Wreckless Engagement: The Russian Engagement Series

by K. Marie

His arms came around me, holding onto me tightly, his pain and grief palpable.

  I wondered if he’d ever properly grieved. I knew society had a double standard for men when it came to displaying their emotions. Men were expected to be strong at all times; or be judged not masculine. While, women could cry over just about anything and it was acceptable. No human should have to hold in their emotions after experiencing what Garland had.

  I gasped suddenly, a fairly forceful little kick inside my stomach intruding upon the moment. Both Garland and I lifted our heads simultaneously.

  “I felt that,” he said, wearing a tired looking smile.

  “These kicks are becoming aggressive; I think she wants out,” I complained, rubbing the spot that was just attacked.

  “You mean he,” Garland countered, pulling me closer.

  He brought a hand to my face, his thumb gently wiping the remaining tears away. “You know I hate seeing you cry, and I especially don’t want you crying for me. I experienced loss, but I’ve been no saint,” he said.

  “Then, it’s a good thing I’m not looking for a saint, I’m partial to sinners too,” I returned.

  “There aren’t many of my sins that I regret, I’ll be ready to do penance when the day arrives. But for you, dear wife, the amount of sins I would commit are limitless,” Garland promised.

  “God, I fucking love you,” I whispered passionately, before putting my mouth to his.

  He said the damnedest things sometimes; and meant almost one hundred percent of them.

  Garland pushed his chair back and stood. “Let’s get you off your feet, potty-mouth,” he told me with an amused look, taking my hand and leading me over to the sofa in the Great Room.

  He reclined back into the corner, pulling me to lie between his legs. I settled in, my back pressed to his warm t-shirt clad chest. We were on an emotional roller coaster tonight; with Garland being more open than ever. I judged it a good start—but was now exhausted.

  I yawned, then smiled in contentment when Garland began to caress my belly; only to receive an instant little kick in response.

  “You know, it’s kind of like having an alien invade my body. It’s a strange feeling, but also a reassuring one,” I told him sleepily.

  “It won’t be much longer now,” he said in an obvious effort to comfort me.

  Captain Obvious was clueless, but sweet. I had just five weeks to go before delivery, but it felt like eons.

  “Garland, what ever happened to the animal that hurt your family?” I asked a moment later, just as I felt myself being pulled under.

  “Justice was served,” I heard him answer, right before slipping into a deep but troubled sleep.

  Fifty-Four

  G A R L A N D

  Then it’s a good thing I’m not looking for a saint, I’m partial to sinners too.

  I remembered Camry’s words from just the other day, knowing I was unworthy of them as I stood studying the man dispassionately.

  His terrified eyes stared back up at me from his prone position inside the trunk. He was likely still groggy from whatever Viktor pumped into his neck, but his face registered recognition.

  “It’s either your lucky day or your worst nightmare, which one will be up to you,” I told him.

  The man struggled as Viktor and Joe pulled him out, screams of protest muffled by the tape securing his mouth shut. But his efforts were futile, and no match for the two men hauling him effortlessly across the room.

  By the time he’d been subdued and secured to a chair, he sat slumped forward and winded, breathing noisily through his nose.

  Getting hold of him had been deplorably easy. The arrogant prick thought himself too tough to bother with security, instead relying on the piece of shit he called a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  He stared at me unresponsive, his silence defiant, but belied by the nervousness in his eyes.

  He knew who I was, but we both know that wasn’t what I’d been asking.

  I pulled the Soviet made nine-millimeter from my waistband; checking its magazine, before changing my mind and sticking it back into place. I pulled my old trusty blade from my inner jacket pocket instead.

  The man’s eyes widened with fear as I approached, a muffled scream of anguish renting the air a second later when my blade sliced through the flesh of his lower thigh.

  His blood spread rapidly, but I left the blade in place to prolong his agony; communicating to him more effectively than my words ever could.

  “I warned you, lucky day or nightmare, you can make this as painful as you’d like,” I told him, before finally removing the blade.

  The man moaned in torment, sweat sprouting instantly on his brow, snot starting to drip from his nose.

  I’m not a sadist; I derived no pleasure from torturing someone, but I found it a most effective tool.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked the man again.

  This time he nodded; face pinched tight with pain, a guttural sound emanating from his throat.

  “Then you know what I’m capable of,” I told him, motioning for Viktor to remove the tape from his mouth.

  I had questions that needed answering. The waterfront warehouse was secluded, with no other buildings close by, so I wasn’t concerned with anyone hearing his screams.

  “I’m going to ask some questions, and how much mercy I show you will depend upon your answers,” I told the man.

  He recoiled when I leaned in closer, eyes peering back at me with a mix of fear and dread. “Do we have an understanding?” I asked, wiping the bloody blade clean with the sleeve of his white shirt.

  “Fuck you, Reaper…you goddamn spawn of Satan,” he rasped, teeth clenched tight with pain.

  “My father might take issue with your characterization,” I remarked, removing my jacket and walking the short distance to place it on the old metal table.

  For the first time in years, I felt a familiar blood lust, an adrenaline surge that came only from the act of retribution. I’d almost forgotten how much of a powerful pull it could be, though it wasn’t at all a welcome reminder.

