by Shandi Boyes
Just as Justine whispers, “Nikolai, I need you,” I slip my hand into the tiny slither of space between Trey and me not taken up by his balled fist.
After unclenching his hand for me, opening up to me as no one ever has, Trey peers down at me, shocked and muted. We don’t talk. I can’t even hear the words Nikolai and Justine exchange. I’m too stunned by the massive turn of events the past twenty-four hours to get my mouth to work. I am so confused, I’m beginning to wonder if Vladimir killed me and this is a whore’s fucked-up rendition of heaven.
I lose the devotion of Trey’s eyes when the thud of a lifeless man slumping to the floor booms through our ears. Nikolai has released Rory from his grasp. Shockingly, he’s still alive—just. My sky-high heart rate is too loud to hear a word Nikolai and Justine share, but that won’t stop me from saying it’s heart-clutching. There’s too much sentiment crackling between them to ignore. It’s almost as intense as the zaps darting up my arm from Trey’s simple hold. I doubt he’s a man known for his gentleness, yet he holds my hand as if it’s a delicate flower that could be crushed at any moment.
Not even thirty seconds later, Nikolai scoops Justine into his arms before he makes a beeline for the door.
Just as quickly, Trey frees my hand from his before he steps into the room.
Believing the show is over, the crowd dispels remarkedly fast. Within seconds, it’s just Trey, Nero, Rory, and me. A normal person would tell Rory to thank his lucky stars he’s still alive. I’m nothing close to ordinary. I felt the surge in Trey’s pulse before he stepped away from me, heard his mumbled comment about Rory’s punishment not being sufficient.
He’s not standing Rory to his feet to help his lungs fill with the air Nikolai’s beating stole. He’s doing it so he’s forced to face the person responsible for him being sent to hell. Trey wants him to know why he’s ending his life as Nikolai failed to do. He wants him aware he’s being killed because he touched me.
It proves without a doubt how many lies I’ve been told the past six years. He didn’t send me away because sleeping with me sickened him so much he wanted to die. I doubt he even knows what happened to me. He’s in the dark just as much as I was only yesterday.
After wrapping the cord he removed from the curtain stretched across one wall around Rory’s neck, Trey’s focus shifts to me. He stares at me for mere seconds, his eyes deadly and murderous, before he drifts them to Nero. He barely lifts his chin an inch before I’m grabbed around the waist and yanked out of the room.
Although the door separating us rapidly closes, it doesn’t stop me hearing the sickening crunch Rory’s neck makes when Trey tugs on the thick twine curled around his throat so brutally it snaps his neck. If the initial break didn’t kill him, he’ll be dead within seconds. Trey’s murderous smirk leaves no doubt about this.
He killed for me—twice—and I have no clue how to repay him for that.
Thirteen
Trey
As my thumb skims over the rope burn on my index finger, I follow Eight through the sleeping quarters at Clarks. Since Rory’s death was so quick, it gave me little satisfaction. I’m still itching for a bloodbath, but since my desire to make sure K is okay outranks my urge to kill, I’m prioritizing her first.
“Did she need stitches?”
Eight strays his eyes from a body bag housing Bailey’s body to me before he shakes his head. “Dok said her wound was deep, but he glued it instead of stitching it up. Some shit about it being easier to keep clean if its fully joined.” He shrugs before scrubbing at the bristles on his chin. He’s usually a smooth-jaw type of guy. The past thirty-plus hours must be fucking with his head too. “What’s the go?” He motions his head in the direction we just left. “Is he being buried with the rest of them or…”
He leaves his question open for me to answer, which I do two seconds later. “Rapists don’t deserve proper burials. Nero suggested I take him to Jim’s. I’m not opposed to the idea.” When we reached the door all my brothers avoid as if it’ll give them the clap, I say, “Get someone to help you put Rory in my trunk. I’ll be out in a few.”
A pfft vibrates his lips. “I don’t need help.” He doesn’t. Even though he was a pathetic pin-prick weasel, Rory was a decent build, but Eight is a real-life giant. “You traveling alone? I could come with you, if you want.”
