Vik (Shot Callers Book 2)

by Belle Aurora

  “Shit?”

  Thinking fast, I blinked at the sight of his bloody and bruised face and rushed out, “I, uh, stubbed my toe. It’s okay. He’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked timidly.

  I closed my eyes, no longer able to look at the deep gash at his brow or the trail of blood drying at his chin. “Yeah.”

  And then Anika was irate. “I am going to kick his ass! You tell him that. You tell him ‘Anika said she’s going to kick your ass.’ Tell him now!”

  Lips thin, I turned my sympathetic eyes on him and relayed her message. “Anika’s going to kick your ass.”

  His fingers glanced over his cheek, and my stomach ached as he flinched. “Sure.”

  Anika blew out a trembling breath. “I am so relieved.” Her tinkling laughter cut through her fear. “God. I’m shaking I’m so relieved.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered as my eyes trailed the damage to his already harsh face. “Me too.” I cleared my throat. “You can sleep easy now. I’ve got him.”

  Vik stood, walked over to my kitchen sink, and leaned over it. He blocked one nostril and blew hard out of his nose. My stomach turned as gooey chunks of coagulated blood landed in the sink with a light ping.

  Anika chuckled in relief. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me know.”

  I didn’t bother with niceties. I hung up, taking my cell and holding it loosely, letting in fall by my side as my heart ached at the state of him.

  With his hands resting on the edge, his tall form towered over the sink, and he rumbled out, “I couldn’t go home like this.”

  “Home.” My brow quirked. “With your mom and dad. With Anika. That’s where you’ve been living right?” I paused. “Back home.” The way his eyes narrowed had me shaking my head, knowing I had my answer. When it was clear he was not in a revealing mood, I blew out a breath, then ran a hand down my face before my eyes swept the length of him, surveying the damage. “No. I don’t suppose you could.”

  “I thought maybe…” He stopped a second before continuing, “I thought you might still have some of my shit here.”

  I did.

  Oh, I planned on letting go, but that did not go as intended, and after dumping a trash bag of his clothes into my garbage can, I found myself retrieving it hours later, in tears, utterly ashamed that I couldn’t even part with something so inconsequential as a pair of his workout sweats and a simple black tee. But they smelled of him, and some nights when I really missed him, I would slide that tee over my pillowcase and breathe it in until I fell into a restless sleep.

  “I might have something in my closet.” In the top left-hand corner, behind the cream-colored box, hidden away where no one could possibly find it. I couldn’t even hide my disappointment as I focused on his messed-up face. “That needs to be cleaned up, and you need to shower, so go on up, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Vik was not oblivious. His watchful eyes had to see the apprehension rushing through me, but he granted me this boon by pushing off the sink, holding his ribs, and leaving me with my thoughts.

  Between Vik’s inability to talk to me and Anika’s odd behavior, I was stuck somewhere in the middle, being constantly pushed away by both as though I couldn’t relate.

  Had they forgotten I’d been through some shit myself?

  Between my mother’s secret but frequent abuse of Lev and losing my dad to a heart attack when I was only twenty, one brother acting as mob boss while the other’s peculiarities drew the attention of those who could never understand the depths of his beautiful soul, I had experienced my fair share of hardships and heartbreaks.

  I wasn’t fragile, but when they treated me like I was made of glass, it made me feel meager. Weak. Pathetic. Useless.

  I wished they would let me be there for them as they had been for me.

  By the time I retrieved the first-aid kit from above my refrigerator and hefted the box upstairs, the door to the bathroom was left slightly ajar, steam billowing out from the crack as Vik showered away whatever badness he’d somehow involved himself in.

  Placing the box on the edge of my bed, I entered my closet and found the stash of clothes he’d left behind. I carried the entire stack, gently bringing it up to my nose and breathing in his spicy, male scent before reluctantly lowering it to its place by the white rectangular box.

  And while he washed away his shitty night, I waited. At this point, waiting on Vik was second nature. A strangely familiar position.

