“Tatty.”
“Not another word,” Nikita rasps just before I see something I never thought in my life to see.
Irina, my sweet-as-pie wife who cries while watching television, pulls her arm back and hits Luka so hard that the man just teeters before crumpling like a paper bag.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, and quite frankly I don’t care right now. What you’re doing is so unlike the man I have always loved. I can’t…you don’t deserve her love if this is what you think love is, Luka Velnicova,” she spits as Nik lands a kick and Eliza stomps on his hand in fury.
“Tatty…”
“Nyet, Luka,” Max grates. “Leave her be, brat. She is hurting and fragile right now. Give her time to pull her pride back around her.”
No one moves, no one says a damn thing as the women all turn on their heels and shuffle Tatiana away, her sniffles dying down.
“Christ, man, even I am not that much of an asshole,” Feliks mutters, falling into a seat along with the rest of us as Luka struggles to sit up, his head hanging with the weight of Tat’s implications. “You know, I heard rumors about that fucking ball, but I never imagined it was you, dude. That’s just cold.”
Those words gain my old friend a measure of respect and I go so far as to pour him a drink and salute him before falling into a seat and glaring at Luka.
“Man, and I thought I had problems with the new improved Irina? You’re totally fucked if you screwed that girl’s cousin, humiliated her, and knocked her up too. Tat’s a good person, understanding, but I have seen her get pissed, and she is way more than pissed,” I murmur, watching the guy cringe and poke at his already swelling eyes and nose.
Dude’s gonna have two blue eyes and a Rudolph nose if he doesn’t get ice on that soon. Too bad I’m all outta sympathy.
“I was drunk, okay! Christ, I couldn’t have fucked that woman if I’d downed a bottle of Viagra. My dick was limper than a washrag,” he yells, making us all shudder when he grips the bridge of his nose and twists, a loud crunch following the move.
“Okay. So what exactly had Tat believing you were screwing then?” Leo asks darkly, his molten blue orbs shooting sparks at the man.
“I was going downtown when she walked in.”
“Jesus. You are so screwed.”
I kissed my ex for all of five seconds and Irina still won’t kiss me.
Luka is so fucked if Tat saw him eating some other chick. Hell, her own cousin!
“God, I need a drink.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lena
The smell of sweaty balls is all pervasive as I sashay my ass back to the bar, offloading the empty tray with a groan when Phil dumps another round on it and points me to the VIP table in back—the very table I’ve been trying to avoid since one of the Romanov twins strolled in and sat his fine butt down beside my target.
What no one in my family knows and what has been driving me crazy since the FBI approached me two years ago is that I am undercover and working my way up into an organization that would have my brothers going crazy if they ever knew.
Papa knows. He knows and he’s helped me as much as he can since he had his heart attack and had to start delegating to his crew. The reason for my little adventure is not an all-consuming need to serve my country and protect good people from bad men like my boss.
I was born with about as much altruism as a stick, and that’s the way I like to live my life. Or that’s the way I liked to live before the father of my child decided to go and get himself involved in business that could see him in prison for the rest of his miserable life.
I hate that man so much, but I love him, too, and I won’t ever see him sent down for crimes he hasn’t committed. No, the only crime he’s guilty of is being foolish enough to trust a lifelong friend whose only loyalty is to himself and the fat Russian bastard currently taking up perfectly good breathing space at his table in the back.
So here I am, after two years of working like a dog in a freaking strip club, my life a freaking joke because I need to help the Feds catch the Romanov boys in the act while simultaneously keeping the parentage of my kid a secret.
Not easy since Feliks went and filed for custody, blowing my progress almost to hell and back before Peter, my “Swedish boyfriend,” stepped in and had things put on the back burner.
I’m so close to gathering that last shred of evidence that I can almost taste freedom. I need that freedom, need to stop chasing shadows and focus all the love I feel for my baby on him.
I want to spend my days playing with him and being the mother I’ve always wanted to be. I want time for bedtime stories and ice cream in the park.
Hell, at this rate, I’ll take an hour of just sleeping, my kid curled up in my arms, his sweet baby smell stuffing my nose.
I’m so close.
“Hey, baby, you got more than those drinks for me?” one Romanov asks salaciously, his palm squeezing my ass so hard, I have to hold back a groan of pain as I shift away and smile cheekily.
“Not tonight, handsome. My boyfriend’s got me on a tight leash, and since tonight’s my last night…” I say, trailing off flirtatiously.
The older man, Johnny, one of the leading generals, shakes his head and grabs his drink.
“You can’t leave us, Vicki. I need that tight ass bouncing around here to break up the sight of tired pussy and saggy tits.”
God, I hate these men. They have about as much respect for women as Stalin had for civilians. But I have to remind myself that I’m almost done.
Peter’s concocted a great cover of the billionaire playboy whose heart was captured by his little Russian waitress, and I’ve been invited to a garden tea with Big Romanov’s wife, Lucinda, the day after tomorrow.