  I was no longer that man, no longer wanted to be that person. I wanted to be the man that Camry believed me to be. But it was impossible to outrun one’s past completely, nearly impossible to escape one’s legacy.

  “Your sense of martyrdom is admirable, but rather stupid, Isaak. Your boss surely won’t reward you for it,” I offered.

  I knew that as Oleg’s loyal lieutenant, Isaak wouldn’t so easily break. I had no illusions this wouldn’t get messy.

  “Now, let’s try this the easy way first,” I said, rolling back my sleeves as I approached him.

  “I want Oleg’s Sunny Isles contacts, both names and locations. As well as all the particulars of his New York compound,” I told him.

  It was worth a try.

  At the man’s silence, I drove my blade through the thigh of his other leg; careful to avoid hitting a major artery. I didn’t want him dying before I got what I wanted out of him.

  His high-pitched shriek ricochet throughout the cavernous room; the sound much like a wounded animal howling out in the wild.

  If he insisted on doing this the hard way, I was more than happy to oblige.

  C A M R Y

  “Oh my God, look at you!” Ann exclaimed; face animated, smile infectious as always.

  After a couple weeks of failed attempts, we’d finally made good on our coffee-date.

  “It’s taken you almost nine months to finally look pregnant! You do know that everyone in our yoga class hates you, right?” she said with a grin.

  “Oh please, I’ve been looking like a baby hippo for months now,” I told her, dismissing the absurd comments.

  She always teased that I liked to say I was further along than I really was to make her look bad. In actuality, she looked great, and my due date was only six weeks ahead of hers.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see
you; I’ve missed coming to class. It feels good to get out of the house and do something normal for a change,” I said as we walked over to get in line.

  I’d stopped going to yoga class a few weeks ago, doctor’s orders. Just because my blood pressure had been slightly elevated on my last visit, I was ordered to stop doing anything other than sit around being useless. It was driving me insane.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you—you were the only other normal person there,” Ann said with a roll of her eyes.

  “That would imply you considered yourself normal,” I teased.

  Our yoga studio was located in a ritzy part of town; its clientele mostly pampered trophy wives who liked to one-up each other to make themselves feel better. They bragged about having the best of everything. The best neighborhood, best pediatrician, the safest car seat and stroller on the market, and of having their unborn child on the waiting list for one of the best schools.

  I mean seriously, who gave two flying-fucks?

  Ann and I ordered our decaf lattes and found a corner table by the window, a strategic move on my part. I promised Stack that I would stay visible if he agreed to stay outside.

  “How’d things go with Laurel, isn’t she fabulous?” Ann asked.

  Laurel Mendez is an interior decorator who had come with a glowing recommendation from Ann. We’d hired her to do the baby nursery.

  “Yes, she’s awesome. The mural is almost complete, and once that’s done, she’ll put everything else into place,” I told her.

  Because of the baby’s unknown gender, it proved a challenge to make the nursery ambiguous in design. But Laurel had created a spectacular celestial themed mural that I’d fallen in love with. She would come back to incorporate more gender specific items once the baby arrived.

  “By the way, aren’t you minus one today? Where’s my future husband in case the current one doesn’t work out?” she asked.

  I laughed, a real belly rolling laugh, the kind that I couldn’t recall having anytime recently. “Oh, God…thank you for that. I really could’ve used a good laugh right about now,” I told her. “But sorry to disappoint, Viktor is otherwise engaged today,” I added with a huge smile. Ann had a thing for Viktor.

  She’d been a breath of fresh air when she first joined class; and had stuck-out like a shiny jewel in a chest of tarnished treasure. We’d instantly hit it off one day, after I caught her making comical faces in response to the nonsense spilling from the mouth of one of the other women. I giggled; catching her attention, and she’d given me a conspiratorial wink in return. And as they say, the rest was history. We’d partnered-up after that day, and were quickly becoming friends. Ann was fascinated that I had bodyguards.

  “I’m saddled with that guy today instead,” I told her, nodding in Stack’s direction.

  He stood at attention in front of the passenger door of the Rover, perhaps eight feet away from the glass window where we sat. His eyes were obscured by dark sunglasses, but I was certain they were trained our way.

  “Well hubba-hubba to him too. I swear, your husband must be a really secure man to have all these hot dudes securing his wife’s body,” Ann said, eyebrows wagging.

  “You are a mess,” I told her, “And my husband is exceedingly secure in all things,” I added, before giggling at my own little joke.

  She didn’t know about Garland’s security paranoia. The two of them hadn’t yet met, and we rarely talked about our spouses during our conversations. That was deemed strictly girl-time. Ann was also pregnant with her second child; a boy, so we mostly talked about our adventures in motherhood and our upcoming deliveries. I didn’t even want to talk about the extent of my husband’s idiosyncrasy.

  “So, your big day is fast approaching; and since you don’t care to have a baby shower, I wanted to do something nice for you. I’ve booked us a mommy spa-day!” Ann announced excitedly.

  “Oh, wow—that’s so sweet of you, Ann. Thank you,” I told her, deeply touched.

