Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
With his head bowed and his feet dragging, Aleksander stops on the bottom step and shoves his hands deep inside his front pockets.
Syn hasn’t spoken a word since we hauled ass out of the house, hoping to make it here in time, and I know better than to push when she’s this angry.
I do not envy my brother and the thorough ass-kicking he’s about to receive.
One he absolutely deserves, and not only from Syn. What the fuck was he thinking?
Tension-filled silence stretches for several extremely uncomfortable seconds. The only noise is Dierdre’s unhurried footfalls as her high heels clack against the paver stone. She softly pats Aleksander’s arm as she comes up the front steps.
“Go easy on him,” she tells Syn, kissing her cheek. She motions for me to bend down and kisses mine. “I hope everyone can stay for lunch. I’m in the mood for tacos.”
Pyotr leans against the sedan, not following Dierdre inside.
Aleksander’s fingers start playing piano keys against his outer thigh. He opens his mouth, and I shake my head to stop whatever he’s about to say. There is nothing he can say right now that will calm Syn down, and spewing excuses or sorrys will only make things worse.
He can’t meet the hurt look she sears him with. “You’re an asshole.”
Out of all the things I expected to happen—her punching him in the face or doing one of her pressure-point thingies that would make his body erupt in the most horrible pain imaginable—her walking away wasn’t one of them.
“Syn.”
I check him when he tries to go after her.
“Give her space. She’ll kill you when she’s ready.
” I rub my ungloved hands together. After standing around for ten minutes, waiting for them to arrive, I’m on the verge of frostbite.
“It’s fucking Antarctica out here, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to take this inside. ”
“I don’t get why everyone is mad at me for doing what needs to be done. And that opportunity is now gone. I could have ended this. Ended him. So fuck you very much for fucking up everything.”
I let him say what he needs to say. I know he’s upset. I would be too…until later, when I had a chance to think things over without the haze of hatred and revenge clouding my judgment.
I wait for Pyotr before closing the front door, then strip out of my fleece jacket because Cillian has the heat turned up to “welcome to hell” levels.
“Syn made almost the same argument when she went after Malin without telling us. If I recall, you had Pyotr knock her out before she could get to him.”
“Hey, don’t bring me into this. I’m on your side.”
“Seriously?” Aleksander gripes.
Unbothered, Pyotr looks around. “Nice place. Is it booby-trapped?”
I chuckle. “I wouldn’t put it past Cillian.”
I haven’t been back here since that morning after the shitshow that happened at the Knight estate.
It’s surreal how so much has changed between us.
Enemies turned brothers. I hate the road we had to travel to get there.
I could lay all the blame on our father for paving that road, but I know a lot of the blame lies squarely on me.
Jealousy is a pernicious emotion that fills you with its poison and twists you into someone unrecognizable.
And I was jealous of Aleksander.
He was free from Francesco and the torture he inflicted on a daily basis.
And he was in love with the one girl I couldn’t live without.
Only Con knows that I almost ended it all.
When I thought Aoife had died, I didn’t want to exist in this world anymore.
I wanted to be with her and Dierdre. The pain and loss got to be too much, and the deep well of my grief took control.
Con gave me a reason to keep going. The destruction of our fathers.
Nothing burns brighter or hotter or sustains you more than the fire of vengeance.
“Where is the Jolly Green Giant?” Pyotr asks as I lead them into the front parlor where there’s a large snooker table.
“Right?” I reply with amusement. With his flame-red hair and beard and massive build, Cillian McCarthy looks like the Irish version of that iconic mascot of canned vegetables.
Pyotr makes himself at home on the couch facing the stone fireplace.
Bright embers pop and crackle like exploding fireflies behind the spark guard, the burning wood filling the room with the warm scent of cedar.
Syn once mentioned how the inside of Cillian’s place reminded her of the little house in Ireland where James hid her away.
“Syn wants to have Thanksgiving at the house this year.”
She’s so excited about the upcoming holiday. She wants to go all out for Fénix since it’ll be his first Thanksgiving.
“Am I invited?” Pyotr asks. “FYI, I won’t be able to come because my mom would flay me alive with a dull paring knife if I skipped out on the family gathering, but my fragile ego would appreciate the invitation.”
I quickly came to the realization after first meeting him that Pyotr wasn’t what he seemed.
He may act like the class clown, but that persona hides the ruthless killer hidden just underneath the surface.
He’s a person you should never underestimate, and someone you want as an ally and not as an adversary.
Aleksander takes one of the red balls and rolls it along the felt of the snooker table. “Any advice on how to fix things with her?”
I consider his question, that jealous part that still exists inside me when it comes to her, poking its little green head up before I’m able to shove it back down.
“First, I’d highly suggest that you hop back on your helicopter and get your ass back to Darlington. A hefty amount of groveling would be good, too.”
“That’s not exactly helpful,” he replies, grabbing the white cue ball off the snooker table.
“Just talk to her and be honest. If there is one thing our girl can’t tolerate, it’s doing stupid shit while justifying it as good intentions.”
He releases the cue ball, and it slams against the side, rebounding in a zigzag across the table like a pinball machine. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
“Saying what?”
“Our girl.”
Pyotr rebounds off the couch. “I’m sure Dierdre needs help in the kitchen. Point me the way.”
“I have no idea.” We didn’t stay here long enough for me to get the layout.
“Good enough for me,” he replies. He stops, turns left toward the foyer, then pivots in the other direction.
“You have no fucking clue how this feels,” Aleksander says so quietly, I almost don’t hear it.
