The Bully (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  I don’t usually drink.

  Tonight seems like the perfect time to start.

  I down half the bottle while gambling away the rest of my cash on street dice with Bram, Valon, Motya, and Pasha.

  “That’s more like it!” Bram says, roaring with laughter as I roll an eleven, winning a hefty bet off Valon. “Nice to have the old Dean back.”

  I take another swig of my drink.

  “Yeah, you like the old Dean?” I say blearily. “That makes one of us.”

  Pasha calls Bodashka and Vanya Antonov to join us. They’re at least as drunk as I am, Bodashka’s broad face flushed red, and Vanya swaying a little as he saunters over.

  Bodashka gives me a grudging greeting, and even Vanya nods in a manner that might be interpreted as friendly.

  “I didn’t think you drank,” Vanya says to me.

  “I don’t.”

  “What’s that, then?” He grins, jerking his chin toward my half-empty bottle.

  “Anesthetic.”

  “Oh yeah, the new doctor gave you that?” He chuckles. “She’s a hell of an improvement over the old one.”

  “Careful,” I say.

  “Don’t worry.” Vanya holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I have no intention of drawing the wrath of our boxing instructor. I learned my lesson the first day of class.”

  “Not your most brilliant moment, Dmitry,” Bodashka snickers.

  “It was certainly educational,” I say, taking another swig.

  Bodashka and Vanya look surprised that I’m not instantly infuriated by their comments.

  The truth is, I’m only half listening to them. The rest of my brain is wondering what Cat is doing right now. I had hoped she might drop into the party, but no luck yet.

  “Well, whatever’s in that bottle, I think it’s good for you, Dmitry,” Vanya says, with the audacity to give me a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Chills you the fuck out. It’s better to be friends than enemies, don’t you think?”

  I look at Vanya’s smile, full of perfect white teeth but stopping dead at his cheeks. His dark eyes remain as flat and predatory as a shark’s.

  I bet Brutus looked like that when he smiled at Caesar.

  “You need all the friends you can get, Dmitry,” Bodashka says quietly. “Big things are coming back home. And your father isn’t there to look out for your interests anymore.”

  “You want to pick your alliances very carefully,” Vanya says, those shark eyes fixed on my face. “Kade Petrov is a poor choice.”

  I wish I weren’t so drunk.

  They’re trying to tell me something.

  “What do you mean?” I ask Bodashka, struggling to focus on his pale, bloodshot eyes.

  “The high table isn’t happy with the Petrovs. Ivan Petrov is barely in contact and his brother is siphoning off money. If Ivan can’t even keep his own house in order—”

  “There’s upheaval coming,” Pasha says, his tone conspiratorial and eager. “If you pick the right side . . . all of St. Petersburg could be up for grabs.”

  I look at Bodashka and Vanya. Motya, Pasha, Bram, and Valon, too. All my oldest friends, and one enemy who wants to become allies. They stare back at me, expecting me to jump at the chance to pillage the territory of the Petrovs. It could be the making of all of us.

  I think of Kade Petrov, laughing when I pop him in our boxing class. Struggling with all his might to win the Quartum Bellum even when it’s clear that he lost, even when the waves washed over his head.

  I just met that kid. Why should I care what happens to his family?

  Why should I believe Dominik Petrov is a good man, just because he refused to fuck some ballerina? Everyone else says he’s turning on his own brother.

  And yet . . . I trust the Petrovs more than I trust this group of schemers.

  Or maybe I’ve just gone soft.

  I stand up abruptly, scattering my remaining cash.

  “It’s foolish to divide the meat when the bear hasn’t been shot,” I say.

  “We’re not talking about the meat. We’re talking about the hunt,” Vanya hisses.

  “Don’t mistake absence for weakness. Ivan Petrov is a powerful man. One I don’t want for an enemy.”

  “You’re a coward,” Vanya spits.

  “And you’re a traitor,” I retort, staring him down. “I’d take Ivan as an enemy before I’d take you as a friend.”

  Bodashka, Vanya, and Pasha glare at me. Motya and Valon look torn. Only Bram gives me an affirming nod. He likes Kade Petrov.

  “You better keep your mouth shut about this,” Bodashka hisses.

  I scoff in his face, leaving the dice and cash scattered on the stable floor.

  It’ll be a dark day when I take orders from Bodashka Kushnir.

  Sunday morning I wake up with a raging headache. This is why I never fucking drink—I hate paying the price the next morning.

  I go looking for Cat anyway, determined to talk through our argument.

  But I can’t find her anywhere—she’s not in the dining hall, the library, or her dorm room.

  I know she’s avoiding me intentionally. That sneaky little kitten can be quite elusive when she wants to be.

  She won’t be able to hide on Monday—she’ll have to go to class, and I have her schedule memorized.

  I corner her outside Chemistry before first period.

  “Cat,” I say, grabbing her arm. “I need to talk to you.”

  She shakes me off, snapping, “Don’t touch me!”

  “Are you going to pretend you don’t like when I touch you?” I growl, pinning her up against the rough stone wall.

