Kostya

by Roxie Rivera

  “I see.” His lips thinned, almost disapprovingly. Glancing away from me, he started speaking Russian to the tall man with the shaved head standing behind him. The man motioned with a wave of his hand—a hand that only had three fingers.

  Gesturing toward the main dining room, Nikolai switched to English and said, “Walk with me.”

  Falling into step beside him, I allowed a few quick peeks at his profile. He was tall and lean, built more like Lena’s husband than Erin’s. The intimidating chill that seemed to follow and surround him was even colder standing this close to him. He wouldn’t hurt me or be unkind, but there was something dangerous about him. It made his relationship with Vivian even more curious. She was so soft and sweet, all kindness and heart. Her husband was sharp and steely, aloof and restrained.

  “We’ll be in here.” He opened one of the gilded doors at the rear of the restaurant. “We can speak without interruption.”

  “Your restaurant is incredible,” I said as he walked me to the table in the center of the beautifully decorated room. The table wasn’t your standard piece of restaurant furniture but an obvious antique with coordinating chairs upholstered in cream. The cozy space had warm lighting that highlighted the traditional Russian art hanging on the Prussian blue walls. “These colors are so intense.”

  “I’m sure that you understand the need to transport your guests to another place when they walk through the front doors,” he said, holding out my chair.

  “When Savvy and I went to the drawing board for the salon, we decided that was our focus. We wanted guests to step inside Allure and forget about everything except being pampered.”

  “It works. Vivian loves going there.” After I took my seat, he walked around to the other side of the table and sat. “Thank you for keeping her bracelet safe and returning it to her.”

  Seemingly from nowhere, a waiter appeared from a side door and filled our glasses with water before picking up the artfully folded napkins from the table setting and draping them across our laps. Nikolai said something to the older man in Russian but paused with his hand held up. He turned his attention to me and asked, “Are you allergic to any foods? Fish?”

  “No.”

  He finished giving instructions to the waiter who left the room with smooth strides and shut the door behind him. When we were alone, he reached for his water glass. “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered lunch for us both.”

  “Well, if I did mind, it’s a bit late to ask, isn’t it?” A heartbeat after my admittedly sassy response, I regretted it. This man wasn’t known for taking any bullshit from anyone.

  Nikolai’s face registered surprise—and then he laughed. It wasn’t very loud or very long, but he seemed almost amused by my tart comeback. “I can see why Vivian likes you so much.”

  “I shouldn’t have—”

  “You should have,” he replied matter-of-factly and sipped his water. He placed his glass back on the table and eyed me carefully. “This thing with you and Kostya—”

  “Is my personal business,” I interrupted without hesitation. I managed to hold his icy, piercing gaze as I set the parameters of the conversation. “I know that Kostya works for you.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m not here to find out what that means or entails.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I need help finding someone.”

  He frowned. “Are you missing an employee?”

  “No.” I touched the golden edge of the plate in front of me. “I’m looking for my father.”

  A few moments of tense silence stretched between us. “Your father.”

  “Yes.”

  “Surely your mother—”

  “She’s been very clear that she isn’t going to tell me anything else about him.”

  Nikolai tapped the fingers of his right hand on the table. I noticed that he wore his wedding band on that hand. Vivian wore diamonds on both ring fingers, and it had only occurred to me just now that it was her right hand that held her wedding ring. “What do you know about your father?”

  “Not much,” I admitted. “I know that he’s a Russian widower who is, um, in the same line of work as you.”

  His mouth twitched with a smile. “Well, there aren’t many men in my line of work so it shouldn’t be hard to find him.”

  A frisson of hope blossomed inside me. “So, you’ll help me?”

  “I can try.” He held my gaze for a moment. “Do you understand what you’re asking, Holly? Do you understand that once we start opening doors, they swing both ways? You walk in from the good side, and bad people walk out from the other side.”

  “My best friend told me the same thing this morning.”

  “She’s smart. You should listen to her.”

  I swallowed nervously. “I understand that I might not like what I find.”

  “That’s the least of your worries.” His lips flattened together in a perturbed line. “You have a good life. You have a mother who loves you. You have friends. You have Kostya,” he added quietly. “You have everything you need in your life. You don’t need to go looking for trouble.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed softly. “I do have a wonderful life—but I need to know who I am. I need to know where I came from and who my people are. Can you understand that?”

  Nikolai glanced away from me, his gaze falling to the table for a moment. “I was an orphan. I don’t remember my mother, and I didn’t find my father until very recently. So, yes, Holly,” he lifted his gaze to mine, “I do understand you.”

  “You’ll help me?” I asked pleadingly.

  He sighed and nodded. “I shouldn’t, but I will.”

  The door opened before I could thank him, and the waiter returned with a gleaming silver rolling cart laden with appetizers. Spotting the caviar, I glanced at Nikolai with surprise. Caviar for lunch seemed a bit decadent, but he acted as if it were the most normal thing in the whole world.

  “If you’re going to have the caviar, you must have the vodka.” He gestured to the incredible spread the waiter began placing on the table. “Or champagne,” he offered an alternative. “It’s truly the only way to enjoy it.”

