “Who came after you on Saturday?” he asks Oleg. “Did you know them?”
Oleg shakes his head and types on his phone. Ravil reads the text aloud in English. I didn’t recognize anyone. They seemed like bounty-hunters. “Who wants you?” Ravil asks.
Oleg shrugs and types again. Could be anyone who found out who I worked for. They want to know where to find him, probably. Or where to find one of his associates.
“And do you know?” Ravil asks.
Oleg shakes his head and types, it’s been twelve years. I was in prison and with you. I know nothing.
“But whoever is after you will probably keep trying,” Maxim asks.
Oleg nods.
“Well, maybe the best defense is a good offense,” Maxim says.
No. I hear Oleg say it with his whole being before I even understand what they’re talking about. He didn’t speak or shake his head, but his body goes rigid, and his hands tighten on me.
Apparently Maxim is also practiced at reading Oleg’s non-communication. “You know I’m right.”
Oleg shakes his head.
“Wait...what are we talking about?” I ask.
Ravil catches his hands loosely in his lap. “We’re talking about using you as bait, Story.”
Cold washes over me, especially when Oleg holds me like someone’s trying to rip me from his arms.
“If we don’t get who’s behind these attacks, we can’t stop them from happening. You’ll be hiding here forever, and you’ve already said you’re not up for that.” Ravil looks at Oleg. “We’ll all go to the gig. And I won’t let anyone touch her. We just need to take someone alive, so we can question them. Find out who wants you and what information they’re after. Get to the bottom of this.” He glances at
Maxim who holds up his hands in surrender.
“I know. My fault for dispatching the first three without getting answers first. I fucked up,” Maxim admits.
Oleg shakes his head.
Oh God, I’m so out of my mind. “Yes,” I answer. “Let’s do it.” I can’t cancel the gigs. There’s no one who can replace me, and I don’t want to leave the bars in the lurch. It’s unprofessional. Anxiety churns in my stomach, but I trust these guys to protect me. Oleg alone is a formidable bodyguard. He rescued me when he was outgunned, and I was already in the enemy’s hands. If all of his gang or friends or whatever are going to be there, I’ll probably be safe.
Besides, I can’t stay here longer than this week. I can practically sense the time-bomb for our relationship ticking down. Every minute I stay, I sink in deeper with Oleg, which will only make things harder when they end.
I slide to my feet. “So I stay until Friday, and then you’ll take care of the problem,” I sum up. “And I can go back to my normal life.”
Oleg rises, his brows down over his eyes.
A knock sounds at the door. Dima opens the door to let a slender young woman in her twenties with strawberry blonde hair in. He follows her.
“Natasha,” Ravil says. He sounds slightly surprised.
The name sounds familiar, but it takes a moment for me to figure out why. Then I remember—Natasha was the massage therapist Dima and Nikolai were arguing over.
“Sorry, I know you were expecting my mom. She’s out delivering a baby, but she got Maxim’s message and asked me to bring this up.” The young woman holds up a large bottle of pills. “She said to tell you she will come and check on whomever has the infection.” The young woman darts a glance at me. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I walk forward and take the pills. “Is the dosage on here?”
“She said to take one now, and one before bed if she’s not here by then.” Natasha cocks her head. “Are they for you?”
I tip my head in Oleg’s direction. “They’re for Oleg. He has a wound. I’m guessing it’s infected. I hope that’s all it is.”
“May I see it? I could make a poultice. I’ve been assisting my mom since I was in grade school, and I’m a licensed massage therapist. I’m into all the natural remedies. I have teas, tinctures, essential oils, salves—you name it.”