It’s not so much the way he looks as his demeanor that makes him intriguing. There’s a storm brewing beneath his calm, controlled facade and he has a natural charisma that reaches out to you, inviting you to try and figure out what it is that makes him tick. He’s hard as nails but I can sense pain in him that he keeps hidden from the world. I want to know more about it and, if I’m honest, my interest has nothing to do with writing the expose’.
The writing contest is a big question mark now as far as I’m concerned. I’ll figure something out tomorrow. For now, I know I need to seriously consider finding something different to write about. But it would be a slam dunk, really, if I did go through with it. And I could use the prize money. I just didn’t consider meeting someone like Glazov’s son in the equation of writing the article.
I toss the brush back down on my make-up table. I opted for a dorm room that isn’t much bigger than a closet so I could be alone. My furnishings are beyond simple, mostly milk crates that I’ve stacked together for tables and few other odds and ends from the thrift store. But it’s all mine so it’s beautiful to me. With a yawn, I shuffle the few steps it takes to reach my bed, pull back the bedspread and slide between the cool sheets.
“Shit, I forgot to turn my fan on,” I mutter to myself as I get out of bed. I have to sleep with a fan on and one leg out from under the covers. I’m a creature of habit and that’s the only way I can get a good night’s sleep. I want to be rested when I get up in the morning to face my nice, boring life.
Chapter Four
Kodiak
Shit! I bolt upright in bed with a groan and run my hands through my hair, scrubbing at my face as I try to clear my head. Waking up to my father’s curt voice over the intercom is a sure sign that he’s already aware of last night’s events. “I’ll be right there, Dad,” I inform him drowsily as I press the button on the device. I untangle my legs from the sheets, swing them over the side of the bed, and light a cigarette.
Our house is set up like a fortress as far as security. The high tech speaker system is just one example of the many resources my father has put in place to keep our family safe and the family business operating smoothly. If Dad uses the intercom to summon me, he means business and expects me to be in his presence sooner rather than later.
I stop long enough to take a piss, but I’m sporting morning wood so it takes a little longer than usual. Damn, I wish I had that brunette beauty from last night under me. But thinking about her isn’t helping my dick cooperate, so I work my cigarette until things settle down. After I take care of business, I toss what’s left of the cigarette in the toilet, wash my hands, throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, and head down the hall to Dad’s office.
I knock lightly on his open door as I enter. As usual, Dad’s cold gaze is waiting for me as soon as I walk in, as if he knows the exact moment I’ll arrive and is somehow looking right at me even before I get there. The thing is, he does that shit even when I drop by his office without an invitation – it’s like he’s got some Hannibal Lector thing going on and I’m Clarisse. I find the whole thing even more unnerving than usual this early in the morning. I greet him with a kiss on each cheek, as is our custom, then promptly slouch down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. I eye my impeccably groomed father and wait to hear what I already know is on his mind. He’s dressed like he just came from a GQ magazine cover shoot. No wonder the ladies all want to fuck him.
“Are you fucking her?” he asks without preamble.
“Dad, I just met her.”
Up goes the eyebrow. That’s never good. “That’s never stopped you before, son.”
“It’s not like that, Dad. She’s, I don’t know…she’s different.”
“Did you hire her?”
“Not officially.”
“Why not?”
“It just never got that far. But she has a skill set that I think we can put to some good use…if things work out.” I can feel a smirk form on my face and, as usual, my dad reads me like a book.
“Going to keep her guessing? Good. That’s my boy, keep her off balance and you’ll have the advantage. On a serious note, get your ass over to the university and talk to that professor we keep on our payroll, Spike Ostrom. And anything else you need to do to find out more about that girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I say as I cross my ankle over my other knee and settle back in the chair.
“What are waiting for, boy? Go get your ass in the shower. You stink.”
I peel myself out the chair and saunter back to my bedroom. At least now I have a valid reason to be intrigued with the woman. I use the intercom and call down to the kitchen for a pot of coffee and a croissant. I trudge sleepily into my walk-in closet and pick out the day’s designer jeans and a black button down shirt that will end up rolled up on my forearms and paired with black Alexander McQueen leather high tops with red laces. Most of the guys around here strut around in suits like they’re going to meet the fucking Queen. I wear my fair share of them, but I prefer to be comfortable -- I’m no slob.
I want to linger in the shower but I know I can’t, so I get out and wrap a towel around my waist. A quick trim of my beard tightens up the five-o-clock shadow look I keep. Styling product in my hair and a splash of Christian Clive C will have me on my way.
I can only hope my little spitfire from last night will be glad to see me. It’s funny, if she were any other woman, she’d be doing back flips at the thought of being on the arm of a son of Glazov. But this chick—not so much. I get the feeling she’s going to try to get away, but I’ll be ready if she does. She may not know it yet, but Logan Ludwick sealed her fate when she ventured into my world.