I consider his offer for all of two seconds before shaking my head. “Jim hasn’t forgiven you for fucking his granddaughter.” I wait for his smile to fully incline before adding, “I’m also not traveling alone. K will come with me.”
“The boys won’t touch her. Not after how you responded to Bailey’s taunt.” Everything Eight is saying is true, however, until my blood pressure returns to a safe level, I’m not letting K out of my sight. Tension is still hanging heavily in the air. It’s just bristling with the unease I felt when I was blindsided by my father’s unexpected arrival at Mikulov.
Knowing better than to second-guess any decision I make, Eight says, “Aight. Offer stands if you change your mind.”
When I jerk up my chin in thanks, he barges me with his shoulder before stalking away. I wait until he disappears down the isolated corridor before entering the makeshift hospital room Dok commissioned within weeks of joining Nikolai’s crew. Supposedly, he can’t do surgical procedures in a ‘standard ole room.’ I don’t bother knocking. The fact he’s alone with K already pisses me the fuck off.
Some of the annoyance heating my veins cools when I spot K sitting on the end of a sterile-looking bed, several feet from Dok. It’s one of those examination beds you find in all general practitioners’ offices. It even has the stirrups I often threatened to borrow.
“You good?” Not waiting for her to answer me, I lift K’s chin to check the cut she made to her neck when she pierced it with the glass. It’s angry and red and has me wanting to resuscitate Rory so I can kill him all over again. If he had listened to my directive, K wouldn’t have been forced to put her life on the line for her sister as I did for Cole years ago.
Cole thought taking down our father would make him the cream of the crop. Nothing would take him down. Then Achim double-crossed him as he convinced Cole to do to our family only months earlier. I should have let Achim kill him without intervening, but what can I say, I’m a stubborn prick who couldn’t forget the morals our parents had instilled in us even only having half my strength.
I survived the carnage.
Cole didn’t.
Nikolai helped me bury his bones in the compound his crew seized at the request of his father. It was years after Cole had died, but it was better than the corner of my cell where he was rotting and decaying like his head had never worn an invisible crown.
After taking a big breath to free my mind of memories of my past, I crank my neck to Dok, who does a mighty fine job of appearing invisible when he isn’t needed. “Did you give her anything for the pain?” My jaw spasms when he shakes his head. “Why the fuck not? She’d have to be in pain.”
“I agree,” he replies, stepping closer. “She refused to take anything.”
I return my eyes to K, smirking when I catch her gawk of my face before she can drag it away. A less cocky man would think she was staring at the droplets of Bailey’s blood I can feel on my cheek. I know that isn’t the case. She’s not scared I have and will again kill for her. She’s happy about that—quite possibly turned on.
“Is that true, K? Did you refuse to take your medicine?” Although I’m asking a question, I don’t give her the chance to respond. I plant my palms on each side of her teeny tiny thighs before leaning in really close to her face, stealing more than her words. I’ve got a lock on her senses as well. “Do you want me to feed them to you like you’re a baby bird?”
While seeking an answer to my question in her expressive eyes, I scan every inch of her grubby face. She’s so young, my cock shouldn’t be twitching like it is. It wouldn’t be if I truly believed she was underage. She’s a couple of years younger than me, but I wou
ldn’t put it past ten, making her legal. She just has a real youthful face the cruelest circumstances couldn’t age.
After hitting her with a wink that doubles the width of her pupils, I click my fingers at Dok two times, demanding he cough up the painkillers he wants her to take. “Give me a double dose,” I demand when he hands me two measly white pills.
“Trey, pain killers were one of your dependencies—”
“I wasn’t asking, Dok,” I interrupt, my roar loud enough to make K jump. “I’m telling you. Give me a double dose.”
He isn’t happy about my request, but he follows through, aware of what the repercussions would be if he didn’t. Yeah, I was dependent as fuck on any drugs my first year here, but this isn’t about me. It’s all about K.
