Chapter 2 #2
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ivan without a suit on. Maybe Lev isn’t as high ranking in their little criminal enterprise as Ivan. It doesn’t make him look any less dangerous or arrogant.
The man’s ego generally shows up before he does.
“Thanks for bringing this by. You can go now.” I try to snatch the key from him, but as my fingers get close to his open palm, he clenches a fist around it.
“It’s good to know you have some manners.” He brushes past me and inserts the key.
“I’m not the one who is always bulldozing my way into situations,” I mutter.
“Bulldozing?” He cranes his neck to shoot a disapproving glare over his shoulder.
“Yes. I mean, not today, obviously, but the other night.”
He drops his hand from the key protruding from the lock and turns around. “You mean when I found you piss drunk at the bar with my sister? Is that what you mean?”
“I wasn’t piss drunk,” I argue.
“Drunk and roofied if I remember right.” His jaw clenches. “That stupid game you were playing, who could get the most numbers and drinks. You’re lucky all you had was a horrible headache the next day.”
“How do you know I had a headache?” I shove my fist onto my hip.
I did have a horrendous headache and was dehydrated and sick most of the day. But how did he know that?
“And I never asked you swoop in and save me. I would have gotten home perfectly fine that night on my own.”
“Nicolette was in no condition to get you home, and you could barely take a step before you started giggling yourself silly again.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
A low rumbling sound, like large boulders starting to roll down a mountainside, comes from deep in his chest. Irritation flashes in his eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s lost the argument or because he wants to shake me and can’t.
“I should forbid my sister from hanging out with you,” he mutters to himself as he spins back around to the door.
“Your sister is an adult and doesn’t need you telling her what to do.” Marion meows at the same time I make my statement. She always has my back.
He fusses with the key, but nothing’s happening.
“Are you sure this is the right key?” He asks, removing it and sliding it back in again.
I move to his side and inspect the key. “Is it square or round?”
He pulls it out and shows it to me. My shoulders drop. It’s the square key. The square key is old.
“No. It’s not.” I grab it from him. “Shit. I never gave her the new key. I thought I had.”
“You had to change your locks?”
“It’s nothing.” I wave away his concern. It’s none of his business.
“Why did you have to change your locks? Did someone break in?”
“No, Sherlock, no one broke in.” I sigh.
“Who is Sherlock?”
I stare up at him. He can’t be serious.
“Sherlock Holmes? The detective? Nearly sixty books and short stories were written about him? Not to mention, movies, television shows— are you being serious you don’t know who he is?”
He pushes his lips together in a straight line that suggests he’s not enjoying this topic.
“I’ve heard of him.” He plucks. “If this is the wrong key, we’ll need to find another way in.”
“Vee is the only one I gave a spare key to, and my brothers are out of town until tomorrow. The landlord won’t come out. I guess I can call a locksmith. They can probably— what are you doing?”
Lev reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small black case—sleek, compact, and clearly not his first time using it.
“Why do you have lock picks in your jacket?”
He kneels in front of the door, not bothering to answer me. The case opens with a practiced flick of his thumb. Several tools are lined up, ready to go to work.
Marion wiggles in my arms, so I put her down. She snakes her way between him and door, sitting between his legs and looking up as though to watch him work.
“You’re locked out of your apartment; I brought them in case the key didn’t work.”
He inserts the tension wrench and the pick, tilting his head slightly as he listens for the pins. It takes him less than ten seconds. Joey’s been able to do it in half a minute, and I’d thought that was quick.
When the deadbolt finally gives, Lev stands and pushes the door open like it was never locked to begin with.
“There. Now you can stop looking like a stray locked out in the rain.”
“I didn’t look like that.” I can’t help bristle at the obvious snark at my appearance.
The jeans and blouse I wear to work may not be the level of sophistication he’s used to seeing. But unlike him, I’m not rolling around in ill-gotten money piles.
“You were asleep on the floor in the hallway when I found you.” He remarks as he replaces the picks into the case.
“I fell asleep waiting for you, that’s all.” I bend down to scoop up Marion, but she sees me coming for her and rushes off into the apartment, heading straight for the bedroom.
“How’d you manage to get locked out anyway?” He questions, blocking me from entering.
“My brother has my key; he forgot to leave it for me.” I gesture to the open door. “Are you going to let me go inside? Or did you have more questions about things that are none of your business?”
He twists to the side, leaving me with enough room to brush past him and into my apartment.
“Are you not going to thank me?” He moves into the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame so I can’t close the door.
“Of course. Thank you for your help.” I drop my purse onto the small table by the entrance and grab the door like I’m going to shut it, so he should move.
He scans my apartment over my shoulder, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes.
“What the hell is that?” He gently pushes me out of his way and stomps into my apartment.
“Lev, you can’t just barge in here.” I slam the door shut so Marion doesn’t go on one of her little adventures while I’m dealing with this overgrown toddler who has no recognition of personal space or boundaries.
“What the fuck are you doing with one of these?” His voice nearly shakes the floor with demand from the kitchen.
Unsure of what he’s talking about, I follow him. “Why do I have what—the fuck is that?”
In his hands he’s holding a gun. The anger in his eyes looks hot enough to shoot more than bullets.
“It’s a Glock 18.” He checks the magazine, and his eyes go molten. “It’s a fully loaded Glock 18, and it’s sitting on your kitchen counter. How did you get this?”
Good question. How did it get in here?