Chapter 36 Malice
MALICE
A day later, we’re all sitting in the living room again. It’s just like old times, gathering together to work on our plans and make sure we have everything ready. We’ve been operating on the idea that we might have to leap into action at a moment’s notice, so we wanna be ready.
Vic is doing his usual thing, and Ransom and I are taking care of the weapons and gear. Thanks to Willow’s newfound wealth, we have better shit than we ever used to be able to afford, which is good. None of us are stupid enough to think we’re gonna end this without it coming to a fight.
It’s pretty quiet, all of us absorbed in our tasks, so when Vic looks up suddenly, sucking in a breath, it catches my attention immediately.
“What’s up?” I ask, glancing over.
“We’ve got an opening coming up. A chance to go after Olivia.”
That gets everyone’s attention, all of us looking at Vic. He turns his computer screen to face us, highlighting the relevant information.
“I’ve been watching her and also keeping an eye out for her name popping up on any guest lists for important events in the city. High priced charity dinners, galas, that kind of thing.”
Ransom rolls his eyes. “Fucking typical.”
“Yeah, but in this case, it helps us,” Vic says. “She’s going to be attending an event outside of Detroit in a few days, and she’ll be driving there.”
“How far outside the city?” I want to know, already snapping into tactical mode.
“An hour or two, depending on traffic.”
“What’s the event?” Willow wants to know.
“A viewing of a private art collection. Some reclusive billionaire is opening up his collection for a single evening only.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ransom grumbles. “That’s the most bougie goddamned thing I’ve ever heard. Who even cares about shit like that? Go to a fucking museum.”
Vic shrugs. “Rich people care. And like I keep saying, it works to our advantage here.”
“I don’t know…” Willow chews on her lip. “Even if it’s a private showing, that still seems too public. Too many possible witnesses.”
I watch Vic’s face, and I can already tell what he’s planning, so I shake my head.
“We won’t go after her at the event,” I tell Willow. “That would be too public. Instead, we’ll hit her while she’s on the way there. Vic, what’s the security rundown?”
“She’s on the alert,” he answers, turning his computer back toward himself and typing a bit. “She’s upped her security. Usually, she has at least two bodyguards with her at all times, plus extra security in an additional vehicle that follows her main car.”
“So we separate them with Jonah’s help. She’ll have a driver for sure, who may or may not be trained as a bodyguard also, as well as the usual two guards. But we can handle that. We’ll take out the driver and force the car off the road. Then we’ll handle Olivia.”
Vic nods, his eyes riveted to the screen.
“Yes. Luckily, this man with the art collection is reclusive. His estate is basically in the middle of nowhere—almost as far off the grid as Troy’s hideout was.
It won’t be hard to make this happen off the beaten path to cut down on the possibility of witnesses. ”
Willow takes all of that in, idly shredding a little scrap of paper as she listens. She still looks nervous about all of it, but when she nods, there’s determination in her eyes.
Ransom nods too, slapping a hand on the coffee table. “It’s as good a chance as any. And we need to move soon. We don’t have time to wait for a better opening. Either Olivia will get more members of Ethan’s old crew to come after us, or she’ll find someone else she can pay to do it.”
“Or blackmail,” Willow mutters darkly. “That seems to be her MO.”
“Right.” Ransom snorts a breath. “Either way, we can’t risk it. We don’t want to give her the chance to attack you again.”
“We’ll take two cars. One to take out the security vehicle, or at least keep it occupied, and one to go for Olivia’s car,” Vic says, in hardcore planning mode now.
“I want to be in the one that goes after Olivia,” Willow declares.
“No,” I say immediately.
“What do you mean, no? Why not? I won’t be much help taking out the other car.”
“I mean you’re not going at all. You need to stay someplace where it’s safe.”
Anger and stubbornness flare in Willow’s eyes, and she folds her arms, looking right at me without a trace of fear or hesitation. It’s pure defiance, and it’s hot as hell, even though it’s also frustrating.
“I’m. Going,” she says firmly. “And you can’t stop me. She’s my grandmother. It’s me she’s been trying to kill. I’m going to be there when it all ends.”
There’s a war raging inside me. Everything in me is screaming that this is a fucking bad idea.
She needs to be somewhere safe, someplace her evil bitch of a grandma can’t get to her.
The protectiveness I feel toward her is strong, but just as strong is the fact that this is the shit I love most about Willow.
