by Shandi Boyes
Her eyes snap up to mine over the tablet when I growl under my breath, “I thought your bump and grind on the coffee table an hour earlier topped any burlesque show I’ve seen, but your little strip-tease in your room was ten times better.”
I grin when she kicks me in the shin. She’s mortified, but embarrassment isn’t the only gleam featured in her eyes when she continues watching the footage. Pain presents when she begs for me to stay, then gratitude takes over from me telling her to get her fine ass under the sheets.
When she whispers, “Yet, I wake up with you naked in my bed,” I retort, “The less clothing I had on, the more chance your scent would imbed into my skin.”
Acting ignorant to the extra thump in her clit from my comment, she drops her eyes to the footage playing on the tablet. She looks like she wants to cringe when she gets up in my business to prove how well we fit, but something keeps her embarrassment on the downlow. It could be confidence, or it could be the heat of my gaze as I stalk her responses from across the table.
After rolling her eyes at her theatrics on screen, Justine mumbles, “You can’t trust a drunk.”
I smile to hide my laugh. “No, you can’t. But you can trust the word of a drunk. People are most honest when they’re void of anxiety.”
Over the next ten minutes, I watch Justine with as much interest as she bestows on the tablet. Her cheeks are holding the same coloring they held last night, but her eyes aren’t as bloodshot.
I know the exact part of the video she’s at even with her thumb blocking the tablet’s speaker when she gasps a short time later. It’s when she pleaded for me to help Maddox. I had already put motions into play, but her tears didn’t give me the chance to explain that.
When the image blackens from me throwing a pair of gym pants over the camera, Justine hands the surveillance device back to me before pretending her career is more important than her personal life. “What was in the white pills? If it's anything illegal, I need to know. Regular drug testing is mandatory at my firm.”
Although pissed she still can’t put herself first, I ease the groove burrowed between her brows by answering, “You have nothing to worry about. Anti-anxiety pills are exempt from every test.”
“They were anti-anxiety pills?” I hear her question twice since her girlie squawk bounces off the paint faded walls of her kitchen.
“Yes,” I answer with a chuckle, fighting not to wiggle my finger in my ear. “You're quite entertaining when you let go of your worries.”
With a groan, she drops her head into her hands. I’d believe she was disappointed if I didn’t see a pink hue creeping up her nape. She enjoyed letting go of the reigns for a night, but she also feels guilty.
It’s another unwanted survivor’s trait.
“Okay.” Justine’s deep exhale to rid her stomach of nerves fans my face with the scent of maple syrup. “First, thank you for arranging Maddox’s transfer to Harborview.” When I attempt to tell her I don’t deserve her credit, she continues talking, stopping me. “You may not have directly initiated it, but if you hadn’t asked Roman to look into it, it would have never happened. So, thank you.”
She’s right. Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though.
Although I have no issues taking in what she says next, “Second, I am attracted to you, but nothing can come of it. I am your attorney, Nikolai.”
“That can be fixed.”
She continues speaking as if I didn’t interrupt her, “I’m also not a girl who does casual sex. I don’t necessarily need commitment, but I need feelings.”
Feelings? Feelings get idiots killed. Rico’s death is evidence of this. I will protect Justine, and keep her safe, but I can’t do feelings.
“You need a heart to feel, Ahren. I don’t have one of those.” I didn’t mean for my tone to come out as it did. It was rough and full of command, one I generally use on my men when their fucking around costs me millions of dollars.
My mood goes from bad to worse when Justine says, “Any man can be a monster, Nikolai, but only a monster who knows right from wrong can turn into a man. You were born in your lifestyle, but it only became your life when you let it.”
The first half of her comment were the exact words Carmichael spoke to me when he convinced me to tattle on Vladimir. He told me that I was better than the world I was born in and had my fucked-up sixteen year old head believing I wasn’t a monster.
I fell for his trick once.
It sure as fuck won’t happen again.
