Chapter 3
Damien
Istare out the window while Ev lays sprawled out on the couch beside me, eyes closed and headphones on.
He’s been like that ever since we took off.
This vacation couldn’t come soon enough for him.
Months of pushing himself to the breaking point has finally caught up, and I’m guessing he’ll sleep the entire seven-hour flight.
Looking around at the spacious interior, there’s no denying it was worth every stolen penny. It’s luxury at its finest and makes going to visit Max so much easier, especially when there are babies or pets involved.
“Mr. Melnikov, can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
I turn my head at the sound of Joyce’s voice and grin at her. She’s being careful to not wake Ev, so I follow her lead and keep my voice low when I say, “I’ve told you a million times you can call me Damien.”
She grins and I swear a light blush heats her cheeks before she says, “No, sir, that’s not how this works. You’re the boss, so you’re a mister to me.”
After we bought the jet, my Uncle Vitaly put himself in charge of hiring the staff.
In his words, he wasn’t about to stock it with a bunch of young hunks who will try to sleep with their wives and daughters or women who are looking to join the mile-high club.
He said both scenarios would end with people being tossed off mid-flight, so he decided to take a different route.
Our staff is a small group of retirees, Joyce being one of them.
She’s sixty-five and was getting shit retirement from the teaching job she’d devoted her whole life to and was thrilled when this opportunity presented itself.
Marvin, the man helping her on this flight is in the same boat.
Sixty-six and trying to get by on a measly pension and mounting medical bills because his wife was recently diagnosed with cancer.
As part of his signing-on bonus, we’re taking care of her medical bills and making sure she receives the best care.
Needless to say, our staff love us, work harder than those half their age, are never inappropriate, and are thrilled with the money they’re saving so they can have a real retirement when they choose to do so.
Joyce patiently waits for me to answer, and when I say, “I’d love a Coke,” she grins and gives me a wink before turning her attention to Ev.
Since the day she was hired, she’s treated us all like grandkids, so I’m not at all surprised when she grabs a blanket and covers my cousin with it before walking off to get my drink.
She returns with my Coke and a tray full of snacks. I get another friendly wink as she says, “Just in case you decide you want a snack before lunch.”
“You’re an angel, Joyce. Thank you.”
This time I’m positive her cheeks heat up before she smiles and goes back to the galley.
I watch her walk away, trying to decide if she knows what we do for a living.
If nothing else, she has to be suspicious.
She was hired by a tattooed guy with a thick Russian accent.
It’s painfully obvious we’re not some American dynasty family, living it up on old money from wise financial decisions our ancestors made.
We’re criminals, and if the way we look wasn’t clue enough, then surely the ironclad NDAs we have them sign and the strict rules we have about not asking questions and not touching certain pieces of luggage certainly would be.
Joyce and Marvin have never seemed to mind, though.
They take our cues from us. We treat them with respect, and they mirror it right back to us.
Our family rewards loyalty, and their bank accounts would certainly attest to that.
Apparently, that’s good enough for them, and I have no doubt they’re going to love the retirement they eventually choose to take.
We all know it’ll be way better than the one the government was giving them.
Drinking my Coke, I put on a set of headphones and turn on the flat-screen TV that’s mounted across from us.
We’ve all added our favorite movies, and after I’ve scrolled through all the kid stuff and ‘80s comedies that are always a crowd favorite, I settle on an action movie that’s filled with enough explosions and gunfire to entertain me on a very basic level.
I just need something to focus on that doesn’t require any real thought, something to take my mind off the family we’re about to spend a few weeks with.
It doesn’t work. The closer we get, the more insistent Sitka’s face becomes in my mind, forcing me to think about her, to remember how beautiful she is, how smart, and how so very off-limits she is.
“How you holding up?” Ev asks from where he’s still sprawled on the couch. He woke up about thirty minutes ago, sweet-talked Joyce into bringing over a tray of brownies, and has been silently working his way through them while watching the newest movie I’d put on.
“I’m fine,” I say, refusing to turn my head when I see him look over at me.
“Don’t forget our code word.”