I feel the heat of Dok’s heavy gaze on me when my two front teeth crunch through the first white pill. I swallow down my half without any water before holding K’s half out in front of me. A smirk tugs at my mouth when she allows me to place the tablet between her lips without a single snip of hesitation crossing her features. It’s the simplest gesture, however, my cock acts as if I’m notching its head into her plump and inviting mouth.
We do the same thing another three times until the four pills Dok handed me have been consumed, and K’s hand shoots up to remove something from my beard. My head slants to the side when she removes a chunk of Bailey’s skin matted through the wiry mess minus the grimace you’d expect. You can’t feel ill when you’re nurturing someone the same way they’re nurturing you. It isn’t possible. That’s why I killed Bailey and Rory without an ounce of remorse being felt. I knew it would do K more good than harm to know I’d do anything to protect her.
“You good?”
This time I wait for K to bob her chin before helping her down from the examination bed. After curling my hand around her uninjured one, I guide her to the door. “Have her medication in my room by the time we return.”
Dok grumbles something, but I miss what he says. I can’t hear anything through the pounding of the pulse in my ears.
“Jump in,” I say to K after guiding her to my car Eight is in the process of dumping Rory’s slumped form in. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
“She good?” Eight asks when I join him at the trunk.
I fold Rory’s leg in half like Eight did one of Alexei’s goons only days ago to ensure he fits in my trunk before jerking up my chin. “She’s more than good,” I reply before I can stop myself.
I said to Nikolai earlier my obsession with K is because she reminds me of India, but that isn’t true. India’s inclusion in my life royally fucked me over. Because of her, my father and brother are buried beneath the same six feet of dirt, and I became a monster. If anything, K’s similarities to India should give me the hives. However, there’s only one part of my body that swells when she’s around. It can be as red and angry as welts and cause just as much discomfort, but it’s usually a rash women beg for time and time again.
Feeling my unease, Eight asks, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come to Jim’s with you? I kinda miss the old bastard, so I don’t mind dodging his bullets if he’s still pissed at me. I’ll even squeeze into the back seat, so you can keep your girl up front with you.”
Although annoyed he’s double-guessing my order, I also understand his hesitation. I haven’t been this unhinged since Nikolai’s crew found me on the cusp of death. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather you stay here. Justine will keep Nikolai subdued for a couple of hours, but we won’t know how he’ll react once he’s out of her spell.” I slam down the trunk before moving for the driver’s side door. “Besides, if Jim kills you, I’ll be left standing next to a pigpen longer than required. It’s not often they’re served two bodies in a day.” Eight laughs off my worry with a playful tug of his collar. He needs to work on the panic in his eyes if he wants me to believe he isn’t worried, though. “Keep an eye on P’s until I return. News of Vladimir’s death is only just circulating, so we can’t be too cautious. If our enemies think we’re busted up, they’ll want to pick at the scabs.”
“Aight, I’ll head there now.” When I crank open the driver’s side door of my car, he straddles a quad just to the left of me. “Heads up.” I look up in just enough time to catch the bag he tosses at my head before it smacks me in the face. “Nero said your girl didn’t eat breakfast. Figured you’d have a better chance than us.”
After jerking up my chin in thanks, I slide into the driver’s seat. “If you get any rumblings, call Nero. I can’t find my cell phone.”
Eight returns my head jerk before he kicks over the quad’s motor. Its healthy vibrations only just conceal his snickered, “Again.” I have a habit of misplacing my electronic devices.
Although K’s attention appears to be on Eight, I can feel her eyes on me. They’re as heated now as they were when we dined on the delicious range of goodies Dok keeps well hidden, and it has nothing to do with the bag of fragrant-smelling food Eight just handed me. She’s still liking that I stood up for her almost as much as I’m loving her lack of disgust I killed two men in front of her.
Killing is only sinful when it’s done to an innocent.
I almost let Nikolai’s verdict stand, but the scratches on K’s arm altered my verdict. I couldn’t see them when she slipped her hand into mine, but I most certainly could feel them. The droplets of blood sliding down her arm obliterated any chance of Rory walking out of his room alive. I wanted him dead no matter the consequence.