“No. This life was not my choice. It was my destiny. This is who I am, Ahren. I am my father’s son.” I stand up for myself as I should have done almost thirteen years ago by reciting the words I screamed at Vladimir when he left me hanging bloody and bruised in an abandoned warehouse after he found out what I had done. “I am the devil reincarnated to rule my empire and slay the weak. I am Nikolai: Prince of the Russian Mafia.”
The voice that responds doesn’t sound like the one in my head, but it’s pronged with just as much hate. “Your family are not gods, Nikolai. They are mere men who will meet with their creator on their final day just like every other person on the planet.”
As a mask slips over my face to hide the vulnerability I thought was stolen from me years ago, I snarl at Justine, “You need to watch your tongue. Respect is a highly valued commodity in my family. It's more worthwhile than life itself.”
She nods, agreeing with me, but she doesn’t back down. I don’t know whether to admire her gall or detest it.
If Vladimir is listening in, the choice will be taken out of my hands.
“Respect is valued, but when it's gained with integrity it far exceeds respect gained by force.”
“Respect without fear is worthless.”
“No,” Justine denies, shaking her head. “Respect derived from fear is worthless. Fear is forcing people to bow at your feet. Respect has them bowing of their own free will. They are two completely different things, Nikolai.” She stares at me like she sees through the shield others can’t. Like I am as open and as exposed as her eyes. “You know this. Deep down inside, you know what I am saying is true. Values are not taught. We are born with them.”
“That is easy for you to preach when you’re not the one forced to toe the line. Shadowing his reign is the only thing keeping me alive. If I don’t do that, I’ll be buried right alongside my father. You don’t have to understand the rules of this lifestyle, Justine, but I must abide by them.” My teeth smash together when I forcefully shut my mouth. In the heat of the moment, I spoke words that could get me killed. Or worse, Justine.
Unaware of the danger she’s putting us in, the argumentative pitch in Justine’s tone switches to a plea. “Leave, Nikolai. Walk away and don’t look back.”
“I can’t!” As haunted memories steal my every sense, I drag my arm across the table, clearing it of the plates and cutlery we used to eat our breakfast. “Disrespecting Vladimir carries the penalty of death. If I leave, it will be at the cost of my life.”
Needing to leave before I hammer another nail into our coffins, I exit the kitchen without so much of a backward glance. My speed is so brutal, I send Roman sailing when I burst through the swinging door.
If I weren’t already aware I had ears listening in on my private conversation, I am now.
“Call Vladimir. I want out.”
Roman scampers to his feet before following me into the guest bedroom of Justine’s apartment to watch me pack. To go where? I don’t know. I just need to leave Justine’s apartment before my fucked-up childhood conjures up ways for me to discover if I’m being played again.
She said his words; the same fucking words that almost got me killed, convincing me I’m either being screwed-over by Carmichael for the second time, or he’s under Justine’s skin more than I realized.
Neither of my theories will end well for Carmichael.
He’s dead no matter what.
Chapter Twenty
My eyes stray to Justine�
�s closed bedroom door when Roman ushers Vladimir and three of his foot soldiers into the foyer of Justine’s apartment. I doubt she’ll come out of her room anytime soon. She was pissed when Roman stopped her from talking to me hours ago, citing all contact must now go through him, and she’s been holed up in her room ever since.
As Vladimir bridges the gap between us, he takes in Justine’s outdated apartment. I was hoping my request for assistance would occur over the phone. I should have known better. Vladimir likes getting his hands dirty, even when it's helping a man he detests. He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have something he needs, but with my blood pressure sky high, we’ll keep that snippet of information for another day.
“Niki, you look well.” Since we’re minus the swarm of press who usually circles us when we are together, Vladimir doesn’t lean in to kiss my cheek as he usually would. “You’re new whore must have a tasty cunt, otherwise what reason would you have to stay holed up in this dump?”
The harsh twist of his lips tells me he’s watched the surveillance from Justine’s apartment more than once, so he’s aware I’ve yet to bed Justine. He’s just mocking me since he failed to see the shake of my bones from him calling me Niki. The last time he called me that was when he told me my brother had been killed by a rogue Russian operative. He smiled while telling me the news of Rico’s murder, his face as joyous as a father announcing the birth of his first child.
