The Agreement (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Bethany-Kris

  She only wanted the present.

  Tonight, she was going to make the most of that, and what she desperately longed for was to feel like she did in that alleyway with this man. To be touched, and love it. For him to make her ask for more. She wanted to look into the eyes of a man who wanted her back just as much, who could use her the way she would like, and need that.

  Karine intended to be fucked by this man standing right in front of her.

  Roman was staring at her, waiting for her to continue. The solution to her problem—how to make all of this happen—came to her out of the blue. Divine intervention, maybe. She bit down on her already-swollen lower lip, reddened and tender from the abuse of her top two front teeth. A habit she had picked up from anxiety and stress.

  She met his stare courageously, trying to summon back that bold part of her. Somehow, it worked. “There’s a veranda that leads directly into my bedroom. You can climb up to it.”

  A dark sound echoed from Roman before he muttered, “I am a twenty-seven-year-old man, I am not climbing up a girl’s balcony like some ... boy.”

  However, that hint of grin on his mouth said what he didn’t. The idea appealed to him, and that was all she needed to know.

  “But won’t you?” Karine asked.

  That grin of his turned into a devilish smile.

  Of course, he would.

  She didn’t actually need him to reply.

  SEVENTEEN

  Maxim sat in the same cigar smoke-filled den as he had the last time Roman visited with a duffle bag full of cash. Only on this evening, the dense cloud didn’t irritate him in the same way. He had other shit on his mind, and that was never more apparent than while his heart pounded in his chest as he stepped into the den.

  At least, he had more cash than Maxim was expecting. Even though tribute was being held earlier than usual this month—to accommodate the wedding plans and not clash the two events, or so he was told—Roman had been able to make the target cash, and then some.

  A few hours ago, he’d been feeling good about this—the money, that was. He was confident Maxim would be impressed, and might have considered granting Roman the leave to go for a quick trip back to New York he had planned to ask for. In return for his good work, and behavior, of course.

  Roman needed the space—not that he was keen on admitting to himself why. But then he had to go ahead and indulge Karine outside, listening to the crazy proposition she made ... he wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the rest of the night without bursting a vein.

  Dima and Leonid waited in the room, too.

  As he expected.

  Leonid counted the cash, as usual, and Dima at least had the decency to look busy on his phone. He didn’t bother to glance up at Roman’s arrival.

  Good.

  He didn’t particularly want to look at the motherfucker, either.

  “What do you have for me today, Roman?” Maxim asked, speaking jovially through the cigar that was clenched between his teeth. “Something good, yes? It better be.”

  Roman deposited the duffle bags by Leonid’s feet so he could begin the count. Dima finally flicked a fleeting glance at him before turning to his father.

  “We should test the vodka first,” he said, offering the word like he was continuing a conversation they were having already. Leonid nodded his agreement for his son’s idea, his hand waving at the liquor in question.

  So, they were going to be drinking tonight.

  Fun.

  Like he needed another reason to loosen up his self-control.

  Maxim had a few questions for Roman, and he posed them as Dima called for the servant in an attached section of the den to come ready the drinks. He tried not to show his surprise when Masha appeared between the doorway framed by old bookcases. Wasn’t she always with Karine?

  It certainly seemed that way.

  Except there she was.

  Roman found himself considering whether Masha’s distraction with serving the boss during his tribute was another reason why Karine felt comfortable approaching him like she had earlier. Those thoughts ran wild in his head, the rebellious side of his nature lapping the idea up because it was yet another thing he wouldn’t have to worry about if he actually took Karine up on her offer.

  Gonna get yourself shot, Roman.

  Right, right.

  He ignored his inner voice.

  Instead, Roman tried to focus on the boss’s inquiries. The last thing he needed right now was to raise suspicions, but goddammit, he didn’t know how to act casual, anymore. If the men in that den knew any of the things he had done thus far with Karine—the room would be his own personal deathtrap.

  Fuck walking the line.

  Roman pissed all over it.

  Maxim probed him on details about how the chop shop was being run, who was on his crew, and other aspects of his business that Roman still didn’t care to talk about with other people. Still, to keep that composure and facade up, he mechanically answered the questions—sipping on expensive vodka between each one while his mind was buzzing, trying to decide what he was going to do when he left that room.

  The choice should be easy.

  The right one was.

  On the surface, yeah. Except the only problem with that was Roman had a feeling there was a lot at play in the Yazov household—and bratva. A lot of it was interconnected, and his selfish actions with Karine was only a small part of the bigger picture.

  Until it wasn’t.

  The way Roman saw it, technically, he only had three options. And none of them were great.

  The first was that he did what Maxim would expect him to do as his boss—divulge the conversation he overhead Leonid having during a phone call. There was very little information he actually had about the details, but it was enough to alert the boss something might be brewing amongst his closest people.