Chapter Five
Logan
I’m sitting in the back of the auditorium listening to Professor Ostrom go on about how blending into your surroundings can give you an advantage as a stalker, er, investigative journalist, that is. ‘Anything to get the story’ is his motto. In this day and age of paparazzi and investigative reporting, anything goes and then some. So why did I get into this again? Oh yeah, excitement. Like so many people, I’m a contradiction in terms. I like stability but my innate curiosity pushes me to know details. I’ve always been intrigued with the ins and outs of other people’s lives. Theirs are so much more exciting than my own. But I have a feeling that may be about to change…
“Can I sit here?” Gilbert asks me in a stage whisper, pushing his glasses up on his nose. We’ve got to get you a makeover, dude.
“Of course,” I say as I make room. Gilbert is my best friend. We met on the first day of college and took each other under our respective wings and that’s how it’s been ever since. I’ve always rooted for the underdog and I think Gilbert really needs a cheerleader in his life. Frankly, I think he needs a real cheerleader in his life and in his bed, but he won’t hear of stepping out of his comfort zone to ask a girl out. People usually assume he’s gay, but he’s not. Like so many geniuses, my friend is just painfully shy. They say still waters run deep? Gilbert’s got himself a tsunami brewing underneath all that conservative geekiness; he just needs the right girl to bring it out into the open. And I know from our many heart-to-hearts that it will take someone special to get him to finally open up and, well, get off. He may look conservative and, yeah, he’s a virgin, but Gilbert’s got his compass (and his dick) pointed in a seriously unconventional direction. I guess that’s why God invented fetishes -- Gilbert just hasn’t figured out what his is yet.
Gilbert’s a great guy, he accepts me and is loyal to a fault, and that goes a long way with me. He’s also never hit on me, which is another big point in his favor. We’ve never had any sexual chemistry and we’ve known it from the start so we would never complicate the good thing we’ve got going by experimenting. What there is, though, is an unwavering acceptance that doesn’t come along very often.
Many people don’t realize how the emotional scars from high school can live on long after we graduate. I was a loner in high school, much too bu
sy dealing with my parents’ shit to care much about what others thought of me, so I’ve got a pretty thick skin. Not Gilbert, though. He takes things to heart so easily. That’s why he maintains a low profile and lets his geek flag fly, preferring to be ignored than to risk being rejected or worse. I think of myself as Gilbert’s buffer who keeps the cruel world at bay. Like I said, he’s loyal. When your own parents shit all over you on a regular basis, that kind of devotion, even from “just a friend” puts things in perspective. He’s taught me – like no one else ever could -- how important family and loyalty are. In a strange way, it’s already given me some insight into the Glazov family, where – rumor has it -- loyalty is a matter of life and death.
“How did last night go?” His eyes light up with excitement as he bounces up and down in his seat.
“I won’t be going back, that place is too intense for me.”
“Oh, nooooo,” he wails with disappointment. He was so hoping for some serious scoop. “Come on,” he hisses dramatically, “you’ve got to get past that whole stability thing you have going on. You’re going to give up that quick?! What the hell, Logan? This is the perfect topic for your article. This is what being a journalist is all about, except this will be like that show my parents used to watch, ‘Dynasty,’ with all those big, funky shoulder pads and real Russian caviar!”
I cut my eyes to him and purse my lips. “No story is worth getting killed for, my friend.” My professor twirls his expensive pen between his fingers with master precision as he stretches his long legs out in front of him, his ankles crossed. He’s seated on the edge of the desk and his eyes are on us as he instructs the class on innovative surveillance methods. I nudge Gilbert with my elbow in warning when he starts whispering in my ear again, and he stops. Gilbert’s right, though, and, yes, I did choose this profession so I need to suck it up and get on with it. I just hate feeling so conflicted.
I’ve got to make a decision about the job and the article I’m writing, one way or the other. I know myself well enough to know that if I don’t move forward on both counts, I’ll always wonder what would have happened. If I take the job and write the article, at least I’ll know. So I guess that’s that. I just wish Ostrom would stop twirling that pen of his because it’s making me do something I promised myself I wouldn’t do: think about Kodiak Glazov.
Chapter Six
Kodiak
I leave Lukyan to wait for me at the back of the auditorium so I can speak to the professor without his imposing presence looming over my shoulder. As burly as Lukyan is, I know that if I needed help he’d be down here ready to deal a killing blow before anybody saw him coming. It has always amazed me how stealthy and quick his big ass is.
I head down the sloping aisle toward the professor’s desk, where it looks like he’s grading papers. Ostrom enthusiastically stands and flashes the megawatt smile that probably cost a good twenty thousand dollars—of my father’s money. The professor is a surprisingly useful resource for the Bratva organization. More than once he’s been there when we needed inside information – okay, dirt – on a few local community leaders. He has also been instrumental in the success of my father’s pet project to keep the local library alive and thriving—with everything going digital it seems to be a perpetual struggle. Only those closest to my father understand what a bookworm he really is. My family is big on books and, because of him, we take our love of literature very seriously.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Glazov?” That’s my dad, dude. He doesn’t give me time to say what I’m thinking before he quickly adds, “I know, that’s your father. So what brings you here today, Kodiak?”
“I’ve got some questions about one of your students, Logan Ludwick.”
