“Jungle justice.”
He nodded. “Probably the only thing that could have hurt Ivan anyway. They view prison differently… It’s by no means a blessing, but it’s not dreaded either. Not like we dread it.”
She cuddled into him and something cold and hard rubbed his throat. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m sorry because I don’t know what to say to you. I want to make it all better, but I know I can’t.”
He stilled at her words, touched by them. Touched by her earnest desire to help ease his pain.
He reached for the wrist that was brushing his neck from her gentle clasp on him and felt a heavy bracelet. “This is new,” he said softly, surprised because she wore very little jewelry.
She pulled her arm away from his neck and showed him a heavy charm bracelet. “Not new. Not exactly. I just never wear it. It was my mom’s.”
He rubbed at the heavy gold bracelet complete with dozens of trinkets. “It must be heavy.”
Sascha giggled. “It is. Mom was a lot smaller than me too. Her wrists were teeny. It must have weighed her arm down.”
“What made you wear it today?” he asked, cocking a brow.
She bit her lip. “I just wanted to feel close to her, I guess.” She touched one of the charms, a plain, gold key that was a little larger than the other trinkets. “She loved it, and dad used to buy her a charm whenever we went on vacation. It makes me remember the good times.”
He wanted to make some good memories with her; none that were loaded with fears about her safety, concerns about her past… He wanted to make a life with her, he realized. A realization that had a thought popping into his head.
Rubbing another charm, a small book, then fiddling with a piece that looked like the Scottie dog marker on a Monopoly board, he asked, “Would you visit him with me?”
“Your grandfather?” she asked, shocked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to?”
“I just promised him I’d take you for a visit,” he confessed wryly, but it was more than that. He wanted her to see his home, his family, his world. He wanted her to know all of him. Even the shitty side of his past, and the good side too—the loving grandfather who had never, ever given up on him and had supported him throughout his life. “He helped me, and—”
“Helped you how? With what?”
“Ways you don’t even want to know,” he said ruefully. “And by that, I mean, because you’re the daughter of a cop.”
She grunted. “Okay. Yeah. Sometimes, TMI is a possibility, I guess.”
He tapped her nose with his finger, then anointed the tip with his lips.
“What’s going on?”
Sean’s voice had them both turning to face him.
“Why?” Andrei asked with a frown.
“Nothing. You just…” Sean shook his head, but it seemed more at himself than at them.
“Sean? Are you okay?”
It wasn’t often Andrei saw Sean looking anything other than his usual calm and collected self.
Of them all, Sean was the steadiest. He was strong, solid. Cool under pressure, capable of absorbing a lot of crap from those he loved and handling crises that came as a result.
To see him looking shaken had Andrei frowning with concern.
He watched as Sean came in and leaned against the desk. He pressed his hands to the edge of the table, squeezed tight enough to make his knuckles turn white, and bowing his head between his tensed shoulders, murmured, “One of the cases I’m working on… they found another victim.”
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Sascha said, scuttling from Andrei’s lap and rounding the desk to press close to Sean’s side.
She shot him a look, one that he just shrugged in reply to.
Sean worked on several cases at once, and he rarely shared any of the details regarding them.
It was unusual for him to react like this to another victim. Not totally out of the blue, but unique enough that Andrei found himself without words.
“Can we do anything to help?”
He shook his head at her words, then in a flurry of movement, spun on his heel and dragged her against him.
Sascha jumped in surprise, but her generous nature reared its head and she just allowed him to wrap her up in his arms, hold her tight, and lose himself in that generosity.
It was then, as he watched her comfort a man who was closer than a brother, he knew how much he loved her.
The feelings weren’t new. They didn’t even come as a surprise. But they were real. Very, very real. So solid, that his chest felt weighted down with the pressure of his feelings.
So, he said to himself, this is what love feels like?
He hid a smile, lest she and Sean think him a total unfeeling prick for gawking and grinning like a loon while Sean had a meltdown and took a second to allow the sensation of warmth to flush through him.
He’d let Sean deal with his grief, a grief that spoke of the heinousness of what had happened to the victim, and then he’d broach the subject of Elizabeth Jacobie with him.
It was about time they spoke to Henry too, Andrei reckoned.
They needed to resolve this situation, before Sascha found herself in more danger than she already was.
He’d already lost the only other woman he’d loved to violence. He wouldn’t lose Sascha too.
And that was a promise. One he made to his seven-year-old self.
Chapter Six
“It’s been a week.”
Sean blinked at her from over a sheaf of papers. “Excuse me?”
She propped her hands on her hips. “It’s been a week.”
“Since what?”
“You know what. My doctor’s appointment.”
She watched as his lips twitched. “Ah.”
“Yes. Ah.”
“You’re telling me this why?”
“So you can do that weird communication thing you have with the others. I’m not sure if it’s Morse Code with your eyelashes or some kind of sigils made with your pasta, but you’d better spread the communiqué around that this girl is back in action.”