Mercifully, I don’t see Nikolai disagreeing with my judgment once he emerges from his Justine high. Rory disobeyed his direct order. The verdict for that is only ever death.
I wait for Eight’s quad to leave a dust trail before directing my focus to K. “Put your seat belt on, K. Don’t want you getting hurt.”
If I didn’t already know her eyes were on me, I’m left with no doubt when they float away to locate the buckle of her belt. Her gaze was so heated, my face cooled when she moved her eyes away.
Once the familiar click of a belt latching into place sounds through my ears, I fire up my engine, shift my gearstick into first, then commence our five-mile trip.
We’re a quarter of a mile away from Clarks when I dig my hand into the bag Eight tossed at me. There’s an array of food inside—bacon and egg muffins that are still warm, freshly baked cookies, fruit, and enough bread to feed an army.
Although I’m dying for K’s stomach to quit fucking growling, I’m not so hyped up on the adrenaline every kill awards me with to know feeding her stomach its every desire right now could end disastrously. Jim is a cool guy, but even I have issues showering at his ranch. The dude is almost blind, so he has the perfect excuse for a lack of cleanliness, however, what’s his whore’s excuse?
Nikolai gave him the pick of the crop when he offered up the use of his industrial fridges two years ago when we had bodies to hide and no place to hide them. He picked well when he chose Arabella, she has a nice rack and plenty of ass, but it’s clear her hoover lips were the only thing Jim considered while testing out the merchandise on offer. She can’t cook or clean for shit.
With that in mind, I pull a bread roll out of the bag, take a large bite out of it, then hand it to K. She waits for the dry clump of carbs to slide down my throat before accepting her share. For someone eating her first meal in almost twelve hours, she doesn’t scarf down the bread roll like I’m anticipating. She nibbles at it like a mouse. Even her nose screws up during her chews.
Once she’s finished her share of our bread roll, I ripped through another one with my teeth to ensure her it’s safe to eat before handing it over.
When her little nibbles get the better of me, I mutter, “You better tell me your real name soon, K, or I’ll start calling you Mouse since you eat like one.” An unexpected smile tugs at my lips when her nose screws up even more. She’s not a fan of the nickname I chose for her. “You don’t want to be called Mouse?” When she peers up at me with her big eyes out in full force,
the thud in my chest shifts to my ears. “I guess I wouldn’t be a fan of being called a rodent either. Do you have another nickname in mind? I’ll call you anything you want to be called.”
I wait and wait and wait for her to answer me.
When a peep fails to leave her lips, I say, “Come on, K. I heard you talk. You can do it. You’ve just got to be brave enough to take the plunge.”
I flick on the wiper blades when rain patters my windscreen partway down the long dirt road that leads to Jim’s. This is the slowest part of the trip when it’s dry, so I have to go even slower in the wet.
My tires slip and slide more than usual when K exercises her vocal cords for the second time today. “Duchess.”
Even with it being dangerous for me to do, I remove one of my hands from the steering wheel so I can wiggle a finger in my ear, certain I heard her wrong. I’ve only ever called one woman that name. It was when I was claiming her virginity in her daddy’s food pantry.
Although this is a piss-poor excuse, my head was still a little fucked-up from the drugs I consumed last night, so mixing Dok’s weak-ass prescription with my already drug-laced veins could be causing a slight bout of hearing loss.
“What did you say?” When panic darts through K’s expressive eyes, I’m quick to shut it down. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to make sure I heard you right. I can barely hear anything through the thump of my pulse in my ears.”
I wasn’t meant to say my last sentence out loud, but I’m glad I couldn’t hold back when K removes my hand from my ear to place it on hers. Since her heart is beating as fiercely as mine, I can count her pulse through her ears.
Because I’m too busy staring at her, fucking lost on what the hell is happening, I fail to notice the massive pothole I narrowly missed two days ago. When I hit it front-on, it juts my car out far enough, my tires slip off the portion of road Nikolai pays to have graded every six months so his crew can travel to Jim’s as often as needed without hindrance.