NIKOLAI (Her Russian Protector #4)

by Roxie Rivera

  He eased off the kiss and gazed into her sweet face. There was no other way to say it but bluntly. "Eric is missing."

  Startled by the information, she started to cry. "But I saw him at our reception and Ivan promised—"

  "He saw Eric leave with two women and he followed up the next morning. When he didn't hear from him, he went by Eric's place this morning. He saw signs of a struggle and called the police."

  "Oh my God." She sobbed even harder. "Is this because of us?"

  He wasn’t going to lie to her. "Yes."

  She shoved off his lap and turned her back. "Eric warned me. He told me what would happen if we got married. This is my fault. I did this to my family. I brought this into Eric's life."

  Nikolai flinched at her frantic rambling. He didn't believe for an instant that she regretted marrying him but it didn't make her words hurt any less. "I'll get him back."

  She pivoted to face him. "How?"

  "I'll find a way." He stood and headed for the bathroom so he could shower and dress. It was going to be a long day.

  Vivian snatched his hand and stopped him. "I'm sorry for what I just said."

  He used his thumbs to brush the wetness from her cheeks before claiming her mouth. "We'll get through this. We've gotten through worse."

  "I'm sort of sick of slogging through the swamp, Nikolai. It has to get easier, right?"

  He didn't want to make a promise he couldn't keep. Instead he kissed her forehead. "I hope so."

  She patted his bare chest. "Shower. Get dressed. I'm going to get ready and go downstairs to fix breakfast."

  Nikolai held tightly to her hand. "Don't talk to the police until after we've spoken to David. If they beat him here, show them to the living room, offer them coffee but nothing else."

  "All right."

  His instructions given, Nikolai closed himself in the bathroom and hurried through his morning shower and shave routine. By the time he came out to dress, she'd already made the bed and disappeared downstairs. He chose his usual suit and tie. This morning his wedding band felt more natural on his finger. He began to enjoy the comforting familiarity of its weight.

  Downstairs, Sergei pointed back toward the kitchen to let him know where Vivian was. He found her wearing an apron and scrambling eggs and held back for a moment to simply watch the domestic scene. This was what he wanted with her. No missing cousins or crazy mob captains or murderous fathers on the lam.

  Just this. Simple. Easy. Normal.

  But he couldn't have that unless he finished this business once and for all. Whatever the cost, it had to be done.

  Before they'd finished their meal, David arrived. He'd already jotted down notes for Vivian and sat at the island to coach her responses to the questioning. When the two sets of detectives looking for her father and Eric arrived, he led them into the living room and then retrieved Vivian from the kitchen. She trembled with anxiety but bravely faced the cops. She'd do anything to find Eric and started sketching the two women she'd seen him dancing with at the reception.

  The detectives made it clear they had no questions for him so he took advantage of the opportunity to retrieve the hidden pack of cigarettes in his office. He brushed his fingers across the lighter he kept on him at all times. His conflicted feelings toward Maksim, toward his biological father, welled within him.

  Out in the backyard, he enjoyed the bracing cold. Walking up and down the paved paths he'd carefully built, Nikolai lit a cigarette, his first in weeks, and enjoyed the initial drag. He didn't like disappointing Vivian but he had a feeling she would overlook this one.

  He was halfway through the cigarette when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the text message alert. Not recognizing the number, he opened the text message and the photo attached. He turned his phone sideways, blowing up the photo, and nearly choked. The house was a different color now but he'd never forget it. There was no question as to the identity of the sender.

  You know what I want.

  Nikolai had a very good idea what Grisha wanted all right. Me. Dead.

  He looked back at the house where Vivian was safely surrounded by Sergei, Kostya, Danny, police officers and a lawyer. He tapped the touchscreen.

  Let's finish this now.

  With a final drag on his cigarette, Nikolai dropped the butt on the brick paver and crushed it under his shoe. He headed straight for the garage, slid behind the wheel of his car and flipped down the visor to reveal the pistol he kept tucked up there. After checking the magazine, he reloaded the pistol and put it nearby.