He coughed. “You need to see the doctor again before you get the all clear.”
“I feel better, dammit.” And she did. She wasn’t just saying that because she was horny.
Which she was. Extremely.
It was like being on a diet and being surrounded, at all times, by the biggest goddamn cannolis around. Worse, ice cream galore, chips and candy… they were all the bad stuff. Bad stuff she craved with a need that should have astonished her, but she was too busy craving to worry.
Hell, she could worry another time. At the moment, all that was concerning her was her very empty, very needy pussy.
“I’m not going to the doctor’s again. Not until it’s time to take off my cast.”
Sean narrowed his eyes. “That’s in, what? Another two weeks.”
She grunted. “Trust you to remember that.”
“I still can’t believe you haven’t told your father what happened that day. Why lie to him? Why not tell him everything? Surely he’d want to know?”
Sascha almost stomped her foot at his change of topic. She didn’t want to talk about this. She wanted to talk about him. Inside her. And if that was avoidance or a delay tactic, then fucking sue her.
If anyone deserved to avoid the shitstorm she was embroiled in, through no fault of her own she might add, it was Sascha goddamn Dubois.
“Because I’m not ready for that conversation. That’s why. You know it’s way more than just saying I was in an accident. It was easier to tell him I fell, hit my head and broke my arm.”
“Why lie about something you’re going to have to discuss at some point?”
She pursed her lips. “Why are you changing the subject?”
“Because you’re not ready.”
“Ready to talk to my dad about my birth mom? No. You’ve got that damn right. I might never be ready either,” she warned with a huff, crossing
her arms over her chest.
She no longer had to be gentle with her healing wrist. Not that she could fling it around willy nilly, but she could at least cross her arms now without feeling like her wrist was about to fall off.
Another sign she was on the mend. About goddamn time too. She was sick of not being one hundred percent. Sick of them having to be careful with her. She wanted all they had to give. And not an ounce less.
“I meant ready for sex.”
“What do you want me to do, dammit? Get a doctor’s note?”
He shrugged. “Yes.”
She glowered at him, astonished by his reply. “You can’t be serious.” A statement. Not a question.
“I am. Deadly,” he countered.
She watched as he got out of his seat, moved around the desk, then perched his fine behind on the edge. He mimicked her pose—folding his arms across his chest—and murmured, “Why would any of us want to do anything that would harm you?”
“It’s not like that,” she argued.
“It is. We’ve already learned we can’t trust you to help yourself. You slept with most of us with your head aching. If you lead us to believe that you’re doing well, then how are we supposed to judge the truth? So, no, I don’t believe you when you say you’re fine. Because you told us you were fine each time you were with us. So, yes, I need a doctor’s note.”
She pursed her lips. “This is ridiculous. I felt better after we fucked, dammit! Why does no one believe me?”
He studied her calmly, so calmly she felt flustered and irritable. “Maybe, it is ridiculous. But you look after the people you love, don’t you? Even when they don’t look after themselves.”
His words had her freezing in place. Love? God, that changed everything.
“I love you too,” she told him softly, her defensive posture slouching into nothingness as she recognized the truth in his words.
It did seem like she was self-sabotaging, she begrudgingly admitted, and the other, horrendous, truth was that around them, she did have serious control issues. They did something to her. She wasn’t even sure what it was, just that when she was around them, she felt this need to connect with them. To be with them.
She’d never felt that driving urge before.
It was so much more than sex. It was a need that was so basic, it would have terrified her if they weren’t as in over their heads as she was.
He held out a hand, almost like their thoughts were running parallel. She bit her lip, but let his fingers enfold hers as he pulled her against his chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-I… you must think I’m mad. I just don’t want to lose you. Any of you.”
“Why would you lose us?” he asked, sounding gratifyingly perplexed.
“Because what’s the point in being with me if you can’t sleep with me?”
He froze, his body overcome with a tension that hurt her. “Is that what you think?”
His voice was like ice, and she winced.
“I-I guess. But it’s more than that. I just want to be near you. I hate that these stupid headaches are putting distance between us.”
“But they’re not.”
She peered up at him. “They’re not?”
“No. Of course not. Do you think I don’t want you? That I don’t crave every luscious inch of you?”
She gulped at the heat banked in his stormy blue eyes. “You do?”
“I do,” he told her gravely. “We all do. I think we’ve shown you that in many different ways.”
Her cheeks bloomed with heat. Did he know about the wooden spoon?
She didn’t have the gall to ask, so instead, whispered, “But… I haven’t been able to—”
“And that’s life, Sascha. I want you whole and healthy or not at all. Do you understand me? You put your health at risk to sleep with us. We tried—granted, not enough—to hold you back, but we’re men. That doesn’t excuse us, and I’m fucked off that we couldn’t resist you even when it was for your own benefit, but we will resist you now. For your own damn good.”