  There was just one problem with doing that—Roman couldn’t say Maxim was actually on his side. He demanded loyalty, but that didn’t mean he offered it. Men in high, dangerous positions were known for shooting the messenger. What if the plot was a trap that Leonid had set?

  Roman wasn’t privy to everything.

  Besides, did he really owe his loyalty to the Yazov Bratva? From personal experience, they were experts at manipulation and him being there in the first place was proof.

  The second option was simply feeding his own selfish needs by taking the risk of spending the night with Karine. Even just the thought of that set his body on fire, the uncomfortable tightness of his pants being the proof that she only needed to be on his mind to capture all of his attention. He could still see her emerging from beneath the leafy tree outside, looking as sweet as sin and asking for him.

  Spending the night with her possibly promised him two things—one was his dead heart in a box delivered to his mother, and the other was information. Karine could be his closest chance at finding out what was really happening inside the Yazov boss’s mansion. What might explain the strange things that were keeping him up at night. It was possible that she wasn't even aware she might have answers, too, but he wouldn’t know unless he asked. Or found where someone was hiding what he wanted to find.

  Of course, the reality of that choice was painfully clear. If anyone even got a whiff of a hint that he’d spent the night with a spoken for woman like Karine, a boss’s daughter promised to a high-ranking man in her father’s organization, well ... nobody would hear from Roman again.

  That early grave was calling.

  The third and the most logical option was to fuck all that noise, and do the task he was sent to Chicago to do. Pay his dues, and beat feet to the pavement when the job was done. Nobody sent him there to solve mysteries, fuck their women, or uncover assassination plots. His sole purpose under the control of the Yazov boss was to earn money.

  If his father was presented with the three choices—well, Roman knew exactly which one he would take. The only one that concerned his duty, and what was owed. Nothing more,
and nothing less.

  That was exactly why he hadn’t been calling Demyan, or answering his calls. If he heard his father’s voice—his choice would be inevitable, too.

  “Good, it’s all here,” Leonid spoke up, interrupting the conversation between Maxim and Roman without apology. Two piles of cash sat high on the desk. One tower was the cash that was actually due—the second was just extra.

  Bonus.

  No boss refused that.

  Maxim surveyed the money from all the way behind his desk, and nodded. Pleased.

  “I’ll make sure your father hears about this,” he said to Roman, pointing the cigar in his hand to the stacks that waited for the boss’s hands to appreciate them properly. “Gotta say—if you kept earning like that, I’d shut my mouth and mind my business about your private matters.”

  That backhanded statement nearly earned a response from Roman, if only because that was the first time Maxim had so obviously called out the reason why the younger man stood there. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Roman knew.

  He didn’t plan to start now.

  “Is there anything else?” Roman asked.

  Only out of respect.

  Maxim shook his head, murmuring a low, “Nyet.”

  A hard no for a quiet answer.

  Roman didn’t want to look too deep into that, either.

  That was that. With the meeting over, Dima still on his phone, and Leonid flicking through the cash again, like he couldn’t keep his hands off it, Maxim said nothing more to suggest he wanted Roman to linger.

  So, he didn’t.

  Roman walked out of the den without a glance back. Another month was over—he’d made it through a second tribute in a city that didn’t belong to him under the thumb of a boss that never left him feeling quite ... settled. Technically, they didn’t even need to see his face for a month, maybe more, depending on how long Maxim waited before calling the next after the wedding and whatever celebrations had been planned for that mess.

  It would have been so easy for Roman to simply walk out of there, and forget about Karine and the shady shit happening within the Yazov Bratva. Forget about the plot against Maxim—who gave a fuck about Chicago? This was not his home; he hadn't even wanted to be there in the first goddamn place.

  More importantly, he had no plans of staying any longer than was necessary. If he got himself tangled up in other people’s shit, more so than he already was, then he would have no choice but to see it through to the end.

  He didn’t have to feed into his selfishness—or his worries. Those little bastards that had never really been much of a concern for him before wouldn’t leave him alone now.

  Roman could take the easy way out of there—out of all of it, really. Simply by doing what he was there to do, and nothing more.

  But he walked out of the mansion, and stepped into the cold air of an inky-black night. He could see Marky standing at the end of the driveway, leaning against his car while he smoked a cigarette, and waited for his friend.

  Roman had always taken the easy way out. That was exactly why he had gotten away with so much shit for as long as he had. Maybe it was time he changed a few things in his life.

  Particularly, that.

  • • •

  Marky threw a half-finished cigarette to the ground when he noticed Roman’s approach.

  “Good to go?” he asked.

  Roman only nodded.

  Marky had been there when Karine turned up in the driveway earlier, and heard most of the conversation. He was the one who had reminded Roman it was time to go meet the boss, redirecting his friend’s attention back to what was important.

  “Yeah, we’re good to go,” Roman said.

  The two jumped into the car with Marky behind the wheel again—the only person Roman really cared to let drive him around.

  “Did something happen in there? You came out looking mean, man.”