  “I’m not playing games with you anymore!” she cries, trying to get past me.

  I’m not looking at her angry expression—I’m fixated on the shockingly bare expanse of collarbone where the ruby necklace usually sits.

  “You took off my necklace?” I say, outraged.

  “It’s my necklace,” Cat says angrily, “and I’ll throw it in the fucking toilet if I feel like it!”

  “Don’t you dare, you little—”

  My words are cut off by a swift and accurate knee to the groin from my beloved.

  I double over, groaning. Cat slips neatly past me.

  “Leave me alone, Dean. I mean it!” she cries, darting into the classroom.

  I lean against the wall, sweating and breathing hard until the throbbing pain in my balls dissipates.

  “You should be more careful with something you might want to use again . . .” I grumble toward the closed door of Cat’s class.

  Straightening up, I give my head a shake.

  I should be angry with her. But I’m well aware of Cat’s claustrophobia. There’s a fine line between restraining her and trapping her.

  Besides . . . I always enjoy a glimpse of Cat’s ruthless side. Even when it’s directed at me.

  The bigger issue is how I’m going to make her talk to me.

  I ponder this conundrum during boxing.

  I pair up with Kade Petrov intentionally to annoy Vanya and Bodashka. Sure enough, they glower and mutter to each other as they watch us spar.

  “I can never tell if they’re mad at me or you,” Kade says, sending a rapid combination my way.

  “Both,” I say, blocking each punch in turn. “And they’re not mad. They’re just . . . malevolent.”

  Kade laughs. “I’m glad I can always get a vocabulary lesson along with my boxing instruction.”

  “Maybe you should be an English teacher, ‘cause you ain’t never gonna be a boxer,” I tease him, sending a combination back at him.

  Kade slips the punches with promising speed.

  “There you go!” I say. “Not too shabby.”

  He fires back at me and I bat his fist aside.

  “Not too great, either,” I snort.

  I don’t know why I’m laughing. I’ve got a hundred different problems plaguing me, and I’m still fucked in the head from seeing that picture of my mother. But Kade is so
easy-going that it lightens my mood to spar with him, even on the worst days.

  He refuses to quail under the obvious antagonism of the older students. And he never shirks from practicing with me, even when he can’t land a single hit. His persistence is infectious.

  Kade attacks again, even faster. This time he manages to get a rapid jab inside my right glove, and it grazes my chin.

  “Oh, you felt that one!” Kade chortles, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “Not as much as you will,” I growl.

  After class, I help Snow pick up the discarded sparring pads.

  He sprays them with sanitizer and wipes them down with a towel.

  “Well,” he grunts, throwing another pad on the pile of those that have been cleaned. “What is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you’re not helping me tidy up out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “I could be.”

  “You’re not.”

  I pick up a sweaty towel and chuck it in the laundry bin, irritated by how easily he sees through me.

  “I got in a fight with Cat the other night,” I say.

  “What happened?”

  “She found my mother. Living in Chicago, under her sister’s name.”

  Snow is silent a minute, digesting this.

  “Why did that occasion a fight?” he says, at last.

  “Cat tracked her down without even asking me. She shoved a picture in my face.”

  Snow cocks an eyebrow at me. “And that made you angry?”

  “She had no right.”

  He makes a dismissive sound. “She has every right.”

  I wring the next towel in my hands, glaring at Snow. It’s just like him to take her side for no fucking reason.

  “How do you figure that?” I demand.

  “It’s called intimacy, Dean. You let someone in your life, and they’re in your life. She’s not a doll you can put on a shelf until you want to play with her again. She’s gonna have her own ideas of how to do things.”

  “It’s my fucking mother! It’s my choice if I want to find her or not.”

  “Cat didn’t fly her to the island. It’s still your choice if you want to see her, isn’t it?”

  My blood pressure is rising, thudding in my temples and behind my eyes. I don’t know why the fuck I come to Snow for advice when he’s just as infuriating as Cat. Maybe even more so.

  “She had the balls to try to break up with me!” I say.

  Snow chuckles, and I’d like to chuck this towel right in his face.

  “Sounds like she did break up with you,” he says.

  I fling the towel into the hamper, biting back the torrent of angry words that want to spill out of me. I regret how I spoke to Cat. I don’t need to set another relationship on fire—even if Snow is seriously pissing me off.

  “Well?” I demand.

  “Well what?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Have you considered apologizing?”

  “Why the fuck should I apologize? She’s the one who should beg me for forgiveness.”

  Snow sighs, picking up the last of the pads and carrying them over to the storage cabinet.

  “Dean,” he says. “I don’t think this is the first time you’ve blown up your own life. Have you ever tried fixing it instead?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You want connection, don’t you? Stop pushing away the people who will give it to you.”

  “I don’t want to see my mother.”

  “Then don’t. But Cat is right here.”

  I look down at the mats, my guts churning.

  “I don’t think she is. I really fucked up.”

  Snow closes the cabinet and locks it.

  “No relationship is built without mistakes,” he says.

