by Nicole York
Zak shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not long enough.”
More words were exchanged but Cole couldn’t make sense of any of it because they no longer spoke in English. He couldn’t tell if they were angry or if that was just how men sounded when they spoke Russian. Vance, Dean, and Marcus all seemed just as uneasy as they watched the conversation unfold.
Cole kept his attention fixed on the other Russians—the four who hung back behind their leader. Their hands were all on their guns but their fingers weren’t resting on any triggers. From what Cole could tell, this didn’t seem like a battle waiting to happen. It seemed to him like the Russians wanted something and they weren’t going to leave until they got it. If they had to fire bullets to get it, they would, but it didn’t seem like that was their desired course of action.
The problem was, Cole doubted Marcus would let them take his righthand man without batting an eye.
Things were going to get dicey.
Cole could smell blood in the air and none had even been spilled yet.
“I don’t like this,” Vance muttered beside Cole. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“Shut up,” Cole growled. “Let’s not give them any reason to get trigger happy, all right? We keep our heads, they keep theirs, and everyone walks away alive. Yeah?”
Vance made an unenthused but agreeable sound in the back of his throat. On his other side, Dean nodded.
Marcus, however, took a step forward. “What is this all about? You think you can just blow the doors off my club and come in here like you’re storming the fucking place? Zak, who are these clowns?”
Zak grimaced. “Marcus, let me handle this.”
“Handle this?” Marcus scoffed. “From where I’m standing, you’re not handling anything.”
Vance rocked forward. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
Cole braced himself to reach for his pistol.
Dean watched the Russians like a hawk.
“Tell your boss to mind his business,” the largest Russian spat. “This does not concern him.”
Wrong thing to say, Cole thought.
Marcus started to laugh. There was no humor in the sound, but he laughed nonetheless. It was a great, booming, powerful sound that echoed around the club as Marcus held a hand to his chest. When he recovered, he set his merciless glare on the Russian. “This doesn’t concern me? From where I’m standing, you’re the ones trespassing on my fucking property. And you bring weapons, threatening the safety of my staff and patrons. We should kill you all where you stand.”
The Russians shuffled anxiously. Cole didn’t detect a hint of fear from them but rather vibrating anticipation for a fight. He knew the feeling, but he did not have it now.
He wanted to live.
He wanted to get back to Cameron.
“Boss,” Cole said cautiously. “Maybe we should take it down a notch. Hear them out.”
Marcus rolled his shoulders. “You’re replacing my fucking door.”
Zak shot a look at Marcus over his shoulder. “Stop talking.”
The room went silent.
Nobody had ever given Marcus an order, especially not under his own roof.
Zak turned back to the Russians. “You didn’t have to storm the place. I knew you were coming.”
“We needed to make sure we had your attention,” the largest Russian said. “You have been a slippery little fish. Hard to catch. But now we have you. And we’re not leaving without you. There is someone who wants to speak with you.”
Zak nodded. “Very well.”
He made to step forward, but Marcus grabbed his arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Zak? Have you forgotten where your loyalties lie? You’re a Castaletta man. You do not get to walk away when someone plays your calling card.”
The large Russian’s dark gaze slid to Marcus. “Zak, if your boy does not mind his own business, we will put a bullet between his eyes.”
Cole’s breathing quickened.
“Everybody just calm down,” Vance said slowly. “There’s no need to go blowing holes in people’s heads. We have a right to be concerned. Zak is our man and this is our territory. Who are you guys? What do you want with him?”
The large Russian smiled at Vance. It never touched his eyes. “We do not answer to you, American.”
Vance’s lips formed a thin line. “Well, I guess I’ll just go fuck myself then.”
Zak held his hands up. “Nobody needs to do anything. I’ll go with you.”
“Like hell you will,” Marcus spat.
“Boss,” Cole warned.
