by Belle Aurora
No. He couldn’t.
I knew how these things worked. My own brother was a loan shark. And if payment wasn’t met… well, payment would be taken in one way or another.
“How much?” I asked softly.
Vik laughed, taking a hand and brushing it over his mouth before he revealed the staggering amount. “Two hundred and ninety-three thousand dollars.”
Oh my God.
My mouth rounded in time with my eyes. I blinked, and Vik let out a rough, “Yeah.”
I thought to help, but apparently, all I managed to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time.
“I could give you—” The moment I began to speak and Vik’s eyes sliced over to me, cold and furious, I stopped talking. So, I added carefully, “I have money. I can help.” Unfortunately, Vik was already shaking his head, and I stood, reaching out and taking hold of his arm with a desperate, “Let me help.”
He made a sound of pure irritation. “This. This is why I didn’t tell you, Nas. Fuck.” My face fell, and when he noticed, he rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You’re already looking at me different.”
“No, I’m not,” I swore, but I was. Not intentionally, of course. But this changed things.
Beaten. That was the one word that came to mind when he looked at me then.
“You are a woman who is used to a particular lifestyle.” My brow pulled down in offense, and he noticed. “Not because you’re pretentious, but because you were born into that life. And after your dad died, Sash made sure you continued to live that life. And I…” He paused and kicked away a pebble. “I can’t give you that.” His tone was flat, trodden on. And my heart broke. Even more when he said, “And, God, it wrecks me.”
I knew he didn’t mean it, but he made it sound like I would only drink out of crystal glasses and eat the finest caviar. As though I was a snob. An elitist.
“I’m barely keeping my head above water,” Vik confessed through an exhale. “How am I supposed to take care of you the way you deserve without drowning us both?”
What could I say to that?
Nothing. Not when he insisted on the pity party he was throwing. I thought he knew me better than that. I thought he knew me well enough to know that kind of stuff didn’t matter to me. I would have given it up, all of it, to have him. Put us back in the one-bedroom rickety apartment with the broken toilet. I’d take it so long as I had him.
I already knew the answer to what I was about to suggest but wanted confirmation. “Coming up with that kind of money in such a short amount of time is going to be tough.”
“Not if you’re doing rough work,” he returned.
His disappearance last week. The state of his face. His irritability. It made sense.
“Do I want to know who you’re working for?” I asked through a humorless laugh.
He stared out into the street. “Some guy on the upper east side.”
That was all he gave, but to be honest, it was more than I expected. These things were on a need-to-know basis, and Vik and I had a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy when it came to rough work. It protected him but also protected me. After all, I couldn’t tell anyone what I didn’t know.
This whole situation was shocking. I wanted to help. I needed to help. I just didn’t know how.
A mild silence passed, and Vik straightened. “So, now you know. Happy?”
How could he ask me that?
My expression sad, I let out a barely there, “No.”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “Yeah.” He turned to walk away, speaking as he left me behind. “Me neither.”
I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
And as my eyes swung to the dancer sitting on the sofa in Sasha’s office, I folded my arms over my chest. My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched my teeth together, but for the sake of my brother and this business, I would play nice. For now.
Sasha sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair as he looked between Lush and me. “You don’t have to get along, ladies. You don’t even have to like each other. But you will be respectful in my place of business.” When his eyes narrowed on me, he went on. “I know you hear me, Nastasia.”
Why was he putting this solely on me?
He knew I had a short fuse, and this bitch made it her job to mess with all my circuits.
I would choke on the words before I apologized.
Ever the dutiful sibling, I responded, “I hear you, brother mine.”
“Good.” He appeared somewhat appeased. My stomach jackknifed when his eyes softened, and he asked kindly, “Now, Lush. How are you feeling?”
I stared at him, blinking in bewilderment.
Was he freaking serious?
I was about to lose my mind.
“Well,” she spoke breathily, “my head hurts, and my neck is really sore.” Sasha nodded in sympathy. “I think I might need a few more days off.” She lowered her eyes and fluttered her lashes. And I almost gagged. “But if you don’t want me to, I guess I can just go to the cops and file a report. I’m sure you have some kind of insurance that deals with workplace compensation.”
And I slowly twisted to face her, letting my arms fall by my sides.
Was that a threat? Did she just threaten my brother?
Because if it was, I would take the four steps over, grip her hair in my hands, walk her over to the desk, and make her head meet it—again and again.
Oh, please.
I really hoped it was a threat.
Sasha put his hands up and grinned. “Whoa, now. Let’s just take it down a notch. I’m sure we can work something out.”
I got chills. He never grinned, not like that. It was slimy.
He then asked, “What about the money I gave you? Is that gone already?”
Lush simply shrugged. “I had bills to pay.”
Sasha’s demeanor changed. It was slight, but I saw it.
Something was up. I felt it in my bones.
