Resurrected King (Ruthless Bratva Brotherhood Book 2)

by Kaye Blue

  Whether they were more than owner and employee.

  The hot sting of jealousy licked down my spine before I could fight it back.

  I was jumping to conclusions, and more importantly, I didn’t have a claim on her. At least my rational mind said that, though some part of me refused to accept it.

  And I’d seen the glint in Howard’s eye when he looked at her, and it pissed me the fuck off.

  I slammed the laptop shut then quickly pushed my anger down, unwilling to allow my emotions to get out of control, or any more out of control than they already were.

  A knock on the door saved me.

  “Enter,” I said, knowing it was Shay and not at all surprised she was back after less than an hour.

  “Done already?” I asked, though I didn’t need confirmation.

  “Yeah,” she said, sitting in the chair across from me. “I presume Adora isn’t supposed to know about this, but if you have a chance, you might casually mention she needs to step up her online security,” she said.

  “It was that easy, huh?”

  “Yes, that easy,” she said, smiling.

  “So, what did you find?”

  “On the surface, nothing.”

  “But?”

  “But somebody’s skimming. The price of goods is incredibly inflated, and given that they have practically no labor costs, the numbers don’t add up.”

  “You think it’s Adora?” I asked.

  “No. She’s not the type,” Shay said with certainty.

  “No, she’s not,” I agreed, equally certain.

  Both of us were seasoned enough to spot the type, and Adora definitely wasn’t it.

  I was happy Shay agreed, even though it only confirmed I needed to leave her alone.

  Of course, now that I had started to pull the string on Howard, I wouldn’t let it go.

  “So what’s your guess?” I asked Shay.

  “The owner. We only talked a little, but from what I understand, she does the baking and day-to-day, and someone else handles the business. And that someone else is skimming and sloppy about it,” she said, her brow crinkled, her distaste clear.

  “You girls finished chatting?

  Shay scowled but then quickly smoothed her expression as Riker walked in.

  “You’re supposed to be working, not shooting the shit,” he said, glaring at Shay.

  “Let me know if you need anything else, Ghost,” she said as she stood, not even looking Riker’s direction.

  She left, her steps slightly jerkier than they had been when she’d entered but her overall demeanor otherwise unperturbed.

  Riker glared after her for a moment but then looked at me.

  I didn’t bother to ask what his problem was.

  He was just being himself, and though he was talented, that talent came with baggage.

  “You come across something interesting?” I asked, turning my thoughts away from Adora to Brotherhood business.

  “Potentially. There have been two more fires since yesterday in Federov territory.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “Not yet. But all the buildings have been completely destroyed.”

  “Just like the others,” I said, thoughts drifting to series of fires that had cropped up.

  “This shit stinks. Five fires in six weeks feels like more than a coincidence,” Riker said, revealing some of the intellect he kept hidden behind his unrefined demeanor.

  “It does. We’ll keep our eyes peeled,” I said.

  “I will, at least when I’m not chauffeuring Etienne’s calculator,” he said with disgust, though something else passed across his face before he wiped it away.

  “Catch you later,” he muttered as he left.

  “Yeah,” I said, though my mind was elsewhere by the time he exited the room.

  More accurately, my mind was back where it had no business being.

  Her.

  Eight

  Adora

  “You need a hand?”

  I groaned inwardly at the sound of his voice but managed to keep my reaction to myself.

  “I got it,” I said to Howard, not even bothering to look at him.

  Instead, I stayed focused on the chores I needed to finish, though some part of me wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have been.

  What would Howard have done if I’d said I did need a hand?

  I scrubbed the counter until it gleamed, considering the question.

  It didn’t take me long because I knew the answer.

  If I told him I needed help, he would have looked perplexed, made some vague allusion to eventually hiring someone, and then gotten the hell away from me as quickly as he could.

  It was shit I was too tired and impatient to deal with, though him going away might have been worth asking the question.

  “Good,” he said, hovering. “I know you can count on you.”

  I stopped and looked at him, the tone of his voice drawing my full attention.

  I knew that tone, what came with it, and could feel myself going on the defensive.

  “What is it, Howard?” I asked, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

  “What do you mean, sweetie?” he asked, his sickeningly sweet tone making me angry.

  “I’m not your sweetie. Not anymore.”

  “That was your choice,” he said.

  I scowled at him, a discussion of our brief and very ill-conceived relationship something I was in no mood for.

  It had been years ago, a time when the loneliness had been too much to bear. But I’d come to my senses and cut it off quickly, making it clear to Howard that that part of our relationship was over forever.

  Something that he’d accepted and hadn’t seemed bothered by over the years that followed.

  Him mentioning it now definitely meant something was up.

  So instead of my own regret and annoyance at myself, I focused on him.

  “What’s wrong, Howard?”

  “That’s not like you,” he said, narrowing his eyes in a pantomime of concern.

