Vincente rubbed at his protesting jaw and had to smother a grin at the change in the topic of conversation. Guy and his dick. Only thing on his mind at any given moment. He went down on his haunches beside his friend of so many years, a man who’d been through enough shit to last two lifetimes, and palmed the side of his jaw. He forced Maks’s head up and locked on to those silver eyes.
“I love you, man,” he said simply, never one to allow himself to feel embarrassed about positive feelings. “You’re my brother. You helped save Nika’s life by nailing that fucker. The fact that she got caught in the cross fire was a mistake I know you’ll regret forever. But it doesn’t change the facts.” He tightened his grip. “You get past it and straighten the fuck up, because we need you. You got me?”
Maksim’s forehead wrinkled with drunken uncertainty. “You can’ f’rgive me, Vi’cente,” he whispered in Russian, his face ravaged by a guilt Vincente hated with everything in him. “Naw’ when I can’ f’rgive m’yself. I hurt tha’ gurl who’s a’ready been hurt so mush.”
He nodded, accepting that. “But she’s going to be okay.” Grabbing the heavy mother under the armpit, Vincente hauled him to his feet. Fuck, the guy could stand to lose a few. Micha beat feet over and propped himself under the other arm, and they both led Maks through a door on the far side of the room and over to the massive bed against the far wall. They lowered him down onto the silky black comforter. Micha looked questioningly at Vincente.
“We’ll take shifts.”
The Russian shook his head. “No need. I have nowhere else to be.”
“Me either, so it looks like we’re gonna keep each other company while we babysit the boozehound.”
“Good deal. I’ll grab the cards.”
He didn’t watch Micha leave but turned back to Maks, who was staring at him with an expression so tortured it made his eyelids feel prickly. “You’re turning me into a chick here—you know that, right?” he muttered, irritated.
“Y’r f’giveness is a h’mbling gift. But I’m too close t’ the bottom of the bottle t’ tr’ly ’preciate it righ’ now. V’sily’s mad at me fer go’n MIA. Said I scared ’em. Gabri’l’s pissed, too. Alek isn’t, ’cause he gets me.” Silver disappeared as his lids finally slid down. “Wurd of w’rning—I plan ta play lackey t’ yur woman fer least a decade, so yur gonna have t’ tighten up an’ lemme.”
Vincente chuckled weakly, chest aching because he’d never get to witness that.
Caleb traveled the back hallway of Rapture and didn’t hesitate to enter Kirov’s private domain when he came to the closed door Moretti had sent him to. Sweet digs, he thought, impressed, eyes bugging a little at the painting across the way. The office was huge, lots of computers, leather furniture, and one big-ass desk. Too dark, though. A lot of black.
Forgetting the real estate, he focused on the man sitting with his back to him in front of a bank of monitors that showed off the fancy club and anything going on within a five-block radius, or so it looked like.
“You mind if I talk to him alone?” Caleb asked Micha, Kirov’s guard dog who was sitting behind the desk. There was a half-played game of solitaire in front of him made up of an actual deck of cards, but the guy wasn’t playing it. Nope. He was leaning back, booted feet up, twirling a butterfly knife with enough precision that the sight had Caleb’s balls tucking up close.
Save us, they cried quietly.
Micha gave him a searching look and then inclined his head as only a guy like him could without looking like a jackoff. “Tread light, my man,” the Russian murmured as he walked by, leaving Caleb alone with his and his sister’s savior.
Yet V was the one acting like a fucking pansy.
This had been Caleb’s fucking mess, not Vincente’s. If not for him, his sister never would have been dragged into this nightmare with Nollan in the first place. She was innocent of it all. He was the one responsible. Nollan had made sure to spell that out after Caleb had come to in that building. One minute he’d been leaving a club with a chick that had come on too strong for him to ignore; the next he’d been tied to a chair getting the shit beat out of him.
But enough of this shit. Caleb got right to it, too impatient to fuck around now that he had the idiot in front of him. “Why’d you shut her down?”