“Your accommodation is usually more… fragrant. I can barely smell an ounce of lust in this room. It almost smells like death.”
He’s fishing for information he’ll never get from me. He taught me how to act ignorant long before he showed me how you can kill a man without draining an ounce of blood from his veins.
My eyes shoot to Roman when Vladimir snickers under his breath. “Let’s hope her cunt isn’t as bland as her cooking, because from what I heard, she could learn a thing or two about serving those above her.”
Roman had a hacker remove the footage of Justine’s attack and the aftermath that followed it, so how does Vladimir know about her exchange with Sergei?
Before attacking Justine, Sergei taunted her about her ‘supposed’ bland meal. Only someone who watched the footage would know that…
My jaw tightens when reality dawns. The wound to Sergei’s throat clearly wasn’t deep enough to shut his flapping gums. I’ll be sure to fix the injustice the instant I return to the Popov compound, where Sergei is recovering from his ‘injuries’ in a room that was once Rico’s.
The tick in my jaw lowers to my fists when Vladimir returns my focus to him. “What do you need, son? I don’t have all day.”
A blind man wouldn’t miss the shudder that rolls down my spine this time around. I hate when he calls me son almost as much as I do when he calls me Niki.
After loosening the tight clench of my fists, I gesture for Vladimir to join me in my room, not wanting our conversation overheard by Justine. I anticipate for us to talk man to man, but I forgot that Vladimir doesn’t know the meaning of the word. His goons follow him into my room, cramping the confined space even more than Justine’s bulky furniture.
Once Roman shuts the door, I lock my eyes with ones as lifeless as death. Vladimir’s dark chocolate eyes should have been my first clue he wasn’t my father. I’d often wondered why I was his only child to have icy blue eyes, but since he treated all his children as if he hated them, I didn’t dig as deeply as I should have.
It was foolish of me, and I’ve not made the same mistake since.
With my body gripped with hidden tension, I say, “I’ve managed to secure an informant from the Petretti crew. He’s been with them for a few years now, and is deep enough to secure a lot more intel than your last lacky got.”
Vladimir is smarter than he looks. He ignores my snipe at his failed attempts to infiltrate the Petretti crew the past three years by only acknowledging the useful information in my comment. “The transfer you organized was for an informant?” When I jerk up my chin, hiding my annoyance at how closely he’s watching me, he scoffs. “He’s serving life in prison. How could he possibly help us?”
He says ‘us,’ but he means him.
My walk to a set of drawers is done in silence, but when I toss open a file containing photocopies of the visitors register at Wallens Ridge State Penitentiary from the past four years, I hear a murmur of commendation rattle in Vladimir’s chest. For every month of Maddox’s conviction, there’s a signature no amount of messy handwriting can hide: D Petretti.
“Dimitri didn’t even visit his brother monthly when he was incarcerated, yet he has plenty of time for a supposed bottom-dweller of his crew.”
“Interesting.” Vladimir steps closer to authenticate the documents. They cost me a pretty picture to purchase, but they’re worth every damn penny when Vladimir’s approving murmur is audible this time around. “What is Prisoner 65281 incarcerated for?”
“Murder.” I don’t mention it was to fulfill his sister’s debt. I only tell Vladimir what I want him to know. Maddox’s connection to Justine will never be exposed, not even if I discover she’s one of Carmichael’s many tricks. “He won’t be out any time soon, but his intel could be priceless.”
It kills him to do, but Vladimir nods in agreement. “I agree.” His trench coat scratches the floorboard when he turns to face me. “So, I will ask again, my boy, what do you need from me?”
Ignoring the tremor hitting my jaw, I say, “Judge Santos is dead.”
Vladimir smiles a cruel and vindictive grin. “I heard. It was very unfortunate for all involved, wouldn’t you say?”
My eyelid twitches as anger steamrolls into me. Only now am I realizing an underage boy didn’t steal the light from Judge Santos’s eyes.