  Foolish girl.

  The words were barely there, but I heard them so clearly, as if she yelled them directly into my ear.

  The spray of the shower ceased, and a short while later, he stalked out of my bathroom wearing nothing but a tan-colored towel wrapped around his waist, his body covered in dew. I swallowed hard at the portrait he made. But when my soft gaze swept over the large reddish-purple mark at his ribs, an exasperated sigh left me. “You’re a mess.”

  Vik grimaced as he attempted to lower his split brow. “I didn’t think before I came. I shouldn’t be dumping this shit on you. Not after—”

  I didn’t give him a chance to finish. “She’s gone.” Then I dipped my chin and corrected, “She’s going. Every day, I hear her less and less. I’m fine, I swear.”

  He’d been there for me. To deny me a chance to return the gesture would be an insult.

  From my place on the bed, I shuffled back and crossed my legs, clearing my throat as I gently offered, “You can sleep here tonight.”

  The walk to my bed was short, but he moved slowly, and although he attempted to hide it, there was a hobble to his steps. And my chest ached.

  He was in pain.

  With deft fingers, he dug into the pile of clothes, lifting, then examining each piece of clothing until he reached something that wasn’t clothing. Something I’d forgotten about.

  He picked it up and examined it closely. “What’s this?”

  My own brow creased as I leaned in to get a look at the item, and when I focused on it, my eyes widened, and my cheek flushed as I attempted to snatch it out of his hand. “Nothing.”

  But Vik held it out of reach, further inspecting the item. “Wait.” He held the little plastic ball in his hands, and his tone held a small amount of disbelief. “I remember this.”

  I thought about grabbing it and running, but it was too late. His deft fingers had already cracked the ball in two, revealing a small, plastic heart-shaped ring.

  His stoic face harmonized his rough voice. “Venice beach. The pier.” When he tilted his head in thought, he muttered, “What year was that? Two thousand and ten?”

  “Two thousand and eight,” I amended.

  “Yeah,” he breathed in awe. “Jesus. Now that’s a flashback.” His lip twitched, but his brow pulled down. “I buy you platinum and diamonds, and this is what you keep?”

  Embarrassment gave way to a deeper emotion.

  Grief.

  I couldn’t look at him then.

  “I kept everything,” I confessed on a whisper, trying desperately to blink through the sting of unshed tears.

  From the smallest trinkets to movie tickets. Lord. I even kept an empty condom wrapper from our trip to my family’s cabin in Piseco Lake. I dried flowers and bagged the petals. I kept notes and stole hotel room cardkeys. I had a jar of seashells from that very trip to Venice Beach. My photo albums were overly full, and I had no intention of halting my collecting, because every memory was as precious as the next.

  His fingers slowly curled around the small plastic ball, holding it tightly in his grasp, and he remained quiet a short while. “I know you don’t want me here…”

  Not true.

  “…and I’m sorry for coming.”

  Don’t you dare. Don’t cheapen this for me.

  My gut clenched tightly.

  And when he looked at me, there was a boldness in his heavy gaze. The bruise at his temple looked painful, and the cut at his brow seemed to wink at me as he uttered a low, “Do you want me to leave?”
>
  My arms lined with goose bumps.

  I shook my head softly and spoke even softer. “Stay.”

  “I’ve had a rough night.” I could tell. He picked up his sweats and pulled them up from under his towel. Just as the towel fell, my eyes snapped to the happy trail that began just below his belly button and descended into his low-riding sweats. “You need to stop looking at me like that if you don’t want any action tonight, kiska.”

  Kitten.

  No. He could not call me that, looking all fine and shit. It simply wasn’t fair.

  “I’m wired and raring for a fight.” His stormy gaze drifted down to the low cut of my tank top. His tone full of innuendo, his eyes raked over the rest of me. “And nobody fights me better than you do, baby.”

  Ugh. My pussy was already pulsing.

  Shit. I was going to regret this. In fact, I already was.

  The words came out reluctant. “You should probably rest tonight.”