  “What’s not like me?” I asked, sighing as I finished the question.

  He was deflecting, building up to whatever this was really about, and I knew better than to play into this game.

  But I did so anyway.

  “You’re so happy, upbeat, but not with me.”

  That he viewed me upbeat and expected I would be so after a fourteen-hour day only confirmed everything I already knew about him.

  I didn’t tell him that.

  “What’s this about?” I asked, allowing some annoyance into my voice.

  “I just wanted you to know I appreciate what you do this for this place. It wouldn’t run without you,” he said, sounding almost sincere.

  I felt myself softening and tried to steel myself against the reaction, because I knew he was playing me.

  I loved this bakery, loved it in a way that I refused to allow myself to love almost anyone or anything else, and he knew that.

  And used it to his advantage.

  Idiot that I was, I let him.

  “Thank you. You know I love this place.”

  “I do,” Howard said, his expression softening as he nodded, “which is why I’m hoping you’ll understand.”

  “Understand what?” I asked, going back to scrubbing the counter.

  It was clean and couldn’t get any cleaner, but I needed to do something with the anticipation that was growing.

  It wasn’t the good kind of anticipation either, because Howard was about to ask for something, something I probably wouldn’t want to give.

  “I know I said we were going to bring someone else on, but we just can’t,” he said finally.

  I stopped wiping and glared at him, or at least hoped that I did. I was so exhausted, I didn’t really have the energy to look at him with the disdain I felt.

  “I got us two new large accounts. Plus, that account from the restaurant a few months ago. Those alone should be more than enough to cover someone else.”
/>   He nodded. “You did, and I appreciate you going to all that effort for the business. But you know how things are.”

  He shrugged as if that was an explanation.

  “No, I don’t. How are they?” I asked, my annoyance rising, verging close to anger, an emotion I tried to keep in check.

  “The cost of supplies is going up. Rent is going up. Insurance. Everything. It’s business, you know?”

  He said it in a way that suggested I had no idea, and in a lot of ways, he was right. I kept focused on the operations and let him manage the rest of the business.

  Because, as he liked to remind me, it was his, and it was easy enough for me to cede those areas to him and focus on the stuff I enjoyed, which was the baking and the customers.

  “I can’t keep doing this,” I said, hating the little plea in my voice, unable to keep it out.

  “You’re doing a great job,” he said, reaching over to pat me on the shoulder.

  I wanted to push his hand away but didn’t and instead stared at him.

  “I’m not going to be doing a great job if I break down,” I said, remembering Mikhail’s words from earlier.

  He waved my concern away.

  “You’re one of the strongest women I know, Adora. After all you went through, I don’t think this is going to be the thing that is going to stop you.”

  My fingers tightened on the rag before realized what I was doing, and through force of will, I loosened them, let my hands drop to my sides, all in an effort to keep from throttling Howard.

  In the course of one conversation, he had mentioned our ill-fated relationship and mentioned, however obliquely, the pain and loss that had shaped my life.

  I didn’t appreciate it.

  Actually, that was an understatement.

  I wanted to slap his face, but like I always did, I swallowed back the emotion, refused to let myself get into it.

  “Howard, you have a month. You need to agree to bring on at least two people full-time by then.”

  “I knew you’d understand,” he said, smiling at me as he looked around. “I let you get back to it. You don’t need me to stay, do you?”

  “No,” I don’t,” I bit off.

  “Then, good night, sweetie—Adora.”

  He quickly amended the nickname when I glared at him, and soon after, he was mercifully gone.

  That was at least, one of Howard’s good qualities.

  He knew how to make himself scarce at the right times.

  This was definitely the right time.

  But as exhausted as I was and annoyed, thoughts of Howard were soon gone, replaced by a certain someone I couldn’t get out of my head.

  Baking was practically the only time I was free from thoughts of him.

  Honestly, it wasn’t like I really wanted to be.

  And that was the problem.

  I couldn’t count the number of times my thoughts had strayed to him, to the memory of the way the sun had hit his hair, his surprisingly full bottom lip that I wanted to kiss again.

  How, on a couple of occasions, I’d seen a sadness in his eyes that felt as heavy as my own.

  How, worst of all, I liked those times, liked him.

  And that threw me off more than anything.

  Because I’d sworn a long time ago that those kinds of feelings, that kind of connection wasn’t for me, and with every thought of him, let alone when I saw him, that decision was thrown into question.

  Not that anything would come of it, I reminded myself as I mopped the floor.

  If he thought of me, which I doubted he did, it was only because he cared about a person who cared about my friend.

  That had nothing to do with me, so even if I wanted him—and I did—as much as I hated to admit it, there was no there there.

  He was just a nice guy keeping his word to a friend.

  And that was all it could be.

  I told myself that, then told myself again, trying to ignore the melancholy that threatened.

  I knew it was only because of the change, because Erin wasn’t here to set me straight, and probably because I was overworked.