Vladimir did.
With my thoughts elsewhere, I played right into his fucking hand. He didn’t appreciate me stepping out on my own, so he devised a way to force me back home. By killing Judge Santos, I had to either face my charges like an everyday civilian or ask Vladimir for help. He knew I’d always chose the latter, which meant I’d be indebted to him even more than he thinks I already am.
I had planned to secure his help by wowing him with the possibility of an informant from his rival crew. Now Maddox is my only lifeline, and Vladimir fucking knows it.
One of the reasons my crew calls me The Snake is showcased when my annoyance rolls right off my scales. Now is not the time for me to lose my head. I’ve got enough people playing me for a fool. I can’t add another to my list, especially when it’s a vyperdusch like Vladimir.
“I want to head to Florida and speak to my informant in person. I can’t do that if I’m sitting in a holding cell, awaiting trial. I need my charges dropped.”
Vladimir looks like I told him I’m giving him the millions of dollars in my bank account when he asks, “And you need my help to do that?”
It takes a good three seconds for me to lower my chin, and even then, it’s as weak and as pitiful as the man I’ve been portraying the past four hours. “I had my case transferred to Mr. Schluter’s side of his firm a couple of hours ago. Ernest is willing to do what’s needed after you’ve given him the green light.”
While Vladimir contemplates a reply, I sit on the end of my bed to run a hand down my tired face. I’m exhausted from a lack of sleep the past two days, but that’s not the only thing making me restless. It’s from dumping a woman I’m certain isn’t evil into hell without first giving her the chance to explain herself. Justine said words identical to ones that almost got me killed, but that doesn’t mean she understands their significance. Perhaps she does truly believe I deserve better.
My hand has only just fallen from my face when my bedroom door shoots open and Justine darts into the testosterone-filled space, oblivious to the danger she’s thrusting herself into.
“You’re a complete and utter idiot. I know we’ve said stupid things, done stupid things, and acted stupidly, but I am a professional, Nikolai. Nothing said or done would have eve
r affected my representation of you in court.” Since her eyes are locked on mine, she fails to notice we have company. “Your inability to trust just cost you five to seven years of your life, because what Carmichael said Friday was true. I’m not just the best attorney Schluter & Fletcher has seen, I was your only chance of having your charges dismissed. Because I see you, Nikolai—the real you—I would have defended your honor until my last breath.”
Justine’s breath catches in her throat when Vladimir mocks the speech that resurrected the dead organ in the middle of my chest. “Is that so, Ahren? You see the real Nikolai?”
I didn’t need proof that Vladimir has been watching us, but if I did, him calling Justine Ahren is all the evidence I need. Excluding the times I taunted Rico’s wife, I’ve never called another woman angel.
Anger thickens my veins when Vladimir rakes his eyes down Justine’s frozen frame, but before I can act on it, Roman fists my shirt, wordlessly warning me to stand down. I understand his concern, responding to Vladimir’s taunts only ever increases them, and usually, the stretch in time is filled with blood curdling punishments, but Justine is still recovering from her last tussle with a man as evil as Satan. She’s not ready for a second round just yet. And no, I’m not referencing her exchange with Sergei.
After drinking in Justine’s body in nowhere near enough time to fully appreciate it, Vladimir returns his eyes to her face. “Maybe we should have kept her on as counsel. It would have made the trial more entertaining for all involved.”
He’s talking to me, but he can’t take his eyes of Justine. He sees in her what I do. He knows even with her being more good than evil, no matter how rough the track got, she’d never sell out anyone but herself. The way she stands across from death with the grace of an angel reiterates everything I already know.
She may have quoted Carmichael’s words, but that’s only because she’s been trained to secure clients no matter the cost. She didn’t mean her comment in the manner I heard it. She truly does want the best for me. That’s why she stood between Officer Prentice and me, and why she pleaded for Sergei’s life to be spared instead of encouraging his punishment. She wants to save me from the darkness surrounding me as much as I want to pull her into it.