Chapter 2
Babygirl.
I haven’t used that name for her in two years. A moment lost in a jumble of other memories from a night when she’d come home after the rest of the house had gone to bed. Her breath wreaked of beer and tequila. A dangerous combination.
I’d helped her up the stairs of Alexander’s home, cleaned her up, and put her to bed. Once she was under the covers, I’d stolen a moment. A brief second when I brushed her dark hair from her forehead. And then I’d said it.
Get some sleep, Babygirl.
For a second I thought I’d seen her smile. Thinking maybe she’d heard me, understood me. But she’d been drinking, and I was lurking where I didn’t belong. I turned off her bedside light and left her.
The next morning, I’d made sure a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin waited for her. When she came down for lunch, she said nothing of the prior night.
She hadn’t heard me.
It was for the best.
I’ve worked for the Volkov brothers for as long as I can remember. I would not betray them by giving into temptation. Even if she haunted my dreams.
But I’d said the word again. This time in a message. I didn’t wait for her reply. There wouldn’t be one.
The woman is nothing if not stubborn. When she said she wanted space and time from the family, she meant it.
While her brothers were willing to give her that space, I was not. I would not allow her to disappear into the dangerous world unprotected.
Once I was sure she’d gotten into her apartment safely, I drove across town to a small pub nestled between historic buildings and hotels all vying for the cash of tourists.
The Devil’s Clover gave the impression of having been in the city since the country’s founding, but it had only been in operation for fifteen years.
When I push through the front doors of the pub, a few heads turn. It’s past midnight, the place is half empty. Those that are still sipping their drinks aren’t here for the company or the beer. They’re either hiding from the outside world or trying to recover from it.
As I approach the bar, I get a nod from the bartender, and I head to the back room. Through the door that to anyone who doesn’t know it exists, it looks like an entrance to the backroom.
But to men like me who conduct business while innocent souls sleep, it’s an office.
“Artem.” Cole O’Brien looks up from the billowing smoke of his cigar and grins. Around the table are four other men with playing cards fanned out before them.
“Should we deal you in?” Cole gestures to the pot. Hundred-dollar bills mixed with fifties lie crumpled in the center of the felt poker table.
“I won’t be long enough.” I stare down at the cash, then move my gaze to the man closest to me. He’s not protecting his hand, a pair of threes. If I took the time, I’d be able to clean house here.
But taking their money would be rude. I’m a guest in this city, and there’s trouble enough brewing that I don’t need to add to it.
“Right.” He puts his cards face down on the table. “Jimmy, come play my hand.”
A man, and I use the term gently, takes Cole’s cards and sinks into his seat.
“He’s a little young, no?” I doubt the boy has even grown his first beard yet.
“A favor for a cousin. The kid gets himself into all sorts of trouble, said I’d watch out for him. Get him straight.”
I lift my brows and he laughs.
“Better the evil you know, right? Besides, other than pouring our drinks, he doesn’t do much. But he’s off the streets.” Cole shrugs. “He’s family.”
Nothing else needs to be said. Family above all else.
It’s the reason I’ve denied myself for the past two years. I may not be blood, but the Volkov brothers are the closest thing to family I’ve had since I was a young man.
“I just came from across town, the warehouses near the river. There was a rave going on.”
“Never saw you as the partying type.” He leans against the bar and folds his arms over his chest.
“I was working.”
“Working?” His brows lift. “Volkovs have business in Boston I don’t know about?”
“Nothing like that. Alexander wouldn’t move into the city without at least a conversation.”
His expression hardens. “He’s thinking of moving business here?”
“I just said no.”
“You said he’d have a conversation.”
“Are you going to be difficult? There’s been peace between the Irish and the Volkovs for the last six years.”
He eyes me a moment. “Aye, and it’s been a lucrative peace. For all of us. Go on, you were at a rave. Picking up a woman, maybe?”
My insides tighten. “No.”
“Hmm, not sure I believe you, but go on. What’s the problem?”
“No one does business in this city without your permission.”
“Damn right.”
“Who runs the underground party scene?”
He sighs. “Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.” It’s mostly the truth. I’m not here officially.
“I hate those fucking parties. It’s a complete shitshow. At least one kid overdoses every time. It’s chaos.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one.
“Janis Devereux runs a crew that throws the parties. They use empty warehouses, old manufacturing plants, anywhere they can get enough space to cram a few hundred people into. Makes a lot of money, clears a hundred thousand a night. And that’s just from the liquor and door money.
The cash he makes on the drugs, the girls, and anything else he put a price tag on brings in half a million on a slow night. ”
“And you get a cut, I assume?”
He grins, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Ten percent.”
“The party was raided.”
His smile drops. “The cops shut it down?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess he’s behind on his contribution to the policeman’s ball.” He taps the ash from his cigarette into the crystal ashtray. “Why do you want to know about him?”
“Like I said, just curious.” My phone vibrates.
He eyes me silently. “Well, if you get really curious, you let me know. The party scene can be lucrative, but I don’t see Alexander wanting to get into all that.”
“I already told you, he has no interest in expanding.”
“So you’re not here on his word?”
“No.” My phone goes off again.
“Personal business then?”
“Something like that, yes.” I pull out my phone when a third message comes through. Speaking of the man, Alexander has questions.
I’ve been away from Chicago for over a month. His patience is going to wear thin soon.
“Well, if you need any help.”
I cock my head. “If I wanted to meet this Janis, you could set up a meeting for me?”
He nods. “I could. You want to talk to him?”
“Probably not. Like I said, I’m just curious.”
He shakes his head. “Artem, I’ve seen you at work. You’re not a man who gathers information out of simple curiosity. If there’s trouble coming to my city, I want to know about it.”
“Of course.”
He stares at me a beat. “If you need a conversation, you let me know and I’ll set you up.”
“I appreciate it.” I smile and lean my head toward the poker table. “Your cousin’s kid just lost you a few thousand dollars. I’ll let you get back to your game.”
His eyes widen. “Jimmy! What the fuck.”
As I walk out of the pub, my phone goes off again, this time a call comes through.
“Alexander.”
“You’re in Boston,” he says flatly.
“You’re tracking me?” I push through the front door and step into the winter chill of the night.
“No. I’m tracking her. And where she is, I figure is where you are.”
I climb into my car. It’s still warm inside.
“She’s safe.”
“Good. Keep her that way, Artem. Do whatever you need to do.” He pauses. “And I mean whatever.”
A notification comes through alerting me to movement at her front door. I quickly open the video feed to find a delivery man standing outside her door.
McDonald’s. The woman has ordered McDonald’s at one in the morning.
“I’m on it.” I tell Alexander, ending the call.
I wait for the delivery to finish, and she’s locked behind her front door again. My addiction is hard to fight this late at night, so I switch the feed until I find her in her living room.
She’s munching on her fries, sitting her legs folded on the couch, staring at her phone.
A small smile crosses her lips. Her thumb hovers over the screen, then she quickly taps on the phone and drops it onto the cushion beside her.
The notification hits my screen instantly.
But the chase is half the fun.