  “I’m going to need an Uber,” I murmured, watching the waiter fill shot glasses with vodka and wine glasses with something white and crisp.

  Nikolai laughed. “I’m sure we can find someone to drive you back to the salon.” He raised the tall, thin shot glass filled with vodka, and I mimicked the move. “Za roditeli.”

  Certain there was no way I could attempt that without butchering it, I said, “Cheers.”

  Nikolai knocked back his shot, but I sipped mine, enjoying the cold, clear burn of the chilled vodka. “Wow,” I said with a slow exhale. I felt like a dragon exhaling a breath of fire. “That stuff is potent.”

  “Only the best for new friends.” He gestured toward the caviar. “Please.”

  “What did your toast mean?” I asked, leaning forward to inspect the delicacies before me.

  “To our parents.”

  But there was something in his tone that said made me think I was missing the joke. He wasn’t being cruel or poking fun at me, but it was as if he knew something that I didn’t. Whatever it was, I had a feeling it was going to change my life forever.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “AM I IN trouble?” It was the first time Boychenko had spoken since Kostya had picked him up.

  He glanced at the kid. “Guilty conscience?”

  Boychenko shook his head. “No.”

  “Then why are you asking if you’re in trouble?”

  “Because the people you pick up and drive out of town don’t ever come back!”

  He laughed at the kid’s obvious fear. “You’re coming back to Houston with me so calm down and try not to piss your pants. I don’t have time to take my car for a full detail.”

  “I’m not going to piss my pants!” Boychenko glared at him. “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Galveston. I told you.”

  “Yes
, I remember, but where are we going once we get to Galveston?”

  “A beach.”

  “And then?”

  “A bar.”

  “And then?” the kid asked, growing more exasperated with each question.

  “And then I’m going to meet with Spider and you’re going to watch my back.”

  “Why are we meeting Spider all the way out here? Why not just sit down with him back home?”

  “Because neither one of us want to be seen together around Houston.”

  “Why not? Did something happen?”

  “Jesus,” he growled. “Do you always ask this many fucking questions?”

  The kid shrank back into his seat. “Sorry.”

  Blowing out a tired breath, Kostya said, “It’s fine. It’s me. I’m tired as fuck.”

  “Do you want me to drive?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll fall asleep if I’m in the passenger seat.”

  “Yeah. That’s the point.”

  “It’s nothing against you, Boy, but I don’t trust anyone in my driver’s seat.”

  “Okay.” Boychenko stretched out his legs and drummed his fingers on his knee. After a few miles of silence, he asked, “Does that Holly woman know what you do for Nikolai?”

  He shot Boychenko a warning look. “What Holly knows or doesn’t know is none of your business.”

  “That’s what Vivian told the boss when they were arguing about it last night.”

  Shit. “They were arguing about me and Holly?”

  “Yeah. Not like loud or angrily or anything. It was more of a tense discussion, I guess.”

  “And?”

  Boychenko shrugged. “I didn’t hear all of it. Only the part where Vivian told the boss to mind his business and let you two work things out.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. But why does he care who you’re dating? What’s Holly to any of us?”

  “It’s not about Holly,” he lied. “It’s about me not getting distracted. Which is exactly what’s happening now.” He frowned at the kid. “Listen, this is how it’s going to work when we get to the beach…”

  *

  SHORTLY AFTER DROPPING Boychenko a little farther down the beach, Kostya found himself staring at a biker bar. The throbbing knot of anxiety in his stomach wouldn’t go away. In fact, it seemed to grow bigger and stronger as he walked into the rundown bar.

  Before last night, before Holly made her move, he never would have hesitated to take a solo meeting. He had always been pragmatic about death. Sooner or later, it was coming for him. He had always accepted that a bullet with his name on it was waiting for the right moment to strike his skull.

  But now he had a reason to keep breathing.

  Mindful of his surroundings, he gave the bar a once-over as he stepped inside. There were no customers that he could see and only a handful of employees. If Spider had been working with Marco or if the people behind Marco knew that Spider had been in his house last night before the fire, any of the waitresses could be undercover cops. There could be bugs under any table or chair and video cameras behind any of those liquor bottles shelved behind the bar.

  Three women in tight jeans and black cropped tees cleaned tables and set up chairs while two other women stood behind the counter, one of them counting her till for the start of the shift and the other setting up her bar. The one at the register noticed him just inside the doorway and motioned toward the rear of the seating area where Spider sat with a beer and a late breakfast. He held a wadded ball of napkins in his left hand and seemed to be clenching it rhythmically.

  Without a word of greeting, Kostya settled into the seat across from him. Spider reached for his beer, his hands showing a slight tremor, and took a sip. “So how was the drive?”

  “Short.”

  Spider gestured to his plate of half-eaten eggs, hash browns and greasy bacon. “You want breakfast? I can get Susie to fire up the grill for you.”

  “I’m fine.” He doubted this place could even pass a health inspection. Eyeing the beer bottle, he remarked, “Bit early for a drink.”

  Spider grumbled before draining the last of his beer. “Is it time for our romantic walk on the beach?”

  Kostya cracked a smile and reached for his wallet. “Let me buy your breakfast first.”