  Someone wasn't walking out of this one alive—and he'd be damned if it was him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Seated on the couch facing the detectives, I had a perfect view of the picture windows overlooking the front yard. I couldn't believe it when I spotted Nikolai driving away from the house. His windows were tinted darkly enough that I couldn't be absolutely sure he was behind the wheel but I'd never seen anyone else drive his car.

  I hid my confusion well and continued to answer the rapid fire questions. As I recounted the visit I'd had from my father in the storage room of the gallery, I watched Sergei's silver SUV drive slowly away from the house. No doubt Kostya had sent him after Nikolai. My anxiety levels started to skyrocket. What the hell is happening?

  When the detectives were finished questioning me, I couldn't get them out of our house fast enough. David was a little harder to get out the front door but he left finally. When the outsiders were gone, I searched out Kostya and found him in the office barking orders into his phone. He caught sight of me and frowned.

  Holding up a hand, he finished his call and pocketed his phone. "I don't know where he went."

  Panic gripped me. Had he gone after Grisha alone? My brain raced to compute the options. "His car has GPS."

  Kostya shook his head. "He disabled it months ago. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

  "He's probably trying to find Grisha."

  Kostya's eyes widened. "Grisha? From Moscow?"

  I nodded. "Nikolai suspects he's the one masterminding all this." I frowned with confusion. "Didn't he tell you?"

  "No." Kostya's clipped answer showed such displeasure.

  "Oh God."

  "Calm down." Kostya touched my shoulder. "As they say around here—this isn't his first rodeo. He wouldn’t have left you without saying goodbye if he didn't intend to return."

  He meant it to be comforting but it only scared me that much more. "Kostya—"

  "I'll find him. Sergei was only a short distance behind the boss. It will be all right. He'll be home soon."

  Sensing Kostya wanted to get rid of me so he could get back to finding Nikolai or Grisha, I spun on my heel. On the verge of hyperventilating, I left the office in a daze and eventually wandered into the library. Shutting the door behind me, I sank to the floor and started to cry. First Eric was missing and now Nikolai. I had no doubt that Grisha had lured him away from the house.

  The clove-scented monster of my nightmares wasn't going to agree to a simple exchange for Eric. He would want blood—my Nikolai's blood. I couldn't let my husband die. Not now. Not after everything we'd managed to survive all these years.

  But what do I do?

  Surrounded by the piles and stacks of wedding gifts, I tried to think of something, anything, that might help me figure out where Nikolai had gone. I'd never felt more out of my depth in my life. It occurred to me that if I'd stayed on the path my father had intended for me, I would have been in a much better position to help my husband now. The irony of that didn't escape me.

  My father…

  His parting words that night at the gallery hit me again. He'd made a remark about my wedding registry and giving me a gift.

  Suddenly, I was taken back to my ninth birthday. He'd been on parole at the time and forbidden from seeing me by my grandparents. That hadn't stopped him. I'd gone upstairs one evening to find a birthday gift sitting on my bed. Inside I'd discovered a simple c
ell phone with one phone number programmed into it.

  I clambered to my feet and started knocking over the boxes in search of a gift tag with my father's handwriting. I believed with every fiber of my being that I would find one. My old man was nothing if not sentimental.

  Just as I began to despair and doubt myself, I found it. The silver box wrapped with white sparkling tulle looked nondescript and generic enough. The oval tag had one letter scribbled on it—R.

  I ripped into the box, shredding the tulle and paper like a cat, and dumped the contents onto the rug. A brand new burner phone and charger tumbled out with a thunk. I snatched up the phone and pressed the power button. It had a full battery and one text message waiting for me.

  If you need me…

  I'd never needed my father more. Whether or not he would come through for me was anybody's guess.

  But I had to try. For Nikolai's sake, I'd try anything—even if it meant making a deal with my personal devil.

  Fingers trembling, I tapped at the screen and dialed the number he'd sent with his message. The phone rang twice before he answered. There was no excited greeting.

  "If you want to save your husband and your cousin, put on your coat and meet me outside right now."