“What?” Marcus hissed. “What are these assholes going to do? Shoot me in my own fucking club? Nah, I don’t think so. The last thing you boys want to do is start a war with me and my men. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk out of here and stay out. Zak is in the employment of Demetri DeMarco. Trust me. That’s not a bear you want to poke.”
The large Russian’s smile touched his eyes.
Cole’s gut dropped.
“I do not give a shit about Demetri DeMarco,” the Russian said.
“Shit,” Cole hissed.
Zak yelled for everyone to drop their guns. The Russian lifted his and trained it on Marcus, who didn’t have time to draw his weapon.
Everything slowed down. Cole acted before he knew what he was doing and threw himself to the side. The Russian pulled the trigger. Cole’s ears rang as he fell. Someone yelled his name. A sharp, white-hot pain exploded in his shoulder. He continued to fall until his opposite shoulder hit the club floor. A hiss of pain escaped from between his teeth, and when he looked up, Zak had moved in on the Russian and pushed his gun to the side.
“We’re leaving,” Zak said sternly. “Right now. Marcus, don’t try to stop us. Nobody move. Got it? Nobody fucking move.”
None of the men budged.
They watched, powerless, as Zak and the Russians backed away to the club doors.
Cole pushed himself up, grimacing against the pain in his shoulder, and sat back on his heels. He clamped his hand over the bullet wound and watched as Zak and the strangers vanished around the corner. Blood pumped out of the hole in his shoulder and leaked between his fingers to run down his wrist.
“Shit,” Marcus hissed.
Vance dropped down to one knee beside Cole. “Let me see it.”
Cole lifted his hand.
Vance whistled. “Yeah, that’s not pretty. We’ll need to get you stitched up. What’s the call, boss?”
Marcus paced furiously, picked up a bar stool, and hurled it across the dance floor like it weighed nothing. A yell of sheer rage came out of him.
“Good talk,” Vance muttered. He took Cole under the good shoulder and helped him to his feet. “We need to get that bullet out of you. Dean, grab some alcohol, will you? We’ll need to clean it. Come on, boys. There’s nothing we can do for Zak right now.”
Marcus seethed. “I’ve got Cole. You two stay behind. Figure out how to get those doors back up. We can’t leave the club open like this.”
Vance nodded.
Dean passed Marcus two bottles of liquor. “Who were those guys?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” Marcus said. “But I’ll tell you one thing. They have no idea who they just fucked with. Move your ass, Cole. Let’s go.”
33
Cameron
“Would anyone like more tea?” Keesha offered from where she stood in the kitchen. She’d just finished putting the empty mugs in the dishwasher.
Cameron had managed to leave the bathroom in exchange for the much more comfortable sofa. Brittney and Ashley sat on either side of her and all three of them shared a large gray throw blanket.
She’d barely managed to keep down the first cup of tea, so Cameron shook her head. “No thank you.”
Nobody else wanted more either. Keesha left the kitchen and joined them in the living room. She took the loveseat and crossed her legs up under herself.
A full hou
r had passed since they left the club and they hadn’t heard anything from either Cole or Marcus. Cameron’s stomach was still a mess and her throat hurt from throwing up. Her hands still shook and she couldn’t help but think about all the things her father had said to her about Cole.
About how dangerous he was and about how his reputation might tarnish hers.
Cameron closed her eyes and gave her head a shake. Now was not the time to listen to those voices. She was in crisis. And she’d been so sure just an hour ago that no level of danger would scare her away from loving Cole.
Tonight was her first test. That was all. She just wasn’t sure if she would pass.
Keesha put on a brave face but Cameron could tell that was all it was, a face. Deep down, she was sure Keesha was just as terrified as she was. How could she not be? The man she loved was potentially in harm’s way and there was nothing any of them could do about it.
Except wait.
Cameron picked at a loose thread on the edge of the blanket. “I hate this.”
“It’s not ideal,” Keesha said.
