by Renee Rose
The fact that it’s a veterinarian, not a trauma specialist, operating on my brother without the full range of resources that would be available in a human hospital makes me want to kill someone. But this is the life we chose. I got Nikolai into the bratva because of a girl. Now I may have ended his life because of a girl.
Blyad’.
But Dr. Taylor’s good. I’ve seen him work before. He’s a serious guy. He may be a vet, but he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t seem to have any hang-ups or judgments about working for the Russian mafiya.
There are never any questions. He just does the job and takes payment. I know he’ll do his best.
“Is there—um, may I use a restroom?” Natasha asks. She’s peeled off her rubber gloves and is staring at her blood-stained hands.
I jerk my head toward the reception area because I’m still not ready to talk to her, but Ravil shoots me a look.
He’s afraid she’s going to bolt.
I seriously doubt it, but you never know. My judgment is obviously totally impaired when it comes to the beautiful redhead. I also never contemplated the idea of her bringing a Fed to our game.
I follow her out and lean against the doorway when she goes into the bathroom. She catches sight of me when closes the door, and her startled gaze turns frightened. As angry as I am, it doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve scared her beyond chastisement. Natasha wears the look of someone who believes terrible things are going to happen to her.
Well, no wonder. Did I actually threaten her life in the car? I didn’t mean it. I would never harm a woman, especially not Natasha. Natasha is my constant torture. The woman I can’t have but I can’t make myself stop wanting.
Damn her for twisting me up like this! Flaying me alive. Making me fail my brother and my organization.
Fuck.
The toilet flushes and the sink turns on. And runs and runs.
Nyet. Suddenly the images of every action movie where the hero or heroine turns on the shower or sink and then crawls out the bathroom window flood my head. Was there a window in that bathroom?
I lurch for the bathroom door handle and wrench it open. Expecting it to be locked, I throw half my weight against the door… and tumble through when it flies inward.
Natasha screams. The water from her hands, which she was washing in the sink, splashes across me. “Jesus. What are you doing?” she snaps, the first sign of push-back she’s given me, ever.
I step back, shaking my head. “I thought you’d left the water on and crawled out a window,” I mutter.
Natasha scoffs and makes a show of looking around the tiny bathroom. “The invisible window?”
She’s right. There’s no window. A fact I would’ve known if I’d given any thought whatsoever to the location of the bathroom with regard to the layout of the building. My brain obviously is still not online.
“How long does it take to wash your hands?” I turn it back on her.
Her shoulders sag, and she looks at her hands, flipping them over to examine them. “Yeah, well, I was having a bit of a Lady Macbeth moment with the blood.”
I don’t know my English literature well enough to understand the reference, but I make a mental note to look it up the next time I’m in front of my computer.
Like any time I’m not behind a screen, I feel untethered; yet with tonight’s events, it’s hard to imagine going back there. I can’t manipulate from behind the scenes tonight. Not when my brother’s bleeding on a vet’s table, and the woman I’ve vowed not to touch has forever shattered my sanctity. No code or hack can help Nikolai. There’s no manipulation of fate I can orchestrate to change outcomes in our favor.
I back out of the bathroom to let her pass, but when she comes out, she steps into the mini-kitchen area next to the bathroom. Examining the Keurig, she asks, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No,” I say shortly then sigh. “Ravil probably will, though.”
She snaps a fresh brew cup in, fills the machine with water, and places a mug underneath. When it fills, she makes a second cup, then walks past me into the reception area.
Damn her. I don’t want her fucking sweetness, and the girl is pretty much always sweet. It changes nothing.
I follow her in and watch as she quietly offers the coffee to Ravil and Maxim, who both accept it from her. She ignores me and walks back, making another cup for herself and bringing little creamers and sugar in for Ravil and Maxim.
I settle against a wall and fold my arms across my chest, refusing to look at her, even though her silent presence fills the room.
Like Ravil told me when I was driving here. I need to keep a cool head—for Nikolai’s sake. And that means keeping my fucking distance from Natasha, my own personal detonator.