  "Now?" I walked to the bay window and glanced out at the street. I didn't see anything.

  "We've been waiting for your call. I was about to resort to Plan B."

  I doubted I would have liked Plan B very much. "Who is we?"

  "You'll see soon enough. We're coming down the street. There won't be much time."

  Though my stomach pitched violently and my heart raced so fast I was sure I would have a heart attack, I turned away from the window and ran across the library to the door. As I rushed to the front door, I snatched my coat from the hanger in the entryway. The heavy stained glass door made a yawning noise as I pushed it open.

  The squealing alerted Danny and Kostya who came running onto the porch after me. I ignored their shouts and sprinted down the picturesque sidewalk to the sleek black car hurrying down the road.

  Before it came to a full stop, the back door opened. I didn't think twice. I practically dove inside. The door slammed shut and the car raced away from Nikolai's house and the men he'd entrusted to care for me. I was either doing the bravest thing ever—or the stupidest.

  "Put that on that seatbelt. I'd had for the mother of my future grandchildren to end up dead in a car accident."

  The gravelly voice addressing me in Russian momentarily stunned me. My eyes finally acclimated to the dimness of the car with heavily tinted windows. I realized I wasn’t sitting next to my father. No, I wasn't sitting next to Nikolai's.

  Maksim Prokhorov arched a bushy white eyebrow. Unwilling to question him, I grabbed my seatbelt and jammed it into place. My father turned around in the front passenger seat. "We don't have much time. You have to make a choice."

  "A choice?" I squeaked nervously. "What choice?"

  Maksim leveled an icy glare my way. "You decide, right now and right here. Do you want to be a mob wife or a mob widow?"

  "What?" I clutched my coat tightly to my chest. "I don't understand."

  "I know where Grisha is holding your cousin and my son—but my driver isn't going to take us there until you decide what you want with my Nikolai."

  "Are you blackmailing me?"

  "I prefer persuading."

  "So what? You want me to promise I won't try to get Nikolai to leave your family? Is that it?"

  "Basically," Maksim agreed. "He loves you more than he'll ever love us but I can't let him go."

  There was no time to consider the options or possibilities. "I love him. I want him alive. Even if that means we're stuck in this life forever."

  A cold smile curved Maksim's mouth. "I knew I'd like you."

  The driver took a hard left and punched the gas. Avoiding my father-in-law's chilly stare, I asked, "Where are we going?"

  "Where it all began," Maksim said roughly.

  My father produced that horrifying machete of his and began to wipe the gleaming blade. "And where it all ends."

  * * *

  Though he hadn't driven through this middle class neighborhood since that terrible April night when he'd nearly killed Vivian, Nikolai didn't have any problem finding the house in question. He parked in an alley a few blocks over and walked to the rear fence of the house.

  During the housing boom, this area had been prime for real estate flipping. He and his crew had made a killing in neighborhoods like these. They'd bought cheap, done some cosmetic upgrades and sold at sky-high prices.

  With the fall of the housing market, the neighborhood was suffering like many others. He spotted a shocking number of foreclosure and for sale signs. If he'd been worried about being seen or reported, he wasn’t now. The neighborhood was mostly vacant.

  His thoughts naturally turned to the day he'd only barely managed to save Yuri and Lena from Katya and Jake. Lena's old neighborhood looked a fucking war zone but it had been easy to get in and out without being seen. Knowing that Grisha had been behind Katya made the similarities between that day and this one so very eerie.

  He slipped into the backyard through a side gate and made his way to the door leading into the kitchen. Even before he stepped inside, the thudding beat of music met his ears. If Grisha was hurting Eric, he'd want that noise to cover his sins.

  The vomit-inducing odor of decomposition punched Nikolai right in the face when he entered the house. He prayed that it wasn't Eric's dead body he smelled. Vivian would never forgive herself if she lost him to murder.

  He walked across the kitchen as quietly as possible. It looked exactly as it had the last time he'd been here. The tile, the countertops and the faded paint colors were exactly the same.