“Ideal?” Cameron almost laughed. Almost. She shook her head and tore the loose thread free. “I hardly think that’s the right word. This is so—so—”
“Frustrating?” Keesha asked. “Mind numbingly so? Yeah. Believe me. I get it. I’ve never felt more powerless than I do on nights like these.”
Cameron’s breath hitched in her throat. Nights like these.
“How many of these nights are there exactly?” she asked, not really sure if she even wanted to hear the answer.
Keesha shrugged. “One or two a month, depending. Sometimes it’s just a pissed off customer at the club. Sometimes it’s more than that. Sometimes it’s big-picture stuff.”
“Big-picture stuff?”
Keesha nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Seriously?” Cameron asked, a little sharper than she intended. “You’re just going to leave me hanging like that?”
“I can’t talk about it right now,” Keesha said calmly.
“Why?”
Keesha sighed and nodded at Brittney and Ashley. “Because present company isn’t in on the scoop and I’m not going to compromise them.”
Brittney and Ashley gave Cameron guilty smiles.
“Sorry, babe,” Ashley said.
“We just work there,” Brittney added. “We’re not privy to the stuff that goes on behind doors. And we don’t want to be.”
Cameron slumped against the sofa cushions. She supposed that made sense. She couldn’t blame Keesha for wanting to keep the girls out of it, and couldn’t blame the girls for wanting no part of this. If Cameron could have Cole all to herself and somehow avoid this big-picture stuff Keesha was talking about, she’d be a happy little clam. However, it didn’t look like that would be possible. With Cole, she’d have to be a hundred percent in or a hundred percent out.
The question was, could she handle the nights like these?
Could she walk away from her man and face the unknown by herself while she waited to hear from him?
The way her stomach rolled and her throat ached made her question if she was really cut out for this.
“Can I tell you something, Cameron?” Keesha asked.
Cameron abandoned destroying the blanket over her lap. “Yes.”
“Cole has been a walking pit of darkness for the last little while now. The girls can attest to that.” Keesha paused and waited for both Brittney and Ashley to nod their agreement. “Some stuff went down a couple months ago. I’m not going to get into it. But it wasn’t good, and it didn’t end the way Cole wanted it to. Since that night, he’s carried a lot of guilt around with him, and no matter what we say to him, he won’t forgive himself. He holds himself to such a high standard and he has since the day I met him. He sees himself as someone who doesn’t deserve second chances. Someone who lives only to serve others.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Cameron asked as her heart started to ache for Cole.
Keesha gazed out the window at the city lights. “Because he changed when you came into the picture. For the better. He laughs easier and more often. He isn’t weighed down by the weight of the world on his shoulders. And all that darkness that had gathered around him? I think it’s gone, and I think that’s in large part because he has you. Something good. Something real. Something he can trust.”
Cameron swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“I’m not telling you this to manipulate you,” Keesha continued. “I’m telling you this because I think you deserve to know all the good you’ve done. However, for women like you and me, the good will never outweigh the job. There are things they must do whether they want to or not. Things like tonight. And they will do them. They will choose the fight over you, Cameron. Because they must. And you need to decide if you’re okay with that and what the potential consequences might be.”
“Consequences?” Cameron asked weakly.
Keesha leaned back in her corner of the loveseat and nodded. “Yes, consequences. I don’t imagine that Marcus and I will be lucky enough to grow old together. But I do know that whatever amount of time I have with him will be worth it.”
Cameron stared at the other woman.
How could she say that so calmly? How could she look Cameron in the eyes and admit that she didn’t expect the love of her life to live a long life?
Cameron felt suddenly nauseated again.
“None of us would blame you if you walked away,” Keesha said calmly. “Especially not Cole. He would understand.”
“I’m not walking away,” Cameron said fiercely.
Keesha’s eyebrows lifted.
“I’m not walking away,” Cameron repeated. She wasn’t sure who she was telling that to, the women or herself. “You make it sound like I saved him.”