4
Natasha
I really need a piece of chocolate. Or a whole barrel-full. My adrenals are tanking from the stress, and I’m shaky all over and running on empty.
“Natasha, we’ll have a word with you now.” Ravil tips his head toward the inner door of the lab.
Maxim follows him out.
For a moment, I can’t move as ice-cold fear grips my throat, making it hard to breathe. Those dry sobs that hit me earlier in the vehicle return, and I stumble toward the door nearly hyperventilating.
Dima comes up to me from behind and catches my nape with a firm grip. “Hey.”
I can’t look at him. I know he hates me. Ravil hates me. I have no idea what they’re going to do to me, but it can’t be good.
“Hey,” Dima repeats with more authority. “Look at me,” he says in a low voice, meant only for my ears.
I work to calm my pulse as I meet his blue gaze. Surprisingly, it’s not as cold now—it seems more troubled than angry.
“Tell me now before we go in there—did you know?” he demands, brows down.
I shake my head, tears spearing my eyes. “I swear to God I didn’t.”
Dima searches my face for a moment then gives a nod. “If you’re telling the truth, you’ll be all right.” His thumb lightly strokes over my pulse, sending tingles of awareness everywhere. “Ravil’s not a monster. Just go in there and answer his questions honestly.”
A ridiculous snort-sniff sound comes out of me as I try to stifle my sobs, and I turn away to hide my embarrassment.
He’s being kind—I should be grateful. This is the Dima I thought I knew. But I can’t get over the threat he made back in his car.
He dies—you die.
He meant it. I saw the threat in his icy gaze.
So I’m not sure I believe I’m going to walk out of this meeting safely.
Dima grasps my nape again and steers me down the hall. Ravil and Maxim are standing in the reception area of the veterinarian clinic. It’s a pleasant reception area. The walls are painted a muted teal, the concrete floors are stained purple, and the furniture has modern simplicity.
“Have a seat.” Ravil points to one of the chairs. As I settle into it, he turns a chair around backward and straddles it facing me, resting his forearms on the back. Dima and Maxim flank him with their chairs. The Spanish Inquisition.
Well, at least they don’t have pliers out to pull off my fingernails. Yet. Still, I can’t stop shivering.
It doesn’t help that Ravil says nothing for a moment, just considers me. Finally, he asks, “Why were you at my game?”
I will myself not to cry and draw a breath. “Alex wanted to go. He was my date.” When Ravil says nothing, I stumble on. “I met him at the gym last month, and he asked me out. He’s, um, Russian, also. Or half-Russian.” I lick my lips, darting a glance at Maxim then back to Ravil. “We’ve been out a couple times—nothing serious.” I resist changing my gaze to Dima when I say that part.
“When he found out where I lived, he seemed sort of excited. He’d heard of you guys. He knew Ravil’s name, even.”
No way, he’d gushed. You live in the Kremlin? Do you know that’s owned by the Russian mafiya?
My face flames hot as
I realize how I was played. How stupid I was. I thought he was genuinely interested in me, and I let myself get used.
“I don’t know, he acted like he was sort of a fan-boy of the bratva. Like he wanted to join as a Russian heritage thing. He wanted an introduction. I wasn’t super comfortable with that. Then he told me he heard you guys had a card game every Friday and asked if I could get him in. I wasn’t sure about that, either, but I thought maybe I could go and bring him along.”
Nothing shows on Ravil’s face, but I sense his judgment of me. “And you told Dima all this when you asked to go?”
I swallow. Fuck.
This looks bad for me. Really bad.
“No,” I choke. I scrape off the fingernail polish on my thumbnail with frantic movements. “I, um… he… I don’t know why I didn’t tell him about Alex.”
Ravil cocks a brow like he doesn’t believe me.
My stomach churns. I don’t dare look at Dima, but I feel the weight of his glare.
When I don’t say anything more, Ravil prompts, “That’s not good enough, Natasha.”