  She was a genuinely nice person, naturally nurturing and giving. I’d missed having family and friends around, so it was a blessing to have met someone like her.

  “Everything’s all taken care of, how does Friday sound?” she asked with an enthusiastic smile.

  “Friday’s a date!” I confirmed.

  As we sat gossiping about some of the women from yoga class, something on the television mounted to the wall a short distance behind Ann caught my attention. The volume was muted, but the image and caption were clear.

  It felt as if I’d suddenly taken a blow to the chest, lungs abruptly freezing, throat rapidly tightening. I didn’t even notice the hot liquid that spilled across my hand as the cup that I’d been holding crashed to the table.

  No!

  I staggered to my feet in shock—the blood rushing instantly to my head and causing me to sway.

  “Camry!” Ann called, voice sounding as if from far away.

  The last thing I see before darkness takes over is the face of the man I’d hired to find John. But even more recently…to investigate my husband.

  I floated somewhere between consciousness and la-la land, head feeling as if stuffed full of cotton. My ears strained through the mental fog, trying to make out the sound close by, the sound that must have awakened me.

  But reality came quickly crashing through my grogginess, and I suddenly remembered where I am. I was in the hospital.

  My hand flew to my stomach, and I felt an immediate rush of relief. The sound that I’d been hearing was the low beat of my baby’s heart; being transmitted through the fetal monitor that I was hooked up to.

  After fainting at the coffee shop, Ann insisted I go to the hospital. If it wasn’t for her quick action in catching me before I’d fallen completely to the floor, I could have been seriously injured. The baby could have been injured. As it was, by the time I arrived at the emergency room, I’d started to feel a tightening in my abdomen. The doctor told me I was having preterm contractions.

  “I can’t have this baby now, it’s too soon!” I’d cried in a panic.

  Thank goodness Ann had been there with me when I’d fallen apart, hysterical pregnant women were probably beyond Stack’s expertise.

  Everything happened quickly after that. I got swooped away in a wheelchair—and before I knew it, I’d been hooked up to monitors, an I.V. bag, and had a whole team of people swarming around me. The medication used to stop the contractions was put into the I.V. bag; it must have been what knocked me out. I still felt groggy, but reassured by the sound of the baby’s steady heartbeat.

  It’s a moment before I realize there’s another sound as well, the sound of low murmuring voices. I lay listening, struggling to keep my eyes open, and one voice rang eventually clear.

  Garland.

  Though he spoke in a hushed voice, I would know his distinct baritone anywhere. The other voice belonged to Dr. Schiller. My back was turned to them, but I could tell they were standing close by.

  “The baby isn’t in distress, so that’s a positive sign. We need to keep baby in utero for at least another two weeks minimal. We’ve managed to get the contractions stopped for now, but she’s been given a steroid to help speed up lung development in case she has to deliver early,” Dr. Schiller said.

  “What causes preterm labor?” Garland asked.

  “There’s typically an underlying medical reason, such as gestational diabetes, hypertension or preeclampsia. But Camry is young and healthy, so none of those things apply. Her elevated blood pressure at her last appointment was likely a fluke; she’d just left yoga class, and her heart rate had been up. Of course, preterm labor can also be triggered by a traumatic event or an inordinate amount of stress, but sometimes there is no specific cause. You may simply have a baby who’s impatient to enter the world,” Dr. Schiller explained.

  Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner! I’d definitely go with the traumatic event and inordinate amount of stress option.

  My God. I was still reeling, wha
t were the odds? A man of Jason’s experience being mugged and shot to death out on the streets?

  “How long will she have to be here, can this be managed from home?” my husband asked.

  “I’d like to keep her here at least twenty-four hours for observation. After that, as long as there are no signs of preterm labor and baby is doing fine, she can be discharged with an oral medication and bed rest. However; she shouldn’t be on her own, I would strongly recommend hiring a prenatal nurse or nurse midwife to stay with her. Another option would be to keep her hospitalized for the next two weeks until she’s out of the woods,” Dr. Schiller suggested.

  That comment had me groaning; the thought of an extended stay in the hospital is unthinkable. But my groan must have been louder than I’d thought, because I heard footsteps approaching the bed, then Dr. Schiller appeared seconds later.

  “Good, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Drugged…” I answered after a moment, my fuzzy head seeming to affect the speed of my speech.

  “That’s a side effect of the medication in your I.V., it can make you feel a bit funky,” Dr. Schiller said with a reassuring smile.

  “Any pain or discomfort?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered, after doing a quick catalog of all my parts.

  “Good. There’s someone here who’s eager to see you, so I’ll give the two of you some privacy. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, before walking off in her usual quick steps.

  My heart warmed at the sight of my husband, though strangely enough, I felt both guilty and leery as I looked at him.

  “Hi sweetheart, you gave me quite the scare; I doubt I’ll ever recover from it,” he told me, leaning over to place a kiss on my forehead.

  He’d been in New York again on business when I called him from the hospital. I’d been hysterical, and had undoubtedly scared the hell out of him. He looked tired—handsome face shadowed and haggard, white button-down shirt rumpled and travel worn. His hair looked as though it had suffered under worried, frustrated fingers.