  But the two blonde corpses propped up at the dining table were new.

  Hadn't Ivan said Eric had left with two blondes? No doubt these were the unfortunate women Grisha had paid or manipulated into luring Santos away from the reception. He'd obviously taken them home with him—and then what? Had they attacked him? Had Grisha been lying in wait?

  In that moment, Nikolai realized that Grisha had gone off the fucking deep end. His ghoulish fascination with posing the dead was pure insanity. This might have started as a stupid territorial tiff and simple jealousy back in Russia but it had gone to crazy places Nikolai probably couldn't even comprehend. Grisha was mad and extremely dangerous.

  Suddenly the gun tucked into his waistband didn't feel like enough protection. He questioned his decision to leave without informing Kostya. A little backup would have been nice right about now.

  Thumping upstairs got his attention. Was it the detective? Was he still alive? Injured? Bleeding to death?

  Nikolai gathered his courage and climbed the stairs. The bitter metallic stink of fresh blood grew stronger as he cautiously ascended to the second floor. Knowing Grisha's love of twisted sentimentality, he smartly guessed that Santos was in the master bedroom where Nikolai had shot Vivian.

  With his heart beating in this throat, Nikolai pushed open the door. He hesitated before stepping inside the strangely padded room. Grisha had covered the windows and walls with sound-dampening paneling. He'd taken a page of out Kostya's playbook and tacked plastic over the floor. The amount of preparation revealed Grisha had been here for some time, waiting for his chance to strike.

  Suspended by his ankles from a reinforced box mounted to the ceiling, Eric struggled to free himself. His hands were tied behind his back and he'd been gagged. His naked body sported so many bruises and tiny nicks. The razor thin cuts covering his belly and back and chest were similar to the ones Nikolai had seen on those bodies dumped at Samovar. Blood and sweat pooled on the plastic beneath him.

  "Jesus Christ." Nikolai's harsh whisper sounded incredibly loud in the room. Eric's panicked gaze skipped to his face. He twisted to see better but had to keep blinking because of the blood rushing down his face.

  Nikolai glanced around the room
but didn't see Grisha hiding anywhere. No doubt he was lurking in some other part of the house. Rather than seeking him out, Nikolai rushed to Santos' aid. The man was wounded but he could still be useful. Two were much better odds than one-on-one.

  Wordlessly, Nikolai jerked the blade out of the boot sheath he wore everywhere. He tugged the gag out of the detective's mouth before sawing at the ropes binding the other man's ankles.

  "Hurry," Eric hissed. "He's in the bathroom down the hall. I think he keeps his crack pipe there."

  "Crack?" Nikolai managed to get one of Eric's legs free. The added weight jerking on the detective's still-bound ankle made him grunt. Nikolai tried to hold him up as he sawed at the second set of thick knots.

  "This guy is high as a fucking kite and out of his mind. He's smoking crack and snorting meth. He's a total psychopath." He shuddered violently. "I think he was making it with those dead girls. The sounds from down there—"

  "Enough." Nikolai cut him off with a hiss. He didn't want to hear all those disgusting details. He wanted to get Eric free, kill Grisha and get the hell out of here.

  "Ah-ah-ah." Appearing in the doorway, Grisha menacingly wagged a sawed-off shotgun at them. "Are you trying to steal my toy?"

  Nikolai couldn't believe the change in the man he'd once considered a friend. Thin and drawn, Grisha looked as if he'd been on a week-long meth bender. He absentmindedly scratched at one of the weeping sores on his neck. "You always were a greedy fucker, Nikolai."

  Hoping to shield Santos, Nikolai slowly edged around the poor man who still dangled from one leg. "I seem to remember you were always the one skimming more than your fair share and dipping into the product."

  "Eh, a man's got to eat." Grisha's eyes narrowed to slits. "We aren't all lucky enough to be born as Maksim Prokhorov's son."

  Nikolai tried to decide if he could grab his pistol fast enough. The spray from that shotgun would blast them both even if he managed to get off a round. "How long have you known?"