A tear escapes my right eye and slides down my cheek. I duck my head to hide it, switching my anxious scraping to the other thumbnail. “It just felt awkward, I guess.”
“Awkward,” Ravil echoes, doubt tinging his tone.
I don’t want to explain the stupidity of it all. How I wanted Dima to ask me out. How talking about another guy wasn’t going to help that lost cause. Ugh, and on some level, maybe I hoped showing up with a guy who was interested in me would make him jealous. Give him the push he needed.
But all of that seems trivial now. This wasn’t about my dating life. It was about a federal agent infiltrating the bratva, and I abetted him. And in the process, Dima’s twin got shot. Something he’ll never forgive me for.
So yeah, the chances of him asking me out now or in the future are nil.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, my voice scratchy with tears.
Ravil gives it another moment of excruciating silence before he says, “I am disappointed, Natasha. I consider you and your mother to be family. You were under my protection. This feels like a violation of trust.”
I drag in a hiccuping sob and hold it, trying not to burst into tears. “I know.” I bob my head. "I'm sorry," I repeat.
“You knew nothing about him being an FBI agent?”
“I swear I didn’t. I had no idea. I realize now how stupid I was.”
“What do you know about him?” Ravil asks.
I nibble my lip, trying to remember anything that might be helpful. “He went to Illinois State for college. I think he was a wrestler. He works at the gym where I take kickboxing.”
“Where does he live?”
I try to think if he mentioned anything. “I-I don’t know. Our dates were casual. No, um, hook-ups or anything.” This time I do sneak a look in Dima’s direction, but the anger I see on his face makes me quickly look away, the knot in my stomach growing tighter.
“What else can you tell us about him? When did he first start working at the gym? Has he been there all along?”
Oh, God. All the red flags were there. I rub my temples. “No, he just got the job about a month ago. He asked me out for coffee after class a few weeks ago. And then we had dinner last week.” Why did confessing this make me want to hide under my chair?
Oh yeah, it was the glower coming from Dima’s direction.
Ravil sends a glance in Dima’s direction then blows out his breath. “Well, Natasha. I need you to make this right. You will go with Dima to the cabin to nurse Nikolai back to health. You’ll stay there as long as it takes, no complaints.”
I have no idea what “the cabin” is, but I nod, making myself agreeable. I’ll have to cancel the few massage sessions I have booked, but it’s not like I have any choice, here, is it?
Ravil’s always played the part of the benevolent dictator to our community—the Russians living in his building. Our rent is low—probably one-quarter what it should be for such a beautiful building and highly-prized location. In return, we offer our loyalty. If the cops come asking questions, suddenly no one speaks English. When Ravil tells us no strangers are allowed in the building, we obey his rules and bend to his will.
My mother didn’t want to accept his generosity because she knew what he was, but she was drowning in debt from getting her Nurse Practitioner licensing to practice midwifery in the United States. She moved into the Kremlin for me—so I’d have a fighting chance at affording college—but she always cautioned me to keep my distance from the tattooed men who serve as our self-appointed protectors.
Ravil turns to look at Dima. “I’ll let you sort the rest of it out with her in private as you see fit.”
My stomach flip-flops as Dima turns an assessing gaze on me.
Does that mean he’ll be punishing me somehow? In a way that requires privacy? I resist the urge to swallow, knowing he’ll see it.
Dread mingles with something else. Something more...intriguing. A heat coils in my core now, thawing the ice that was clogging my veins.
“Yes,” Dima agrees, his blue gaze on me stony and hard. “I will deal with her.”
Dima
I watch Natasha squirm under my stare. I hated when she shook and trembled over answering to Ravil, but I don’t mind it so much now that I’m the one in charge of her.
Ravil just remanded her into my custody. Part of me wanted to refuse—I can hardly stand to look at her after the way she played me—but the thought of her having to answer to anyone else makes me want to punch the wall in.
If she’s going to be punished for her sins, it will come from me.