She blinked. “But I really do feel better,” she told him in a soft voice.
“Then get me the doctor’s note to prove it,” he retorted. “Anyway, these last few weeks haven’t been ideal but look how close we’ve all knit together. That’s what happens when sex isn’t involved. Or,” he conceded, “not as involved as it could be.”
“We have grown close, haven’t we?” she mused, pleased by the notion.
“Of course. Each day is a chance to get to know one another better. That hasn’t changed with me and the others in the decades I’ve known them. Every day’s a learning curve.”
She pursed her lips. “Do you really mean that?”
He sighed. “Since when have you not known me to speak my mind?”
“Never, I guess.” She gnawed at the inside of her cheek, then asked, “Will you go on a date with me?”
His eyes widened, then he grinned. “Sure. I’ve never been asked out on a date before. Where to?”
She gawked at him. “What the hell is wrong with women in this country?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve never been asked out? Are the people with ovaries blind here or something?”
He snorted. “I doubt it. It’s just if you don’t put yourself in those situations, it’s not easy to meet people.” He shrugged. “You know how it works.”
She grumbled under her breath. “I still think it’s weird. But anyway, it’s to my gain.” Though it made zero sense.
How they’d all failed to be snapped up spoke of a serious lack of brains in the female population of England. In America, these hotties would have been off the shelf since high school.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Do you want to go to the cinema? So we can neck and stuff?” She grinned at the smoky look in his eye, then added, “Post doctor’s note. I promise.”
He grabbed her hips and pulled her against him. She could feel the bulge of his erection against her belly and loved that it took so little to get him hard.
Hell, who was she kidding?
All of them were the same around her.
No wonder she was horny so much. They made her feel like a sex Goddess. Like she was the sexiest thing on the planet! How could a woman not revel in that? It was damn empowering knowing you had five men who could get hard at the prospect of just kissing you in a darkened cinema hall.
“That sounds perfect.”
“I can’t imagine it’s where you’ve taken dates in the past.”
“No. Restaurants, usually,” he told her. “Boring. Do I get to pick the movie?”
“We’ll work our way up to restaurants,” she chided. “They don’t always have to be boring.”
“Nothing’s boring when you have that twinkle in your eye,” he told her with a roguish grin.
“You’ve just not been eating with the right people. You needed an American to come in and shake things up.”
His laughter had him flinging his head back at that. She loved that she could break down his walls, make him act like just a man instead of the criminologist who had more on his plate than most.
The other day, seeing him broken inside at having lost another victim because he had been too slow to catch the murderer? It had done something to her. Twisted her. Something that had already been happening thanks to Andrei’s horrible tale of his mother’s death.
They’d all been touched, in their own ways, by the depths of depravity. Some of them more than others, but they’d all rallied around and had survived by coming together into this unusual household. One she was grateful to be a part of.
Here, she knew, she could flourish. Just as they had.
She’d found her place, and what a place when the view came with five hunky men, all with cocks that wouldn’t goddamn quit.
Finishing up in the restroom, Sascha didn’t return to the kitchen but headed for the front door.
Having heard the postman’s arrival, she went to grab the letters on the doormat. Riffling through them, she began to sort them in her hand, but as she did, a shadowy figure blocked out some of the light coming in from the inlaid stained glass in the door.
By the blur’s diminutive stature, she figured it was a woman. And to save her head from ringing once the doorbell struck, she opened up, a questioning look on her face that immediately turned to one of dislike.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded of Kurt’s ex-wife.
A nasty smile played about Katrin Yeller’s features—it irritated the shit out of Sascha that the bitch still had Kurt’s surname.
Call her possessive, but to her, that was wrong on so many levels. The damn woman hadn’t been much of a wife when they were married. Why keep the surname now they were divorced?
“I wanted to give my thanks to Andrei and Kurt.” She gestured to the gifts she had in her arms. Gifts, Sascha eyed as though they were poisoned snakes.
From this cow, they might as well have been.
“They don’t want your thanks.” Wasn’t that the truth.
This bitch had told Andrei she was pregnant with his child, had let him start making plans with Kurt, and then she’d had an abortion.
As far as Sascha was concerned, any debts the men figured they owed Katrin for having helped keep some of Kurt’s family secrets locked away from the press, had been more than paid.
Rather than do the dutiful thing and let the guest into the house, Sascha leaned across the doorway and folded her arms across her chest.
This was her house now.
She wasn’t here temporarily, nor was she here because this was her place of employment.
It was her home.
Her haven.
And this witch wasn’t taking a step inside.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” came the cross demand.
Sascha smiled. Sweetly. “No. I see no reason for you to come in. You can always give me the gifts.”
“How do I know they’ll make it to the men?” Katrin demanded snidely.
Sascha would have been offended, but Katrin was right on the money. “They won’t make it anywhere other than the trash.” She smiled again. This time, with teeth. “They want nothing from you except for you to disappear. So, go on, piss off.”
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