Since there’s nothing at the club, getting into the house is the next step, one I’m hoping will lead to me actually getting a USB drive into a computer to gather what I need to prove that the Romanovs are not really laundering money through Feliks’s company.
Then I’ll be done, and as soon as I am, I am looking forward to a good day’s worth of beating Feliks to death. Or at least till that man sees sense.
“Sorry, handsome, but my heart’s taken,” I trill, gritting my teeth when they start laughing and making off-colored comments about the high price of my vagina.
I’d dearly love to tell these assholes that my trust fund could buy and sell my fictitious boyfriend twice over, but that would be blowing my cover and I can’t do that, no matter how tempting it would be to see those men choke on their own rancid breaths.
I’m almost done, ten minutes left of my shift, when I feel my heart plummet and see all my hard work go to hell.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
That raspy voice is one from both my nightmares and my wildest dreams to date. I’ve heard that voice in all its guises. Lust. Love. Joy. Anger and hatred, when we ripped into each other so violently, I still bleed from the wounds he left me with.
I know what I’ll see if I dare to look up into those icy blue-green eyes. I see a mini replica of that face every day and every night when I sneak into my son’s room and stare at him with all the love and longing I feel in my heart.
I love that face, just as I have always loved this one. Even when I hated him so much, I couldn’t breathe past the pain.
He can’t be here, not now, not when I am so close to my goal I can taste success.
“Hey, pal, no touching,” I hear from my right, my eyes going misty as relief and trepidation course through me.
Peter is coming to the rescue, as always, and just in the nick of time when I see him pat Feliks’s shoulder and step to cover him from prying eyes just as the drug he stuck him with takes effect, making him sway and slur drunkenly.
“Lena…”
“Sorry, pal. You’re mistaken. This is my girl, Vicki. We’re getting married in two months’ time in my home country,” he drawls in the phoney accent that still makes me cringe.
“You have some explaining to do, Lena.”
Shit.
“Er, where’s Peter?” I ask, shuffling sideways in a bid to get closer to the old broken-down Ford the Feds gave me at the start of this operation. The thing smells like cheesy socks and a hobo’s nuts, but it purrs like a kitten and only backfires when I hit the gas too hard.
Feliks notes my move and counters, his steps pushing me closer to the darkness of an alley in the opposite direction of where I want to be. I should be panicking and running like hell right now when that seductive, dark smile tilts his lips and his lashes lower dangerously.
I know that look. It’s the same one he gave me when we first met. It’s his predatory look. The one that says he means business. The very one that makes my heart sink in my chest.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard and sweaty way, Helena.”
Chapter Sixteen
Irina
Two weeks of “healing” is the opposite of the luxury it sounds like, I think as I pace the confines of Misha’s penthouse and grate my teeth against the frustration beating at my senses.
I’ve been locked up and made a prisoner ever since the Royal Highness of Assholeville declared me a security risk till such a time as he nails the “fucks” who dared to touch his woman.
I’ve been fed. Well, he’s been trying to tube-feed me since they took my stitches out and I slimmed down.
I look fabulous, almost sexy without my old muffin top, but the brute seems to be going nuts the more weight I lose. Last night I woke up to him pulling at his hair and staring at my ass in horror, his snarls of rage the most amusing thing I have ever heard in my life.
Who would have ever thought my husband would balk at me getting beach ready, going absolutely crazy with every millimeter my ass keeps shrinking?
As I keep pacing and viciously eye the gym door, plotting my next revenge move, I hear the sound of the doorbell and roll my eyes in frustration. Tony always freaking rings the thing no matter how many times I’ve told him not to bother since no one, not even the freaking president, can get up here without approval.
“I told you not to bother, Tony,” I growl playfully, my breath stalling as I yank the door open and come face to face with my worst nightmare.
“Hello, Irina. May I come in?”
My jaw is somewhere near the floor as I look up straight into the eyes of the woman who holds more of my husband than I do.
Mina.
“What do you want?”
Her mocking smile is cruel and knowing as she shrugs her shoulders and pouts her botoxed lips.
I am definitely never kissing Misha again.
“I thought you and I could finally talk, Irina, woman to woman. We both love the same man, after all,” she drawls, her perfume and that false smirk making my eyes water as I grind my teeth together and shake my head.
“I have nothing to say to you and nothing I want to hear from you, either, lady. Stay away from my husband, Mina. Stay away from me. Or I will call your parents and let them know you’re consorting with the enemy again,” I snarl, smiling now and relishing the pure fear and loathing in her eyes at the threat.
In my community, everyone knows someone and someone knows everyone. While I may not be directly connected to this woman and her bastard family, I can guarantee my brothers or one of their friends would know a cousin or relative.
We’re Russian. That’s the way shit works, especially in this city that’s bigger and smaller than one would assume.
“You could. You could do that and I would leave, Irina. But then you will never learn anything about your husband and why he can never love you,” she says through gritted teeth, her smile returning when my face pales noticeably.
“There’s nothing you could say to me that would make a difference, Mina. I love Misha and I will wait till he is ready to tell me everything.”