Vincente spun the chair he was lounging in to bring his eyes around without lifting his head. Fuuuck. Caleb was pretty sure his balls were now sharing horror stories with his tonsils. The Reaper was his nickname just then.
“You okay?” Vincente tipped his goateed chin, indicating the healing slice on Caleb’s forehead that Tegan had fixed up with tissue adhesive instead of stitches. Less scarring, she’d offered as if he might be concerned about one more mark added to the many he already had.
“Dandy. Why’d you shut her down?” he repeated.
“Not your business, brother.”
“Fuck that, V,” he snapped as he wheeled away and began walking in a tight circle. “Is it because you’re not feeling her? Maybe what happened to her turns you off. You think she’s damaged—”
Caleb was slammed into the wall so hard his back teeth rattled. Point proven, he thought to himself smugly despite the sickness now in his heart. He knew V had it bad for his sister. Guy was in love with her. Anyone with two eyes in his head could see it. And Caleb’s were working just fine. Only thing he didn’t know was why the guy was no longer acting on it. Guilt, probably. The same shit that was swimming like electric eels through his own veins, zapping him into remembering every time he tried to forget the horror of the past month.
“That woman is so far above us even the angels have to look down to see—” Vincente’s lips pressed together, cutting off his defense. “Fuck off, Paynne. I’m not in the mood for these games.” With a rough shove, he moved back over to the monitors. Perfect timing. Right where Caleb wanted him to be.
He tried to feel some satisfaction when he saw Vincente’s skin pale as his gaze zeroed in on the table Nika now sat at, arm in a sling, her bright head bent as she stared into an untouched drink. “Why the . . . ? Why is she here?” The pain radiating from his voice was strong enough to make Caleb feel even more like shit.
He peeled his back off the wall and shrugged even though he couldn’t be seen. “She needed a night out. She deserves better than roaming the rooms of your place all by herself.”
“So you bring her to a gentlemen’s nightclub, you degenerate? And she hasn’t been by herself. Eva’s always with her.”
As if to prove him right, Eva entered the frame, Moretti cloaking her as if she were the fucking boss of the family. Good man. And as if they’d have brought Nika anywhere that wasn’t as well protected as Kirov’s club for this little experiment.
He watched Vincente’s shoulders stiffen as Nika got to her feet to receive a hug from her friend, which angled her face up toward the camera embedded in the ceiling. With a reverence that was downright heart-wrenching, Vincente’s big hand came up, and with the softest touch, his finger swiped over Nika’s face on the screen.
When Vincente spoke, his voice was tortured. “She deserves a man who won’t bring death and violence to her every time he walks through the door. You know what Nollan did to her—kept her locked up. Took away her freedom. How do you think life with me would be any different? You know what I do for a living. The circles I run in. And you know as well as I do every fucknut out there would be threatening her to get to me. I’d have no choice but to keep her in a cage half the time, just to keep her safe. She’d hate it. And one day, she’d hate me for doing it. She deserves someone who’s whole and stable. Not . . . me. If anyone is entitled, she is. To a degree of happiness that I just can’t give her, Caleb.”
Running a hand over his hair in a sharp swipe, Caleb had to clear his throat before he could squeeze out a breath, let alone talk. “She’s . . .” Again with the throat. “She’s hard-core in love with you,
brother.”
The guy shook his stupid, inflexible-as-a-brick head. “She’ll get over it.”
“No. She won’t.” You fucking moron, he added silently. Never out loud. He wasn’t the moron—wasn’t picking a fight with the Reaper. He went over and stood beside Boulder for Brains. “She won’t get over this any more than you will. You haven’t seen her the past couple of weeks.”
V didn’t say anything for a long time. He just stood there staring at Nika’s image on the small screen, watching her talk with Eva and Tegan, who had just walked in, while Gabriel stood next to the table chatting with Quan and Jak.
“She’ll be fine.”