“See, here’s the thing—” My brother stood and rounded the table, sitting himself down on the edge. “—Martha.” My head snapped up just as his eyes darkened, and he stared at her through his thick lashes. “You think you know me, but you don’t. If you knew me, you’d know that I don’t fuck with women like you.” Her face paled, but Sasha went on. “And I sure as hell don’t let them put a target on my head.”
Lush’s eyes widened. She seemed to be contemplating her life’s every decision, and when Sasha looked the way he was looking at her right now, I didn’t blame her.
“Sash,” she began. “I wasn’t…. I didn’t mean….” She then forced a wide smile. “I don’t think I explained myself properly.”
Lord. She was trying to fix this. And Sasha was not biting. “No, you did. I got exactly what you were laying down, and I…” He moved then, coming to crouch in front of her. “I don’t like your tone.”
Oh my God.
I should have felt bad about the glee that soared through me then, but no. I didn’t.
This was what happened when you screwed with people’s livelihoods. Especially with men like Sasha.
He rose and twisted, walking toward me. He took the space beside me, standing tall but peering at the petrified woman shuffling in place, looking over at the door like she might attempt to escape.
I’d like to see her try.
“Heard you went on a little shopping spree with that stack of cash. Left those notes all over the east side.” Her lips parted in surprise. “I know this, because regardless of what you thought, I am not a stupid man. And whether or not I’m still in the game, I always protect my back, because people rarely stab you in the front.” The smirk on his face was downright petrifying. “But you? You tried for both, didn’t you, honey?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was barely audible.
Sasha asked a sober, “Do you know what usually happens to people who pay for diamonds with counterfeit bills like you did yesterday?” He paused a moment. “You will if you don’t pack yo
ur shit and get out of my club within the next five minutes.”
Her expression fell, and for a second, I almost felt bad for her. “You set me up.”
Sasha moved then, making his way around his desk and reclaiming his seat. “Yeah, well, play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” He checked his watch. “You got four minutes and twelve seconds. I’d get moving. You pass that time and you’re officially trespassing. You want to know what I do with trespassers?” He looked her over slowly. “I dare you to stay and find out.”
Martha was off the sofa before he even finished. She moved quickly, her heels clip-clopping as she rushed to leave, and the moment she exited the room, I turned to face my brother. He typed out a quick email before hitting Send. The chair spun, and he watched me for a short while before asking, “How long she been messing with you?”
My gut clenched.
How did he know?
He always knew.
“A while.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He didn’t sound upset, but I knew my brother well, and the slight change in his tone was enough to let me know he wasn’t happy I hadn’t.
“This isn’t high school, Sash. I don’t need you to protect me.” Then quieter, “I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“Yeah,” he uttered, taking his pen and tapping it on the table, then deadpanned, “How’d that work out?”
The ass.
My jaw tightened. “Not as well as I hoped.”
He made a sound of agreement deep in his throat. “Look,” he began in an offhanded way. “Our family has a reputation, and regardless of who we are now, we’ll never escape who we were. That kind of standing comes in handy. We are and forever will be Chaos.”
I understood. And maybe it was sick, but I didn’t hate it. Knowing people had that fear was somewhat of a reassurance. We never got taken advantage of. People thought twice before dealing with us, knowing if things went south, Sasha would recoup whatever he lost and more. We were a hazard people rarely spotted until it was too late.
Being a Leokov had its advantages.
“Next time you want to smack a bitch, come find me.” He vowed darkly, “We’ll smack 'em so hard they see stars without ever using our fists. You get me?”
Was he serious?
The way he held my gaze told me he was.
Why did that excite me? More importantly, what the hell was wrong with me?
“Yeah” was all I could say. “I get you.”
“Good,” he said as he turned to face his computer. “Close the door behind you. I’ve got work to do.”
And I just stared at him a moment. But when I finally found my feet and moved to walk away, I got the distinct impression that I would never truly appreciate how dangerous my eldest brother was.
22
Vik
The man sitting opposite me stared for a long moment, tapping a sharp finger on the arm of his chair, before he opened his desk drawer, took out something square, put it to the table, and pushed it toward me.
It didn’t take a genius to work out he was still pissed at me for declining a job a few nights back, but it couldn’t be helped. My sister needed me.
So, here I was, trying to make amends, because this guy was money, and I needed a lot of it.
I picked up the photo, studied it a second, and realized I recognized the man. He was Russian, old stock. A soldier under Cora’s father for Zakon, a firm that competed with Chaos in every which way. They were the sole reason Bratva tore the roles from us.
Bratva didn’t like attention, and unfortunately, Zakon lived for it.
Holding the photo between my fingers, I placed it back on the table and waited.
A moment later, Roam said, “You know him?”
“Not well.”
Roam nodded lightly as he uttered a straightforward, “He’s becoming a problem for me.”
Now that gave me pause.
Surely, he didn’t mean what I thought he meant. Because that was a big step up from robberies, intimidation, and recruitment.