  Because I didn’t get involved, and certainly didn’t want anyone, not this deeply.

  Sure, I had physical urges that I took care of when the need got too strong, and that was enough for me.

  More than.

  Messy entanglements. Emotions.

  Connection.

  They had no place in my life, and Mikhail didn’t change that.

  I finished the cleaning, prepped for the next day, and then finally, around seven, made my way upstairs to the one-bedroom apartment above the bakery.

  Early enough, but given that my day had started at 4:00 A.M., it didn’t feel it.

  By the time I made it inside my place, I was near delirious with exhaustion, almost overcome with it, but I didn’t give in to the desire to fall directly into bed.

  Instead, I ate leftovers while standing over the kitchen sink.

  Uncivilized, but at least I hadn’t just eaten a couple of cookies and had a glass of wine.

  I didn’t need the cookies, and the wine would only put me to sleep, so I ate my grilled chicken and vegetables and then hopped into the shower, letting the hot water beat away some of the tension in my muscles.

  Like always, the shower had a calming effect, and though I was still exhausted when I got out, I wasn’t wired up, felt almost calm.

  It wasn’t quite eight when I started to wind down, but I didn’t care.

  I went through my apartment looking for any last things that needed to be taken care of, and when I was satisfied there weren’t, I headed toward the bedroom, almost giddy at the prospect of lying down.

  Was stopped dead in my tracks by a knock at the door.

  Nine

  Adora

  If it was Howard, I was going to murder him.

  A testament to how tired I was because I wasn’t usually quick to anger.

  But now, the very idea of him coming up here when he knew how desperate I was for sleep had me enraged.

  I stomped across the floor and pulled the door open without looking through the peephole.

  “Howard—”

  The words I’d been about to spit died in my throat when I locked eyes with the man who definitely wasn’t Howard.

  His eyes were darker than they’d been earlier but still unreadable, the expression on his face placid, though I had no doubt his mind was working.

  My throat went dry, and a low thrum started in my belly as I took him in.

  In his suits, he was undeniably appealing, but now, dressed in cargo pants and a T-shirt that strained to contain his muscles, his physicality, his overwhelming masculinity, were impossible to miss.

  Not that it changed my reaction to him.

  I would take him how I found him, but in that moment, I decided I preferred him like this because in these clothes he seemed more real than he did in those outrageously expensive suits.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  His question reminded me that I was just standing there gawking at him, and after a moment, I flinched.

  “No, it’s not,” I said. “Come in.”

  He came in, and I closed the door behind him and looked at him curiously.

  “Wait, how did you get up here?” I asked.

  “The buzzer doesn’t work, and the security door is busted,” he said, the frown on his face something I certainly didn’t miss.

  “I’ll have it taken care of.” I was simultaneously placating him and fighting back my annoyance once again.

  Howard had assured me would fix the door weeks ago, but I had been too busy and unfocused to make sure he’d followed through.

  “No. I’ll see that it’s repaired,” he said sternly.

  That wasn’t his responsibility.

  I wasn’t his responsibility.

  But I didn’t want to argue.

  Aside from the look on his face, one that told me he would brook no argument anyway, there was
the simple fact that it was nice that he wanted to take care of that for me.

  That he wanted to take care of me.

  I knew he was simply being polite, acting the caretaker that I sensed was a part of who he was, but I still felt soft and tingly all the same.

  A feeling I swore I wouldn’t indulge, though I wanted to, and badly.

  “Well,” I said, becoming self-conscious after a few more seconds when I realized I was in my pajamas, which consisted of basketball shorts and a tank top.

  I could go change, but that would probably call more attention to me than pretending I was dressed, so I went with that, ignoring the way my unrestrained breasts moved, hoping that my nipples weren’t too visible under the tank.

  “Wait a second!” I said, remembering something that would distract me from my awkwardness.

  I went to my bedroom hurriedly and returned with the hundred dollar bill clutched in my fingers.

  “I think you dropped this,” I said, extending the bill toward him.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The fact that I found it under the plate you were eating off of.” I quirked a brow, practically daring him to contradict me.

  He did, brazenly so.

  “You must be mistaken. Someone else left that.”

  “Mikhail, no one else left a hundred dollar tip,” I said, looking at him skeptically.

  He shrugged. “What do you want me to say? It’s not mine.”

  Again, he spoke sternly, spoke in a way that made it impossible for me to push.

  So instead, I smiled and shook my head.

  “A pretty bold play.”

  His expression said he agreed with me, but he didn’t speak, and I didn’t pursue the matter.

  “What brings you here?” I asked, changing the subject.

  That probably should have been my first question, but I had been so enjoying my time with him that I got distracted.

  He looked at me for a long moment, considering, and then finally met my eyes.

  “We didn’t finish our conversation.”

  Ten

  Mikhail

  “We didn’t?”

  Her response had taken a moment, and I had watched her eyes as she’d processed my words.