Fine. Right. Caleb felt that same burning anger ride up his throat that he’d felt when he’d held his sister as she cried her eyes out the morning after that horrific scene with Kevin. “Yeah. Fuck you, V. Fuck you if you think she’s gonna be fine. You know, I think maybe I was right before. I think maybe you’re not feeling her.” He didn’t even flinch when he was speared with another deadly stare. “Because a man in love with a woman would do anything not to hurt her, like Moretti with Eva. But you? Nah, not so much.” He made an impatient cutting motion with his hand and spun away to stalk to the door. “You just keep watching that monitor and we’ll see how many fucks you don’t give,” he spat as he slammed out, his cell already at his ear. Let the good times roll, motherfucker.
CHAPTER 25
Vincente stared at Nika’s image in front of him and felt like . . .
Fuck. He couldn’t feel at all anymore. It was almost as if the pain he’d been living with for the past weeks had manifested into a cold numbness that filled him out from head to toe.
He pulled the chair up and sat, hanging his head off the back, eyes on the ceiling. He truly believed what he’d told Caleb. Nika would get over this and move on. She’d eventually find someone who was better suited to what she deserved in life.
Huh. That excruciating tearing feeling behind his breastplate sure as shit didn’t feel numbed out. Fuck. His hand came up to rub over his sternum.
He didn’t know how long he sat there with his head back, studying the slate-gray tile above him, but when he finally lifted his head, he was tempted to slam it into the desk in front of him until the fucker stopped screaming the word no!
Fucking Vex was rolling through the club, proudly wearing his colors, two cameras picking up his trail as he moved into the same frame as Nika. If Caleb, who was also at the table now, had called this cocksucker to try to prove something . . .
Nika’s fucking shit-disturbing brother took that moment to look up at the camera, nodding in a way that had Vincente slamming his fists down, cracking wood, wishing it was the biker’s smug fucking face.
Vex leaned over to speak to Nika, his hand moving onto her shoulder, his thumb stroking. Vincente’s heart rate slammed into dangerous territory, his muscles locking down with a pain a million times worse than any GSW he’d ever received as he fought not to react. Not to go for his gun and open fire in front of anyone who wanted to witness what would be one hell of a massacre.
He dropped his gaze and focused on the floor. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
Yeah. Sure. Like he wasn’t going to look.
He shifted his gaze up, and they were gone! He scrambled to pick up their location, going from screen to screen. They were headed for the door. Nika and Vex. Alone.
Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. You’re letting her go, remember? It doesn’t matter. She needs to find someone else. Remember? For her own good.
Within the next beat of his raging heart, Vincente was steamrolling out of Maksim’s office, palming his SIG, finger already on the trigger. As he blew into the softly lit club, Alesio stepped in front of him. Without a single feeling of regret, Vincente sent the kid to the floor with a right hook that sang, “Good night, Sally.” And just kept going. Gabriel and Micha were next on the happy train when they tried to stop him from reaching the door, which he could now see the couple disappearing through.
“Hang on.”
“Slow down, V.”
He hammered through them both, G receiving a crippling jab to the gut—had his knuckles touched a kidney there?—and Micha catching an uppercut to the chin that spun the tough sonofabitch like an out-of-control Indy car in a rainstorm.
Wasn’t going to do much to keep them down, but at least it got him by.
Throwing open the metal so hard that it cracked into the wall with a sound like thunder, he flew out of the club . . . just in time to watch Vex’s Carrera peel away from the curb.
Fuuuck!
Rage was all he knew as he retraced his steps, ignoring the fearful looks aimed at him by the dancers and the evil ones by the associates he’d disturbed. He walked right up to Gabriel, gently easing Eva to the side, halting her ministrations to her man’s clearly aching belly.
“How could you let her leave with him?” he roared. The volume of his voice did a prime job of shutting everyone in the place up. Like he gave a fuck.
“Seemed to me you’d washed your hands of the sitch, V. She wanted some company. Asked if it would be all right to take him to the house.” Gabriel shrugged. “Who was I to say no?” He reached over and grabbed Eva’s hand to protectively tuck her in behind him, as if Vincente might hurt her. Which just pissed him off all the more. “I gave her the codes, and off they went.”