  After tossing down a couple of twenties, Kostya slipped his wallet into his back pocket and walked out of the bar with Spider a few steps behind him. They followed the cracked pavement along the side of the building toward the path that led down to the beach. Kostya waited until they were hidden by the building and a pair of dumpsters to launch his attack.

  With speed that shocked Spider and left him defenseless, Kostya struck the other man across the front of his neck and chest, pinning him to the back wall of the building. With his forearm against Spider’s throat, he gave a good push, showing Spider he meant business, and then quickly shoved aside the worn leather vest and patted him down for weapons and wires. The sweaty skin under Spider’s shirt told him everything. This man was scared shitless.

  After Kostya removed his forearm, Spider shoved with both hands and snarled, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  He got up in Spider’s face. “You’re going to ask me that? After last night? What the fuck is going on, Spider?”

  Wanting to throw this man a line and hoping he would take the chance to save himself, he said, “We have been friends since the first day I stepped foot in Houston. We’ve worked together for years. We’ve always been honest, and we’ve always done right by one another, even when it wasn’t easy. Tell me what the fuck is happening here—and I’ll do whatever I can to protect you if you’re in trouble with Marco.”

  Spider pushed off the wall and ran his hand over the top of his head and down the length of his dark braid. He glanced at the bar and shook his head. “Not here.”

  His brisk strides carried him down the cracked path toward the beach and Kostya hastened to catch him. When they were a safe distance from the bar, Spider wordlessly offered him a cigarette. Kostya took it, leaning forward to light it on the matte black Zippo held out to him. After a slow inhale, he breathed out and asked, “Why were you at Marco’s place last night?”

  Spider flicked ash toward the ground. “I was following orders.”

  “Orders?” he repeated, taken aback. “Who gave you orders to kill Marco?”

  Spider hesitated. “Your people.”

  “My people?”

  “Your boss’s boss.”

  “Maksim?” He didn’t believe it. “Maksim gave you a job?”

  “Romero gave me the job. Told me it had come from Moscow. Told me to get rid of Scorpion and Marco and to do it fast. I didn’t ask any questions.” Spider eyed him with suspicion. “You really didn’t know?”

  “I wouldn’t be here asking stupid questions if I did.” What Spider had just said bounced around in his head. “You said they told you to get rid of Scorpion. Did you?”

  “I couldn’t find him. I figured Scorpion would run off to his sister’s place or that she might know where he was, but I only found Marco there. Made sense that he’d be there with the history between him and Scorpion’s sister.”

  “What history?”

  “They have a kid together. Marco and Scorpion’s sister,” he clarified. “It was a one-night stand years ago. If I knew where she was, I could probably track down Scorpion.”

  “She and the kid are in Arizona,” he shared, putting together the pieces. “My skiptracer says that she and the kid left a few weeks ago.”

  “Convenient,” Spider grumbled.

  “Do you think Scorpion would go with her?’

  “Maybe. She tried to stay away from trouble. Scorpion didn’t talk about her or the kid much. He only talked about her to complain about Marco being late on his child support payments and having to track him down to get the money his sister needed.”

  “Did Romero give you any reason for the hits?”

  “I assumed Mar
co and Scorpion were talking to the wrong people,” Spider said. “Scorpion would fuck us all for a bag of silver. Fucking Judas,” he spat angrily. “He and Romero have been on the outs for a long time, and when I got the top spot instead of him, he started to put some distance between himself and the rest of our club. I suspected then he was playing a different game, had a different long-term plan than the rest of us.”

  “He knows too much to be a loose end,” Kostya warned, thinking of all the years Scorpion had been deep in the shit with the club, organizing drug and gun runs and worse. “What does he have on you personally?”

  “Enough to put me away for the rest of my life.” Spider dropped the cigarette and smashed it with his dirty, scuffed boot. “But that’s not why I need to find him and kill him. I’ll go to prison. I’m not afraid of doing my time. That’s part of this life, and I accepted that when I signed on and took my first patch.”

  “But?”

  “But she didn’t. I won’t let him ruin her life.”

  “She?”

  “Marley.” His stepdaughter.

  “Is he threatening her? I can get someone to keep her safe.”

  “That’s not the problem.” Spider looked drawn and tired. “You ever tell a lie so big that it gets away from you? Twenty years later, you look up and you can’t even begin to imagine how the fuck you make things right.” He seemed broken and dejected as he said, “They’re right, you know. It’s not the lie that gets you. It’s the cover up.”

  “I understand that better than anyone you’ll ever meet.” He hesitated to ask, not sure he needed another secret to keep. “What lie did you tell?”

  “Marley’s mother isn’t her mother,” Spider revealed in an anguished rush. “It’s all a lie. All of it. Everything about her birth and her father and mother and me.”

  Taken aback, he asked, “Why did you lie?”

  “Because her father, her real father, was a piece of shit dirtbag who raped my baby sister,” Spider explained with barely contained rage. “She was just a kid. Not even sixteen and he hurt her so bad…” His voice trailed off as the memories seemed to overwhelm him. “It was my fault. I should have been watching her better. I shouldn’t have let her have anything to do with the club or me.”