“Sure, I know Logan. She’s taking one of my Journalism classes. Bright student, very enthusiastic. She’s a Journalism teacher’s dream, really; absolutely relentless when she’s pursuing a story. Yes, yes, I think quite highly of Miss Ludwick.”
I grit my teeth as the lightbulb goes off. Journalism. Fucking hell. I’m not looking forward to giving Dad this news.
He picks up the pen my father gave him last Christmas. He has a habit of twirling it through his fingers when he’s nervous or pre-occupied. He’s probably a little bit of both right now.
“Dad and I would like you to keep an eye on her.”
“Of course. Anything you’re looking for specifically?”
He’s fishing. I don’t mind telling him, though. “She came by the house downtown last night looking for work.”
“That makes sense, Kodiak. Her dad was a gambler, it’s all she knows.”
This is a surprise. Interesting... “Where is he now?” I ask.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Ran off, probably dead by now. I don’t think he was ever much of a father, just from some things I’ve overheard her say to her best friend. Her mother’s a mess, too. Logan’s here on a track scholarship, you know.” He’s telling the truth. That’s good.
“Just keep an eye on her for me, who her friends are, anything. I want to know it all.”
“Well, that’s easy enough. Her best friend is Gilbert Dorkoff.”
I give him a baleful stare so he knows I’m in no mood for jokes. But, I’ll be damned, he’s serious. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. With that last name, the kid must have gotten the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis growing up.” Suddenly I have a thought that makes my next question practically a growl, “Are they together?”
“No, no, you don’t have anything to worry about there. She took him under her wing because he’s incredibly shy and, yes, is something of an easy target for some of the kids around here. Being an asshole has no age limit, apparently. Anyway, he’s a smart kid; the boy can hack into anything with a keyboard. He doesn’t talk about it, though. Probably doesn’t want to be taken advantage of by all the opportunists around here. The kid’s a genius. It says a lot for his character that he isn’t using his abilities to be in with the cool kids.”
Though I’m relieved to hear that, a tinge of something I’m not accustomed to washes over me—compassion for a kid who got and probably still gets picked on. Even though I have a strong, supportive family, I know all too well what it feels like to feel like an outsider. I can’t imagine what it’s like for a kid who has no backup.
The house fire that took my first father when I was five left scars that have nothing to do with the mild burns I received. But even though I lost a father that day, I consider myself lucky. Growing up adopted would have been much harder on me had my Glazov family not treated me as blood from the very first day. My father made sure of that, honoring his fallen friend by presenting me to his wife and children as his son while I was still covered in soot, practically catatonic from shock. From that moment, they have seen no difference in me and, if anything, they’re more protective of me because of it.
“Where does this Gilbert stay?” I ask impatiently.
“In the dorm. They each have their own dorm room on the same floor, I believe.” He pauses and clears his throat when he hears the low growl that I can’t quite suppress. “Um, yes, I think he’s in the same boat Logan when it comes to family ties -- parents who don’t give a shit. He was probably glad to get out of his parents’ house.”
“Do you know if she ever takes guys back to her room?” Fuck me, why am I asking this?
“I wouldn’t think so. Logan opted for one of those incredibly small, single dorm rooms. There’s barely enough room for one person to move around in there as it is. I think she’s a loner except for Gilbert, of course.” That isn’t a good enough answer for me. I feel the sharp sting of rage at the thought of her hooking up with some jock. I want details and I’ll have them before I leave this room.
“Does she ever bring guys back there, yes or no?!?” Yeah, I’m fucking repeating myself and now I’m raising my voice. Jesus. What the fuck is up with that? This isn’t like me.
He laughs but abruptly stops when I give him a cold stare.
“I’m sorry, Kodiak. I’m only laughing because that just isn’t the girl’s style at all. She has two things on the brain: running and school. I’ve heard a few guys ask her out after class but she always turns them down. I think some of the guys think of her as a challenge, but Logan is utterly focused on being successful academically during her time here. She just doesn’t seem interested in having a social life.”
“Good, very good.” I turn to go but stop and glance back over my shoulder when Ostrom clears his throat as if he has more to say. Wow. The good professor has grown a pair of balls.
“Kodiak, if I may be so bold…I can see that you’re intrigued with this girl. I hope you know I’ll never be less than honest with you. So what I’m about to say, I say with all due respect. Logan isn’t a one night stand kind of girl. She’s been through a lot but somehow she still manages to be…innocent. Don’t hurt her.”
I stare him down, a sneer curling my lip at his audacity to challenge me. As his throat convulses nervously, I am mindful of the fist that is ready to go at my side. I let him sweat it out for a few seconds before I give him a curt nod of respect for his candor. If he can call me out on my intentions toward this girl, then I know he’s honest with the information he passes along to us. Hell, I think Ostrom just got himself a raise and I make a mental note to let my father know.
As Lukyan navigates traffic on the drive back to the family compound, I barely notice the scenery that passes by my window. On a deep exhale that draws Lukyan’s uneasy gaze in the rearview mirror, I steel myself against a feeling that is altogether unfamiliar to me: guilt.
Expose' (Born Bratva Book 3) Page 3