  I cast a quick look at his stony scowl. “You think she’ll forgive me?”

  “Maybe. If you learn how to say sorry and actually mean it.”

  “What does that look like?”

  Snow folds his arms across his substantial chest. “Only you can figure that out,” he says.

  I think about that while I gather up my duffle bag and prepare to leave.

  Right as I reach the door, I pause and turn back.

  “Snow,” I say.

  He turns around, waiting.

  “With Sasha . . . how did you know you were really in love?”

  Snow answers without hesitation. “I knew when I was willing to do anything for her. Give anything. Risk anything.”

  Then he heads back to his office, not waiting for my response.

  24

  The Spy

  This school year has seemed the longest yet.

  I’m so tired.

  I never realized what a strain all the lying would be.

  The rest of the students are energized by the warming weather. For me, it has the opposite effect. Another summer rolling around—another anniversary I don’t want to mark. I never thought I’d be here three years later.

  Miss Robin still hasn’t found what she’s been searching for day and night for all this time.

  “If we can’t find it, maybe we should consider—”

  “No,” she snaps. “We proceed with the rest of the plan either way.”

  My stomach clenches. I don’t like the rest of the plan. I’ve never liked it.

  She lays her hand on my arm, looking in my eyes.

  “I know this is hard for you. But it’s the only way. She’s coming here next year. She’ll be alone and unprotected.”

  Kingmakers: the safest place on earth, invulnerable to attack.

  Unless the enemy is already inside.

  Miss Robin squeezes my arm, her fingers frightfully strong.

  “This is not a world made for the gentle and the just. You are a wolf, and always have been.”

  I remove her hand from my arm and hold it between my own.

  “I’ll do what has to be done.”

  “I know you will,” she says.

  For now, I have another task at hand. Much simpler than the task awaiting me come September.

  I find Cat Romero plodding across campus with her arms full of books.

  Cat always looks too small to carry whatever she’s carrying. I have to resist the urge to offer to take the stack out of her hands.

  “Hello Cat,” I say.

  “Oh, hello,” She replies, miserably.

  Her face looks thin and drawn, her shoulders slumped.

  Probably something to do with Dean.

  Too bad—I was almost starting to root for him.

  He became my unwitting ally this year, without ever knowing it.

  “How are you doing?” I ask her.

  “I’m fi—” she starts, and then abruptly changes her mind. “Not good,” she admits.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No,” she sighs. “Thank you, though.”

  “Are you sure? I could strangle Dean in his sleep.”

  Her lower lip trembles. “I’m afraid I’m a long way past when that would help me.”

  “How’s Zoe doing, then?” I say, knowing that will cheer her up.

  Sure enough, she gives me a wobbly smile.

  “She’s so happy,” Cat says. “She sold another script—can you believe it?”

  Nothing pleases Cat more than something good happening for her sister.

  “I was talking to Perry Saunders at the library,” I say, casually. “She’s a friend of yours, isn’t she?”

  “Mm-hm,” Cat nods, glancing across the open lawn as if distracted. Maybe looking for Dean.

  “Have you ever visited her in Kyiv?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t live in Kyiv. Her mother doesn’t like it there, so they live in Naples and her father flies back every couple of weeks. Her mother breeds horses . . .”

  “I’m surprised he’s willing to live on his own,” I chuckle. “Mafia men aren’t exactly known for their housekeeping skills.”
<
br />   “He stays at the Four Seasons,” Cat says, now scanning the students exiting the dining hall. Probably looking for Dean.

  “Well, I won’t keep you,” I say, ready to part ways. “Have fun in class.”

  “You too,” Cat says, vaguely.

  It’s to my benefit that she wasn’t entirely paying attention—Cat Romero can be a little too curious for her own good. Miss Robin already warned me about that.

  She guessed almost immediately that Cat was the one who killed Rocco Prince. That was an unwelcome complication—Dr. Cross’ lung infection was another.

  With all the near-misses we’ve had, I’ve almost become numb to the danger of our position.

  There’s only so many times you can face down death without wanting to open your arms to him out of sheer exhaustion.

  25

  Cat

  Dean corners me again outside the dining hall. I tried to come to dinner late to avoid him, but apparently he’s been waiting out here for over an hour.

  “Leave me alone,” I say, trying to push past him.

  “No,” he says. “Not until you talk to me.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  “But I have something to say to you.”

  I turn to face him, fully annoyed.

  “And it’s what you want that matters, isn’t it, Dean?”

  “No,” he says, somewhat abashed. “I mean, maybe . . .”

  It’s hard to look at him, because the handsomeness of his face never fails to work its subversive magic on me, even when my stomach is still clenched up in knots and my heart is still aching from a weekend of bawling my eyes out.

  Dean is bad for me. I’ve known that from the beginning.

  And yet my body craves him like fresh oxygen. I’m already missing the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands on my flesh.

  “You hurt me, Dean,” I tell him quietly. “You really hurt me.”

  “I know,” he says. “And . . .” He swallows, as if he’s choking on something. “And I’m sorry,” he says in a strangled tone.