“I’m not saying Pop-Tart, Ev, and it won’t be necessary anyway. Nothing can happen between us.”
“Why not? Everyone is fine with Max and Talia.”
I finally turn to look at him. “That was entirely different. Max and Talia were kidnapped and held together. Max let them destroy his hand to protect her. There was no way they could say no to that marriage after everything that happened. Plus, Talia’s dad is different.
He’s level-headed, but Sitka’s isn’t like that and we both know it. ”
“He can’t be that bad,” Ev tries to argue.
“When they met our family, who did her dad and brothers bond with?” I ask. When he stays quiet, I keep pushing. “Who did they choose to hang out with?”
“Sasha,” he admits while I nod my head.
“And what does that tell us?” I ask.
His mouth quirks up. “I’m the one studying to be a lawyer, but I think you would’ve made a good one.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, watching me try to bullshit my way around the bar exam would be fucking hilarious.”
“No, it’d be impressive as hell,” he corrects. “You’d have all the info memorized by then.”
I cringe at the thought of trying to struggle through a sentence in front of a roomful of the best and brightest and quickly push the uncomfortable image away.
“Her dad and brothers are crazy, like Sasha’s brand of crazy,” I say, getting back to the point I’d been making.
“They won’t want me anywhere near Sitka, and they’ll probably try to gut me if I try. ”
Ev stretches his legs and sets aside the empty plate. “Well, I’m guessing that’s not going to stop you, so don’t forget to use Pop-Tart when you want some time alone. I can also run distraction with her brothers, keep them busy so you can make your move.”
“Don’t think they won’t try to kill you too.”
He glances over at me, and I see a flash of who he really is before he gives me a lazy smile and turns back into Ev, the harmless college student. “I can handle myself, Damien. You don’t need to worry about me.”
I know he’s right, and the harmless facade he so easily hides behind will never fool me.
I know what he’s capable of. He may not be insane like Sasha, but he’s just as good at being a chameleon when he needs to be.
It’s a skill that’ll be put to good use once he becomes a lawyer.
No one will have the faintest idea that a member of one of the most dangerous Bratvas in the world is right in their midst.
Even though I know he can take care of himself, I still feel the need to say, “I know, but there’s no reason to make trouble if we don’t have to.
” I sigh and scrub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that I was too lazy to shave this morning.
“This is not even worth talking about. She’s never shown an ounce of interest in me. ”
“This is the first time you’ll be spending any real length of time around her since she turned eighteen,” he reminds me.
“I don’t think that’s going to change anything.”
The smirk he gives me makes me want to punch him. “I’m guessing it’s going to change everything.” His smile turns downright gleeful when he adds, “As your soon-to-be lawyer, I give you the go-ahead. Sitka is now officially legal in all fifty states.”
The bastard’s smile grows when I accidentally laugh. “You’re such an ass,” I tell him. “And none of this matters anyway. She might have a boyfriend for all I know.”
“Well, like you said, her dad and brothers would never allow that.”
“Yeah, but you think they’d just let me slide right in?”
He lifts a dark brow at me. “Interesting choice of words.”
I’m just about to call him a bastard when Joyce arrives with our lunch. I say it in Russian instead before quickly switching to English and thanking Joyce for my tray. She fusses over us until she’s convinced we really do have everything we need, and then she disappears again so we can eat.
Ev decides to stop torturing me and grabs the remote, choosing one of the comedies instead.
I try to enjoy the chicken parmesan that tastes a thousand times better than anything you’d ever find on a commercial flight, but my eyes keep straying to my watch.
We have two hours to go, and there’s no telling how long it’ll be before Sitka and I cross paths.
She might choose to stay on her own property the whole time.
Various scenarios run through my mind as I finish lunch and then stare out the window until it’s time to descend.
I watch the small, private airport grow larger until we’re touching down and racing along the runway.
Flying’s never bothered me, and I’ve always loved the takeoffs and landings.
The speed instantly makes me miss my motorcycle and the rush of adrenaline I get every time I ride it.
Being a passenger just doesn’t cut it, and by the time the plane comes to a stop, I’m antsy to get to Max’s so I can borrow a bike and take it for a ride.