  Roman shrugged. “No, it was good. Maxim’s happy. So was the accountant.”

  “So, we go celebrate now?”

  Actually, that was a great way to describe what Roman was about to do.

  “Yeah, I think I do want to celebrate,” Roman replied.

  Marky’s brow furrowed as he started the engine—maybe it was the fact Roman said he was willing to have some fun when he’d been clearly, and loudly, refusing to do exactly that since his friend arrived in town. The car sped down the driveway to the gates, only the headlights cutting through the darkness of the estate. The exterior of the mansion was as dimly lit as the inside was bright.

  “Stop here,” Roman said without warning.

  Marky crunched hard on the breaks, sending both unbuckled men flying forward in their seats. Roman was the only one to catch himself from smashing into the dashboard. He wasn’t really sorry about the way his friend glared over at him from behind the wheel.

  “What the fuck, Roman?”

  Well ...

  Now or never, he figured.

  “I’m getting out.”

  “Here? Why—where the fuck are you going?” Marky demanded, waving out with squinting eyes at the dark.

  When he turned back to Roman, the answer seemed pretty obvious when he didn’t reply and only lifted one shoulder. In fact, he thought Marky should have known this might happen from the start. He’d heard that conversation, after all.

  Even if he did have motives behind it, who would turn a look like that down? A foolish man, that’s who.

  Roman swung the door open as Marky grabbed his arm, jerking hard to tug him back into the seat.

  “Don’t be a fucking moron,” Marky hissed at him. “You’re not seriously going to see her, are you? That could get you killed, man.”

  Roman arched a single brow at his best friend, dropping his stare to where Marky’s hand was still on his arm. He didn’t even have to speak for the man to let him go with a muttered fuck, sorry.

  Not willing to argue, Roman stepped out of the car. He wasn’t exactly sure where to go to find Karine, but he figured there would only be so many verandas he was capable of climbing up, right? He’d eventually find his way to her.

  “Pick me up in the morning,” he called to Marky, rounding the front of the car, his form creating a long shadow in front of the headlights when he passed. “Five AM, man.”

  Marky remained in the driver’s seat, fuming as he drummed his fingers to the leather of the steering wheel and shook his head.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” he said in a groan.

  Roman was already walking away, gravel crunching under his shoes. Tossing a middle finger over his shoulder, he muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, too.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Roman scaled the stone wall surrounding the section of the mansion’s drive easily. Despite his quickness and the darkness of the property, he was hyper aware of the comings-and-goings of the men around the estate. Tribute was still in full swing, and every vor of the Yazov Bratva from all over the state, and beyond, would be there to see Maxim.

  And yet, Roman felt invisible—or maybe, invincible.

  Either way, everyone else seemed to have too much of their own shit to deal with than worry about keeping an eye on the boss’s daughter. Clearly, they all believed she was too placid and sidelined to misbehave. He didn’t think anybody knew who Karine Yazov was under her drug-induced surface, whereas he couldn’t wait to find out more. Shame on him for being willing to take advantage of that—except shame was the last thing he felt about it.

  He found his way to the veranda she had told him about. The only one on the side of the mansion capable of being climbed. And even from the ground, he could see white curtains billowing at the doors. It had to lead to her. Metal posts for pillars, constructed from twisted, interwoven metal all the way up, made for perfect rungs.

  Up until that point, he hadn’t noticed many security cameras, and figured he probably wouldn’t find any this deep into the property. A point he was well aware of because Maxim was like most other bra
tva bosses who didn’t want any records of what went on inside their premises. They were also stubborn assholes—overconfident in their ability to keep their shit under control.

  Maxim most likely believed nobody would dare wander his estate beyond where he allowed, and especially not directly under his nose.

  Well.

  Just like he didn’t know his daughter, he obviously didn’t know Roman, either.

  Before he started climbing the metal rungs upward, he gave it one last thought. A final opportunity to find a reason why and change his mind. Roman didn’t have to go up just because she invited him—he didn’t owe her anything, and she couldn’t expect something, either.

  Roman was always real with himself, though. He wasn’t doing this just in hopes of gaining information from her—there was a big chance she didn’t know anything about the things that had come to his attention and wouldn’t be able to help him to begin with. And yet, he couldn’t convince himself to turn away and go.

  So, being there wasn’t just about splitting the Yazov Bratva open—he wanted to see Karine. Needed to see her, even. Maybe if he fucked her just once, then he’d be able to get her out of his system and move on.

  From the first moment they met, she occupied his mind and with this invitation ... shit, there was no way he would forget about her, especially if he walked away from tonight alive. If he didn’t do this, if he couldn’t follow through, he had the distinct feeling he was going to regret it.

  Truth was, he’d already made up his mind.

  Roman was there, after all.

  Dusting his hands, he took the metal poles like ladder rungs swiftly. He barely broke a sweat when he swung himself over the railing, and landed in the veranda with a soft thud-thud of the soles of his shoes to announce his arrival.