I let out a careful laugh. “I’m not an assassin.”
But Roam simply picked up his glass of whisky and studied it. “You are whatever I want you to be.”
Sometimes, it was hard to keep my mouth shut. And this was one such time. “Listen, man. I know you’re pissed that I didn’t show, but—”
He cut me off. “Oh, no. I’m not angry. I’m simply extending a courtesy.” Roam pushed out of his chair and walked the office. “I assumed you needed the money, and the price on this job seemed right.” His calculating eyes rested on me then, and a single brow rose. “Was I wrong?”
I hated myself for asking what I did. “How much?”
And he grinned, knowing he had me. “Enough to make a lot of your problems go away.” The grin fell, and his tone deepened some. “I’m just asking you to take care of one of mine.”
I looked away, out the window to the tops of the buildings that surrounded the one we were in, and spoke the words with a hint of reluctance. “I’ll need the address.”
The leader of The Disciples said, “Get it done. Tonight.”
The photograph lay face-up on the desk. I tried not to think about the guy, but it was impossible.
He had daughters. He had a wife. At this point, a couple of grandkids, at the very least. But he’d made his presence known to a person who had the means to eliminate a problem.
My jaw tightened.
If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.
I took the photo and stood, shoving it into my pocket. With a jerk of his chin, Roam watched me leave, keeping a close eye on his investment. And regardless of how I felt about what I was doing, I didn’t exactly have the choice to stop.
It wasn’t personal. Business never was.
My conscience was eating at me. It nibbled and bit until I felt ill, and it was a little over 6:00 p.m. when I sent the text.
Me: Can’t do it.
My stomach did a weird jerky, unsettled thing.
I knew I’d likely just lost my bucket of gold, but there were some things I wouldn’t do. Surprised the shit out of me. Ten years ago, I would have taken the job without pause if it were done in the name of Chaos.
I would have smiled in the fucker’s face as I pulled the trigger.
It seemed I’d changed.
An hour passed, and I received no response. I stood with a heavy sigh, showered, and got ready for work. I felt numb as I dressed, even more dazed as I helped Anika out of the car and walked us inside the club.
Bleeding Hearts was unsurprisingly busy.
From my space in the shadows by the bar, I spotted Lev sitting at the far corner of the room with Mina seated beside him. When he caught me looking, he lifted his drink in acknowledgement, and I lifted my chin. I turned to the bar in time to see my woman reach across the counter and gently touch some poor schleps face while pouting those delicious lips of hers his way.
My gut clenched tightly.
I hated that, but I understood it was part of the job.
My eyes narrowed when they settled on Anika. She looked frazzled, as though she couldn’t keep her mind on the job, and when she dropped the glass she was holding and it made a shrill shattering sound, she muttered, “Shit,” before crouching down to pick up the pieces. And I worried.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t get her to talk to me.
She was battling. She was losing. And it was tearing her apart, one day at a time.
“Yo, Chessie,” I called out, and the woman turned to me expectantly. I placed a bill on the counter. “Send her an espresso martini. Maybe it’ll help her study.”
Chessie smirked before she put her fingers on the counter, took the money, and made it up before walking it to the opposite end of the bar. As she placed it down, Cora’s head lifted, and Chessie leaned in, speaking to the infuriating woman who insisted on dragging her books out and studying right there at the bar. I couldn’t see what Chessie was saying, but when Cora’
s face softened, she looked across the bar to me and lifted her drink to her lips, her eyes smiling. She took a small sip, then placed the glass down and blew me a kiss in thanks.
My head dipped in a short nod. And, as though I felt eyes on me, my gaze swept the bar. I found Nastasia watching me, her expression gentle and warm. And when her pouty lips elevated slowly, I held her gaze. Her smile widened. When she dipped her chin, shook her head, and got back to work, I tried not to think about how much I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back down to the janitor’s closet to relive that unbeatable fuck from a few weeks back.
My cock was still twitching from it.
The night was going off without a hitch, and as I sat back, watching the girls on stage move slowly, sensually, I hadn’t noticed the change in vibe until Anika called out an alarmed-sounding, “Vik.”
My actions gradual, I twisted back to see what she needed, and when I spotted all three of the girls still, work forgotten, looking wide-eyed and rigid across the room, my brows furrowed.
I followed their startled stares, and when I saw them, I balked.
Goddammit.
Standing steadily, my eyes swept the room.
They were everywhere.
The men dressed in black blocked every exit, their black-and-white-painted faces eerie and odd. With skulls half covering their faces, they were a daunting sight. Intimidating. And that was the exact moment I knew I fucked up.
The Disciples referred to their soldiers as the departed, and there was little doubt in my mind—they were here for me.
Their numbers grew, and I silently wondered how they had gotten in. Patrons watched on cautiously but curiously. The music went on, but the girls stopped dancing. There was a stillness in the room, and the departed simply stood their ground.