Vincente’s head bobbed up and down, shock and betrayal a living thing inside him. In a move too fast for anyone to anticipate, he grabbed his best friend by the scruff, yanked him away from his pregnant wife, and landed a lefty to the side of the bastard’s jaw that he’d be feeling for weeks.
“Thanks for having my back. And you,” he growled at Caleb when the biker stepped forward, distracting him from the guilt that had filled Gabriel’s eyes. “Stay right the fuck where you are or your sister’s gonna be laying flowers on your grave by the weekend.”
He stormed from the place and was pulling into the driveway of the house a record eighteen minutes later. Seeing that Carrera in front of the stairs, he didn’t even have to think about it. His truck was sturdy, big, heavy. Vex’s flashy slut-mobile wasn’t.
Vincente stomped on the gas and nailed that fucker so hard he was halfway up the steps before the two vehicles came to a grinding halt.
He shoved hard on the door, because the sports car was now wrapped like a hot dog bun around the front end of the Kombat, and dove out. Alek had the front door swinging wide before he even reached it, eyes practically springing from their sockets when he saw the mess Vincente had made.
“Where are they?” he growled as he shoved by.
“Uh, Nika said she was heading to your room. But you might—”
Vincente nearly stumbled and fell to his knees on the tiles of the foyer, the muscles in his legs wanting to give out at that. She’d taken Vex to his room? He looked down to see his gun still in his grip. Good. The biker was going to eat one of his bullets in the next minute. Just one more thing Nika was going to have to get over. And he’d help her this time.
Thought you were giving her up?
Fuck off, he growled to Fan Boy, who was already squeezing off rounds as he faded slightly.
He wasn’t strong enough. Didn’t have the necessary unselfish gene that Vasily and Alek had apparently been born with to back away from the women they loved. He was selfish, like Gabriel. Selfish to the very core when it came to his redhead. She was his, goddammit! Body, heart, and soul. His!
And now that he’d finally accepted that, he had to let her and everyone else know it.
He surged forward once more, vaguely hearing Alek spew some shit about putting the gun away, but he ignored him and bounded up the stairs three at a time. The walls were nothing but a blur as he barreled down the hallway. The crash of his bedroom door was so spectacular; wood splintered, a metal bracket flying away to bounce off th
e love seat cushion before it hit the floor.
The first thing to register was the scent permeating the air. Oranges and jasmine. His body stiffened in reaction, hurting. The second thing: small metal lanterns lit with candles hung in every corner, soothing musical chimes tinkling around the bottom of each one from the breeze he’d created entering the room. The lights were dimmed, and as Vincente’s eyes grew accustomed, whipping around to find his target, other little changes began to register.
Gone was the cold, barren room he’d lived in for so many years. Instead he saw warmth and color. On the walls, his grayscale prints had been replaced by warm canvas paintings of bright summer seascapes, Ireland’s green hills brilliant with life. Vibrant plants littered the floor and a few tables. Scattered around those were doggie chew toys—was that one of his riding gloves, gnawed and crusty with dried drool?—and rawhide. The sight reminded Vincente of a house littered with toys the kids hadn’t bothered to put away after playing all day. The bland, rectangular gray area rug he’d had next to the bed had been replaced by a large round one; the bright jewel tones of purple, yellow, green, and red ran together to form a vibrant polychromatic symphony. Throw pillows in the same colors littered the bed over the top of his royal-blue comforter . . .
What. The. Hell.
“Looks like we’ll have to call a repair man.”
The quiet remark came from the right, and his gaze zeroed in on the source of that voice. Musical, soothing . . .
Vincente had to lock his knees before he found himself on the floor. Where he belonged. At this woman’s feet.
Nika moved a couple of steps over to stand nearer the bed, arm still in that sling, her fiery locks falling all over her shoulders and down her back in glorious disarray. Her eyes were glittering in the candlelight. He forced himself to take stock, and he prayed he wouldn’t pass out from how fast his breath was now dragging in and out of his lungs.
She still wore what she’d had on at the club: a short loose-fitting black chiffon dress that had a V-neck and long sleeves. She had four-inch heels on her feet.
The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) Page 37