How fierce she is. How brave she is. How she doesn’t back down, no matter how much bullshit gets thrown her way.
If I’m being honest with myself, I think I fell in love with her the day she pressed her forehead to the barrel of my gun and basically dared me to shoot her.
I know she won’t cave on this. It’s too big and too important to her.
And I don’t actually want to let her out of my sight. In theory, she’d be safer away from the action, but there’s no one I trust to keep an eye on her besides me and my brothers, and leaving her alone in the safe house comes with its own set of risks.
“Fuck,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Fine. You can come. But you’re going to stay in the car that takes out the extra security.”
“Why?” she demands.
“Because that’s safer. Going after Olivia is more dangerous, and I know you don’t believe for a second that she’s going to go down without a fight. I don’t want you involved in that.”
I can tell that she’s not happy with that arrangement, but this is something I won’t fucking budge on.
I tug her onto my lap, the movement so sudden that it makes her yelp.
“That’s how it’s gonna be, Solnyshka,” I say in a low voice, running my nose along her neck. “You can either do that or you can stay behind.”
“Alright,” she mumbles. “I’ll go in that car.”
“Good girl.” I press a kiss to the sensitive spot just behind her ear.
Ransom shoves his sleeves up on his forearms, grinning. “Okay, then we’ve got a plan. I’ll get in touch with Jonah and let him know what’s going on. Olivia Stanton’s days are fucking numbered.”
Once the time is set and Jonah is on board, everything else starts to fall into place. The next few days go by quickly as we get ready, making sure we have everything ironed out.
It feels like we’re on a track barreling toward the future, and for the first time in a long time, I’ll admit I’m afraid. Afraid in a way I never really have been before.
It’s not the thought of dying. I don’t fear death. I’ve brushed up against it plenty of times before, and that fear has lost its edge.
But that’s just when it comes to my own death.
Thinking about Willow getting hurt? About her possibly dying? That shit fucks me up in a way that nothing else does. I can’t let it happen. I can’t let her die. I’d gladly give up my own life before I’d let anything happen to her.
Worry twists in my gut, feeling like a sort of omen of something terrible.
But I do my best to shove it aside. I don’t have time to get trapped in an endless spiral of worries.
That kind of shit becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy sometimes, and it’s better for me to focus on making sure we’re ready for this.
My brothers and I have pulled off jobs before, plenty of times, and now we have Jonah on our side. I don’t trust him the same way I do my brothers or Willow, but it’s clear he’s skilled, and we’ll benefit from the added power in numbers.
Soon enough, the day of the event—and the attack—arrives.
I prowl around the safe house like a caged animal, all restless energy with no outlet just yet. On my third or fourth pass by the living room, Willow huffs and comes over to me, grabbing my upper arms to hold me still.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” she says. “It might be an improvement on the decor, but you need to calm down.”
I make a face at her, my lips pinched tight, and she makes one right back before leaning up to kiss me lightly.
It’s barely enough to help calm my nerves, even when I pull her in close and deepen the kiss, pressing my tongue into her mouth. She makes a soft noise into it and arches against me, and I lick my way inside her mouth, laying claim to it like I want to devour her.
And maybe I do.
Maybe I want to consume her whole, just so that no one can ever take her from me.
Part of me feels like I’m clinging to her to keep her from slipping away.
“Ya by umer za tebja,” I murmur when our lips break apart.
“What does that mean?”
“I would die for you.”
Her eyes fly wide, her breath catching. Then she shakes her head, huffing a quiet laugh.
“What?” I ask.
She blinks, her brown eyes shimmering. “It’s just… the one time I ask you what you just said in Russian, and you hit me with that.”
I can tell she’s a little overwhelmed by my statement, and I don’t want to make her worry any more than I’m sure she already is, so I don’t repeat it. I just kiss her one last time before passing her over to my brothers.
They pull her into their arms one after the other, and I leave them to it, giving them privacy as they kiss her and murmur quiet words.
I fucking love the times when we all surround her, sharing her between us—but some moments are meant to be more intimate than that, shared between two people alone, and this is one of those.
Once it’s finally time, the first thing we do is meet up with Jonah, driving across Detroit to the tattoo parlor that serves as his base of operations.
His daughter is there with him when we pull up, glaring at him with her hands on her hips, her teal colored hair drawn back into a tight ponytail.