Chapter 11 Kon
KON
There are cars waiting on the tarmac as the ballerinas jostle and chatter and pour off the plane when we arrive back in London.
I take it in with a glance. About two dozen black SUVs surround the plane. My second-in-command has a tablet and is allocating dancers to drivers. Well. Bratva brothers. Henchmen. Some of them probably deserve the term “goon”, though that’s mainly Greenwich’s men, not mine.
I asked him to help with the transport for the dancers, since getting enough secure cars and planes at short notice is a challenge even for Harlesden.
There are a range of reactions. Some of the girls are still wary. Some are crying happy tears as they finally get through on the phone to their loved ones. Others are hugging their friends. They’ve all been given a new smart phone, and they’re breaking open the packaging and exchanging numbers.
Taylor was at the back of the plane with me, and I encourage her forwards with a polite hand gesture, and try not to remember how I used that exact same hand to stroke her clit and make her come.
She pauses at the exit, and looks up at me for a second as she passes me. My heart throbs like I’m a fucking teenager, except I was ice-cold and not like that at all.
Forty-three years old and this is the first time I feel like… The first time I feel.
From the top of the steps I watch as Taylor runs to her sisters, and as they catch her, I’m staring.
The most compelling view of all the emotional moments happening on the ground. I walk down, and before I’ve even reached the bottom one of my more junior men is there.
“Pakhan?”
I half-turn towards him.
“Vadik said to check with you about using this plane to fly to America. He thought that would be better than sending it south? And the customs officials are asking about passports. We could…”
He continues on, and I watch Taylor from the corner of my eye.
This might be the last time I ever see Taylor, and my heart aches as she’s embraced by her sisters. Her cheeks are shiny with tears when the older sister—Hayley, I think—partially releases her and allows the younger one to have her turn.
Taylor is wiry and strong, lean compared to her two non-athlete sisters, and I don’t know how I’m sure, but I imagine they must all feel the difference that years of dancing and being away from her family have wrought.
She’s with her people, that’s clear from the way the three brown-haired heads cluster together.
Pride blooms in my chest. This might be the first time I’ve done something really good.
I should be paying attention to the very real issues that bringing twenty-ish ballerinas back to London will cause, from the fact that Aleksandr will retaliate to the detail that none of them have passports, and I need to get them home. But instead, all I can focus on is Taylor.
Over her sister’s shoulder, Taylor holds my gaze, her eyes big and watery. For that moment, there’s a bleakness in her expression, like a person lost in a snowstorm.
“Do whatever needs to be done, money is no object,” I snap, and stride over to my second-in-command. I grab a phone from Vadik and head towards Taylor.
I can’t let her go without seeing her one last time. I will shatter from the cold if I don’t.
Cutting across the tarmac, I keep my eyes fixed on Taylor, like she might disappear if I lose sight of her for an instant.
“Harlesden.” Greenwich steps right in front of me, forcing me to stop with a hand on my arm. I was so intent on reaching Taylor, I didn’t even notice him.
I keep moving, trying to weave around the bulky mafia boss barring my way.
“Thank you for rescuing Taylor.” He backs up effortlessly, remaining frustratingly in the way, slowing me down. “And you went far further, getting out all her friends. We won’t forget this. I appreciate it, and while I’ll reimburse your expenses, I owe you.”
“No need for money.” It was worth it for Taylor. I’m not looking at him, just trying to get past. “I have to—”
“No,” he cuts me off, side-stepping with me, preventing me from moving.
“I have a—” I hold up the phone like it’s a talisman. It’s an excuse, and a poor one, because Greenwich plucks it from my hand effortlessly.
“I’ll give it to her.” He gives me a severe nod. “You’ve done more than enough.”
“She won’t know about—” Something. There has to be a logical reason behind my bone-deep need to see her.
“We’re her family. I’ll make sure she has everything she needs.” Greenwich has the tone of firm patience of a father.
There’s a beat of silence as I watch Taylor get into the car with her sisters. She turns at the last moment, looking over her shoulder. Our eyes meeting for a second and fire runs down my veins.
She’s mine.
Then the door closes.
“I’ll call by tomorrow.” It’s a long time without her, but surely I can manage.
“Don’t.”
The abruptness of Greenwich’s word finally gains my attention, and I notice he’s six inches in front of me, with his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m going to check on all the women,” I reply, aiming for matter-of-fact. “I rescued them, they’re my responsibility.”
“Not Taylor. You know she’s safe with us.”
“Of course, but—”
We never find out what idiotic thing I was going to say I could do better than her sisters and her future brother-in-laws, because Greenwich shakes his head and interjects.
“You’re Volk.”
It’s a blow to my chest. I begin to deny that I’m not anymore, that Volk is very literally in the past for me.
“Taylor has suffered years of abuse from your Volk Bratva brothers—”
“Former brothers.” I hate that he uses the Russian word for mafia men, even though it’s the correct term. It makes me feel like I’m really related to Volk by blood, although I’m not. And that I’ll never be able to step away from who I was.
But that part is true. It’s the reason I’ve never covered up the Volk Bratva wolf tattoo. A reminder of all the bleak things I’ve done to end up here.
“She has her life back, and doesn’t need reminders of all she’s been through. She’ll be far better off without seeing you at all.”
Suddenly feeling for the first time in decades, possibly ever, and discovering that the one person I have to be near will be damaged by my presence, is deeply ironic.
I want to howl with sheer pain as the truth of it rips my heart to shreds.
I stay quiet.
“She’s been through enough,” Greenwich adds.
My jaw clenches, but I manage a firm nod.
This is the price of all the morally dubious things I’ve done in my life. I don’t deserve to be near an angel like Taylor, even if not being near her might bleed all the humanity I’ve just discovered out of me, drip by drip, from a cut that I already know will never heal.
Taylor. Zhizn moya. My life.
Greenwich’s eyes narrow. “If you care about Taylor at all, stay away.”