“Truly? But then you will never know, Irina. Aren’t you curious about the dates on his back? Haven’t you wondered about those little numbers by now?”
I have. I’d assumed at first it was her birthdate and date of death. Then I’d assumed it was the duration of their relationship. Then, early one morning while he slept, I saw that the dates are in the same year and month, just six days apart.
Of course I’m curious. I mean, I am the Sherlock Holmes of my family.
Dammit.
“I don’t care what you—”
“Oh? Then I suppose you will never know why Misha wants children just as badly as he doesn’t,” she says, making my eyes narrow even as I feel chills race down my spine.
It hasn’t escaped me. I mean the man even spoke to me about renewing my contraceptive just two days ago, almost making me cry at this new rejection.
He didn’t say it, but I got the message loud and clear, even though I could have sworn he was thrilled when he thought I was pregnant with his kid.
“Look, Mina, just go away. This is just you trying to fuck up my marriage because you have some sick obsession with Misha, even though you don’t really want him.”
“Okay. I’ll go. I won’t say another word. Ask him about our Minka, though. Ask him about his daughter and how he killed her.”
PART III
Chapter One
Irina
Minka. Minka. Killed her. Ask him.
After Mina leaves, her smirk still burning through my gut, all I can do is stumble toward the kitchen and fall into one of the stools at the breakfast bar—my lungs, my heart, and my mind all frozen.
Misha had a child. He was a father.
God help me. I can’t form a coherent thought as the words keep slamming into my brain, causing question upon question to flood me. Where is she? Dead? How? Why did Mina say he killed her? How old was she?
Everything is scattered and disjointed, confusing as I sit and think for what feels like hours. The phone rings but I ignore it. Again and again till eventually the pounding of the door pulls me out of my funk and I trudge over to the door.
“Dammit, Ri, you can’t just not answer your phone! Novac is going nuts with worry and those damn brothers of his are on the way here as we speak,” Tony yells, his handsome face and light brown eyes shooting sparks at me as he pushes into the penthouse and firmly locks the door.
His scowl is nothing new, seeing as I take delight in driving the man nuts every chance I get, but right now it affects me in a way that makes the last shred of nerve I have left desert me.
“Oh shit. Oh damn. Uh, Ri, honey…please don’t cry. Shit, don’t…they’ll kill me if they get up here and find you bawling.”
I’m laughing as hard as I’m crying by this point.
His face is freaking hilarious as I gasp in another breath, my stupid mind choosing to focus on the stupidity of men.
My brother once told me that female emotions are a mystery to most men—that men are more straight forward. Get them angry and they’ll come up swinging. Give them food and sex and they’re happy. Make them sad, and, well, chances are they’ll start talking about football to get over shit.
I laughed my ass off when he told me that, and laughed harder when he informed me that a crying woman was akin to stepping in a pile of dog crap. According to Luka, it’s awkward and makes them panicky.
The same panic I now see on Tony’s face. He has no clue what to do with me, and if the awkward way he keeps patting my back is anything to go by, I need to suck it up and put on my big girl bloomers before the guy has a meltdown.
“I’m okay. Don’t worry, Tone, just…are they all really coming here? Because I am so not ready to deal with three Novacs right now,” I say, wiping my eyes and nose against my sleeve.
The sight is so gross that I see him grin, relieved at my “return to sanity,” and nod once.
“Why didn’t you answer the phone, gumdrop? You gotta know that crazy bastard wou
ld go nuts when you didn’t answer one of his three hundred daily calls.”
That makes me laugh again, because it’s become a sort of betting pool lately. Of my three guards and me, I’ve lost about forty bucks betting on when my stalker husband would finally stop calling me twice every hour.
I assumed the guy would finally chill out, but apparently the longer it takes to hunt down the man responsible for almost killing me, the crazier he gets.
“I had a really shitty conversation with a really shitty person, Tone,” I say after a while, waving him along as I stalk to the kitchen and go for a bottle of water, my mind once again firmly fixed on my earlier visitor.
The bottle I toss his way is an indication of my need to talk, and I smile slightly when he sighs deeply and sits down, his full attention focused on me.
“Talk to me, gumdrop.”
“Why did you let Mina in earlier?”
The water bottle gets halfway to his mouth before he slams it down and comes out of his chair so fast, the stool goes toppling, the crash echoing through the room.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mina. The small little bimbo in the green dress who came up earlier,” I press, my own anger rising.
I hate that she almost got into my home again, that she has free and easy access to my husband. Most of all, I hate that she’s gotten to me when things had just started going well.
Just the reminder of that woman…
“She was up here?”
“Yeah, she was up here. Don’t give me those innocent eyes, Antonio. The woman couldn’t have so much as sniffed at the private elevator without one of you yahoos body-slamming her.”
“Ri, I swear to you she was not cleared to get up here. I don’t know how she did, but I will find out,” he says harshly, his face drawn and tense.
BAD APPLE: The Complete Series (Parts 1-5) Page 13