Turning my attention back to my brother, I watch as he paces the room like a caged animal. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Having Syn livid with me? Trust me, I know exactly how that feels.” She ripped my heart out and took it with her when she left us after finding those pictures of Malin. Pictures that Aleksander planted in her journal. I still owe him for that.
He stops, his fists balled at his sides. “You don’t know how it feels to want someone so badly, knowing they will never be yours. To be in love with someone your entire life, knowing they will never love you back because they will always be in love with someone else.”
I’d almost feel sorry for him…if it weren’t for the fact that what he just said was so fucking wrong. What I should do is let him continue to believe it. But I can’t. Not anymore. I’m done with denying the inevitable. It’s like trying to stop the sun from rising every morning.
“Then you’re completely blind.”
We turn at the same time when Syn walks in. Her cheeks and nose are as red as her hair from being outside.
“Where is Viktor now?”
Aleksander checks his wristwatch. “At this second? Somewhere we can’t get to him.”
“What was your grand plan?” she asks with a hefty dose of acerbity.
“I was going station myself across the street, high enough up, so I could take him out as soon as he got out of the car. I can’t do that now.”
Her hands go to her hips, elbows bent. It’s her “you’re pissing me off” stance.
“What about later when he leaves?” Aleksander cocks his head, and Syn becomes exasperated.
“Oh my god. You really didn’t consider any alternatives, did you?
” She runs agitated fingers across her forehead.
“Jesus fucking Christ. All the meticulous planning you insisted had to be done, and then you decide to be a jackass and rush off to get yourself killed. And for what?”
I don’t say a word. This isn’t my fight, and I won’t stop Syn from beating the crap out of him. He deserves it.
Aleksander’s posture changes from contrition to indignation. “For you! Everything I do and have done has always been for you!”
She takes a menacing step forward, and I’m smart enough to take a step back, away from the impending explosion that’s about to happen.
“Don’t you dare put this on me! You will not use me as your excuse or justification to do stupid, careless shit.
Because if you were really doing it for me, then you would know…
” She shakes her head, refusing to say the words she’s not willing to admit yet.
“You know what? Fuck you. Do whatever the hell you want. I already have one child to take care of. I don’t need the added stress of dealing with a man who acts like one. ”
Oh, fuck, I think when he advances on her. Dierdre is going to flip out if they break anything.
“Aleks, man, don’t—” I try to advise but his reaction time is faster than my warning.
Grabbing Syn by the neck, he forcibly backs her up until they collide with the wall, rattling the framed oil painting. Leaning in, he says, “I am not a child, pevchaya ptitsa.”
Her blue eyes eclipse black, and there’s a brief flicker of unconcealed desire that flashes over her face before it morphs into indignant outrage.
“Then stop behaving like one.” She jabs two fingers into the sternocostal head tendon that stretches from his pectoral to his shoulder, and his arm drops like dead weight.
She tried it on me once when I asked her to teach me her pressure point shit. I lost feeling for an hour. Apparently, Aleksander doesn’t suffer the same side effect and quickly recovers, blocking her when she pushes him away.
Like watching a ballet of controlled violence, they exchange a coordinated series of attacks and counterattacks as they try to get the upper hand over the other.
The curved legs of a Queen Ann chair scrape across the wood floor when she ducks under his arm, grabs his wrist, and twists.
He quickly pivots, his hand catching her waist in the motion, and they come together, their bodies pressed flushed in something more like a lover’s dance than of two people trying to murder each other.
But I see exactly what it is.
Foreplay.
Syn with her fire, and Aleks’s command of it.
And I don’t give one goddamn what it says about me, but it’s fucking hot to watch.
They’ve been circling each other for a while, so if they need to beat the shit out of one another in order to break down those walls of denial, I’m all for it.
Besides, I know Aleksander won’t hurt her. Syn, on the other hand…
She drives her knee up, but he traps it between his thighs before she can reduce him into a soprano. Not deterred, she brings her forearm under his chin, but he’s able to redirect it and pin it behind her back, pulling her tightly to him with more force than finesse.
For a moment, they freeze in place, their heavy breaths stirring the air.
And then a smile spreads across her face right before she arches back and uses her free leg to kick out his foot, toppling them both to the floor.
Curling himself protectively around her, he’s able to flip their positions before they land in a tangle on the parlor rug.
Straddling his chest, she lifts up and sits back against his bent knees. “You’re an ass.”
“I know.”
“I’m really mad at you.”
He smooths a hand down the waterfall of her hair. “I know.”
From the entryway, Dierdre stops short when she sees Syn on top of Aleks on the floor.
My sister made it very clear early on how she felt about Syn being with me and the guys.
She’s chilled out a lot since the wedding, but the real turning point was when Fénix was born, and she became a grandma.
But from the slow narrowing of her eyes, she’s putting two and two together and isn’t happy about it.
“I wouldn’t ask,” I tell her. Walking over, I lift Syn and heft her over my shoulder. “Hate for this visit to be cut short, but after lunch, we’re going to need to head home.”
Aleksander gets to his feet and moves the chair back into place. “What?” he asks when Dierdre scowls at him.
“Do not engage,” I caution him.
Squirming, Syn protests as I carry her out. “Will everyone stop carting me around like a sack of potatoes? You’re as bad as Hendrix.”
“It’s your fault, Red. Seeing you fight makes me all caveman.”
Pyotr suddenly appears, balancing a taco on a plate. “What did I miss?”
“Syn and Aleks went at it.”
His look of utter dejection pulls a chuckle out of me.
“What are you doing?” Syn asks when I head straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I slide my palm over the round curve of her delicious ass. “Going to show my wife just how caveman I can be.”
She stops wriggling.