Not that I’m the sadist in our bratva cell. That would be Pavel, through and through. I suspect Ravil and Maxim also get a little kinky with their wives—and Gospodi, yes, I wish I didn’t know that, but living in the same suite makes some dynamics a bit hard to hide.
I don’t have big plans to torture Natasha. I’m still too pissed off to even speak to her at the moment, but having her managed by anyone else would only enrage me further.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Ravil asks Natasha. “Anything you’re keeping from me?”
Blyad’.
Based on the way she goes a little pale and starts scratching at her fingernail, I know there is something.
What now, my beautiful traitor?
“Um… I have a cat.”
It takes me a moment to assimilate her words, and I have to ignore the way my heart flip-flops in my chest.
She has a cat. That’s her last big secret.
There is no way this girl is a mole. She’s far too innocent. She’s not working with the Feds. She got played by a guy and then played me to make him happy. I fight the urge to forgive her for everything.
She rushes on, “I know we’re not allowed to have pets in the building, but I found him abandoned as a kitten, and he needed nursing back to health, and then… I just couldn’t let him go.”
Gospodi, she’s adorable. I rub my face to hide my fascination with her. This is why I find this girl intoxicating. Addictive. She’s so youthful—pure and precious. Undamaged. A bright light in a world with so few bright lights.
Ravil’s lips twitch. “I already knew about your unsanctioned pet.”
“You did?”
He touches his fingertips together. “Very little happens in my building that I don’t know about, Natasha.”
Thanks to my cyberstalking, of course.
He sits back. “I will have someone stop in and feed your furry friend while you are at the cabin and your mother is in Russia.”
She ducks her head. “Thank you.”
“Go back and see if Dr. Taylor requires your assistance.”
She stands, her high heels making her slender legs appear even longer than usual. I loathe the revealing dress she’s wearing. That she wore it for him. In my irrational and over-emotional state, it seems like Nikolai got shot because she put that fucking dress on for
Alex.
Ravil waits until the door to the clinic shuts then asks, “What do you think?”
“I’m inclined to believe her,” Maxim says.
I scrub my hand across my face. “Me too, but my judgment is shit when it comes to her.”
“Obviously,” Maxim says drily.
“Svetlana’s in Russia now? The timing of that is suspicious,” Maxim muses.
Svetlana is Natasha’s mother, the proud and stubborn midwife who delivered Ravil’s baby, Benjamin.
“Right. She could’ve gotten her mother out of harm’s way before taking this risk.” Ravil looks at me. “Look into it. See if you can find out exactly where she is now and what she’s doing.”
“I left my computer in the hotel room.”
“Adrian or Oleg would’ve taken it. I’ll have someone drive out to the cabin tomorrow with food and supplies,” Ravil says.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Ravil’s eyes narrow as he considers me. “Are you going to tell me if you find anything after you investigate her?”
He’s asking whether I’ll protect Natasha from him if it comes down to it.
I hesitate. Would I protect her? Fuck yes. The instinct is there. Even as angry as I am with her, I’d still take a bullet for that girl in a heartbeat. But would I hold back information from my pakhan for her?
No. Ravil is the fairest man I know. If Natasha’s trouble for us, I trust him better than I trust myself to handle things.
I nod. “Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m sorry about the car—”
“We’re good,” Ravil interrupts. “I understand she’s your soft spot.”
“More like my fucking Kryptonite,” I mutter. Because Natasha single-handedly wreaked me tonight, and I’m usually the one who’s thought of and prepared for everything. I lost all reason when she looked at me with those sea-green eyes and asked for a favor that made no sense.
The door from the clinic opens, and Dr. Taylor comes out, Natasha trailing behind. “I’m finished. I repaired the colon and put a drain in. He’s on a drip of painkillers and antibiotics. Moving him isn’t advised, but you obviously can’t keep him here.” He addresses Ravil but includes me in his eye contact. “Natasha knows how to administer the drip and adjust the drain. I’ve packed up the supplies you’ll need. I’d like daily updates and am willing to do a home visit in the next forty-eight hours to check on his progress if that’s… agreeable.”