“I think you did,” Keesha said.
“Well, he saved me, too. I won’t turn my back on him when he needs me. I’ll be here. Waiting. For however long it takes. And when he comes through that door, I’ll be the woman he needs.”
Keesha smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Brittney cleared her throat. “Sorry, just making sure you bitches knew Ashley and I were still here.”
Keesha giggled.
Cameron wanted to laugh but she didn’t have it in her. The stress and the worry were too much. She thought she might drown in it if Cole didn’t come back to her soon. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of him against the back of her eyelids. She saw him in pain. She saw him bloodied.
She saw him dead.
The images made her already upset stomach even more turbulent.
When the women heard a key slide into the lock at the front door, everyone froze.
Keesha got up from her loveseat and hurried barefoot across the living room, through the kitchen, and down the short hall to the front door just as it opened. It got caught by the chain, and Cameron heard a deep, moody voice growl through the open door.
Marcus.
“Woman,” Marcus said. “Chains.”
“I’m right here,” Keesha said. She closed the door on him, slid the two chains free, and stood back as she pulled the door open.
Marcus stood on the other side. His right shoulder was slumped because someone was leaning heavily against him for support. That someone had a bloody mess of a shoulder, blond hair, and, when he looked up, startlingly blue eyes that locked onto Cameron’s gaze.
“Cole,” she breathed.
She was up out of the sofa in seconds. She rushed down the hall but stopped when Keesha held up a hand.
“Hold on a minute,” Keesha said. “Get in here, boys. Cameron, get the door. Lock it up. Chains too. Marcus, bring Cole into the kitchen. Sit him down. Is it just the shoulder?”
“Just the shoulder,” Marcus confirmed as he helped Cole over to one of the stools at the kitchen island.
Cameron’s hands shook as she slid the two chains into place. She hurried back into the kitchen and
hovered around Cole like a hungry mosquito. “What happened? Oh my God, are you okay? Does it hurt?”
Cole looked up at her from beneath a brow furrowed in pain. “Does the bullet lodged in my shoulder hurt? Yeah, it hurts a bit.”
Marcus grabbed Keesha as she rummaged through a kitchen drawer. He pulled her close, tipped her head back, and pressed a kiss to her lips while he squeezed her ass in both hands. “You okay, baby?” he asked.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around him. “I am now.”
Cameron watched their reunion out of the corner of her eye. Her attention returned to Cole. “What happened? Who shot you? Did you call the police? Did they get arrested? Did anyone else get shot?”
“Cameron, Cameron,” Cole said, holding up his other hand. “Relax. One question at a time, all right?”
“What happened?” she asked, settling on the one that seemed of the most importance.
“Hold your tongue,” Marcus said. He faced the living room, where Brittney and Ashley were watching in rapture. “You two. Up. There’s a taxi downstairs. I’ve paid the driver. He’ll get you home. Come on now. Get out.”
Both the girls hurried past him. Marcus walked them to the door, unlocked the chains and locks again, and sent them on their way. Once they were gone, he locked up again and came back to the kitchen. “Now you can talk freely,” he said.
Cole grimaced as he shifted on the stool. He was obviously in a lot of pain. While he adjusted himself and gingerly removed his shirt, Keesha worked in a flurry in the kitchen. Cameron tried not to stare at the messy bullet wound in his shoulder once he discarded his bloody shirt on the floor.
Keesha brought a stack of supplies over and set them down in front of him: a bottle of vodka, a pair of tweezers, a needle, thread, and a bandage. First, Keesha twisted the cap off the vodka and pushed the bottle toward Cole.
“Drink,” she said expectantly.
He drank greedily. Six shots worth, Cameron estimated. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and gave the bottle back to Keesha, who unceremoniously poured a stream of it over his wound.
Cole sucked a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Tell us what happened,” Keesha said as she picked up the tweezers and peered into the bullet wound on his shoulder.