  Vik closed his eyes but thankfully did not argue. For if he had, I’d have given in. Instead, he picked up the towel and returned it to the bathroom. When he came back, he took the place beside me and said unenthusiastically, “Okay. Let’s get this shit over with.”

  Looking tired, I shot him a sad smile as I dabbed antiseptic onto his cuts, only stopping when he pulled back or cursed. It was funny to me, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.

  Vik noticed, and his mouth pulled down. “What are you smiling at?”

  I pressed my lips together, trying to hide my laughter, and gently cleaned his brow. “I never understood how you could take a beating the way you can but moan and bitch when it came time to bandage your wounds.”

  From the way his face sharpened, I could tell he took this as an offence. “I don’t moan,” he uttered frankly. “Or bitch.”

  I didn’t bother to hide it then. I chuckled. “You absolutely do.” He glared at me when I added, “You’re a big baby.”

  As I pressed on a couple of wound closure strips, he closed his eyes and said, “That’s rich from the woman who cried when I had to remove a splinter from her palm.”

  My smile was full of sass. “I am very in touch with my feelings, thank you very much.” And because I had a strong feeling about what he might have been doing tonight, I added, “Besides, I didn’t volunteer for that.”

  Vik’s shoulders went rigid, but he spoke evenly. “What makes you think I volunteered for this?”

  Oh, come on now.

  “Because if you hadn’t and you left looking like that—” One final strip and I was done. I leaned back and looked him dead in the eye. “—my brothers would already have dumped the body of the guy stupid enough to put his hands on you.”

  Vik’s face darkened, and it was so intense I almost forgot to breathe. I was a sucker for this man’s pout, so I softened it the only way I knew how.

  Leaning in, I touched my warm lips to his for a single second before pulling back and smiling dotingly. “There. All better.”

  The silence was thick around us. His face showing zero reaction, I went about repacking the first-aid box, but just as I lifted it, I heard his coarse admission.

  “I miss you so fucking much.” I stood there, holding the box as he lowered his head, shook it lightly, and professed a barely audible, “I thought we were okay. Knowing I made you miserable when I was so damn happy… knowing you weren’t feeling what I was feeling…” He whispered roughly, “It cuts me deep. Totally blindsided.” He looked at me then and shrugged. “You never said a thing.”

  The sadness I felt was halved as he bore part of the weight.

  I swallowed through the sudden thickness in my throat. “I wasn’t miserable, not all the time.”

  Just when you keep secrets.

  “But you weren’t happy.” And when I didn’t deny it, he uttered a desolate, “Same thing.” My heart broke when he blinked down at his lap and said, “I keep thinking about what I could have done—what I can do—to fix this burned bridge between us.”

  It wasn’t burned. Not completely. The frame was still smoldering.

  We still had time to meet in the middle.

  “You could talk to me.”

  He scoffed, and it grated.

  Not one to be deterred, I tried again. “You could tell me why you’re living at home. You could explain why you’re driving that shitbox outside, when you have a Lexus. Maybe tell me why Anika is so sad all the time, why she’s depressed?” I should have used more tact than shooting the question at him. “Why are you working at Aphrodite’s Kiss?” His head snapped up, wrath in his gaze, and I dropped the box, taking the three steps to kneel in front of him, begging him for answers. With shining eyes, I probed, my voice quiet and quaking, “Why can’t you talk to me?”

  He bit his lip and lowered his eyes, taking away what little connection we still had.

  And my gut twisted.

  Okay. Fine, you stubborn ass.

  I stood as gracefully as possible and laid it out firm. “This is what I can’t get past, Vik. We were a team, thirteen years strong. And if you can’t talk to me, then there’s nothing left to talk about.”

  It felt like a cleanse. It felt final. But just as I turned to retrieve the box, his hand circled my wrist and held firm. I twisted back to look at him. Wearing an expression I could only describe as pure agony, he tugged, and I stumbled forward, falling sideways onto his lap. Before I had a chance to process, his strong arms were wrapped around me, holding me tightly to him, and when he lowered his forehead to my collarbone, it felt as though he was trying to speak using his actions, as words had failed him so many times before. His warm breath at my neck, his arms flexing in a way that told me he was only seconds from losing control, it caused severe damage to my heart and my head alike. I reflexively snaked my arm around his shoulders, taking in his warmth and desperation, wrapping myself in the intense cocoon of emotion he dared not display.

  To be held by Vik was nothing but natural.

  To hold him in return was sublime.

  My hands moved of their own accord, first stroking his nape, then the back of his head, moving on to his unyielding shoulders. I carefully observed the way he shuddered at my ministrations, and the power that surged through me right then was unparalleled.

  Vik did not often need affection, but when he did, I gave it freely. He only took as he needed. A little at a time. And when he gifted me the opportunity to care for him, I gripped it tightly, holding it with both hands. It felt heavenly to be needed by him, even for a moment.

  His lips skimmed the sensitive flesh at my collar, not quite kissing, just gliding, whisper-soft against my skin, and I took a stuttering breath in. My eyes fluttered closed.

  Right then, if he made a move, I would have succumbed. I would have given myself to him, held him in my body, and offered myself up as a sacrifice on the altar of his pain.

  Then, without a single care for his injuries, he stood, taking me with him, and I melted into his arms. My eyes held his as he lowered me carefully into the center of my bed, and I held my breath. There was something in the way he stood, peering down at me, as if attempting to commit the image to memory. And when he slid in beside me in an almost feline manner, my body ached in anticipation. As he shuffled in close, I stopped breathing.

  With his body flush against mine, he whispered into the dark, “Put your arms around me.”

  In the lifetime I had known him, in over twenty-five years, I had never heard Vik make such a vulnerable request.

  I did not need to be asked twice.

  One arm snaked around his shoulders while the other cradled the back of his head, and when he nuzzled what little cleavage I had, there was nothing sexy about it. No. In that moment, he merely sought comfort, and I provided. As my fingertips gently stroked his damp hair, he closed his eyes and rested with his head on my chest, knowing he was safe with me.

  “I just need to be close to you.” The tentative words rumbled against the curve of my breast were a spark, i
gniting the flame of the fire I had threatened to douse over and over again. “Don’t give up on me.”

  I couldn’t speak, but of all the puzzling thoughts that ran through my head then, I chose to focus on the only one that meant something. And as I looked down at him tenderly, a tired smile glanced my lips.

  Regardless of our time apart, irrespective of our current disconnect, Vik was here.

  That counted for something, didn’t it?

  He came home.

  He came home to me.

  18

  Nastasia

  The sound of my front door opening followed by a clinical, “Nastasia, Lidiya would like you to come and join us for breakfast,” had me lifting my head and squinting into the darkness. When I crawled over the body beside me to check the clock, I took in the time and quietly mock-cried.

  Dude. It was only 9:00 a.m.

  “Mina is making pancakes,” Lev said as he climbed the stairs. “They are a strange color and aren’t very good, but please refrain from telling her so.”

  As I straddled the warm body and stretched my arms up over my head, I snuffled out a laugh, knowing Lev would only mention such a thing if he had made the mistake of doing it himself.

  Poor guy often learned the hard way.

  “Are you decent?” he asked just outside my bedroom door.

  I had already said, “Yes,” but when he opened and walked in, he peered to the spot under me and stilled.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  What?

  My brow bunched in confusion. “No.”

  Almost immediately, my brother’s body language loosened and went back to normal as he strode in and muttered, “Good. Nice to see you, Viktor.” My eyes widened comically, and it all came flooding back. “I take it from the state of your face that you had a good reason to blow off work last night.”

  My stomach pitched. I stared flatly at my headboard as a large pair of hands moved to my hips, fingers flexing in a gentle caress.

  “Something like that” was all he rumbled, and when my eyes snapped to his, wide and alarmed, he smirked through the cut on his lip and winked.