Chapter 7 Gennadiy #2
Radimir sighed. “We’ve expanded so much over the last year, and you’ve taken on more and more. All you do is work. And…” He leaned closer. “The way you’re operating, Gennadiy.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The fires. The killing.”
“I do what’s necessary,” I told him stiffly.
He shook his head. “You’re becoming…”
“I’m becoming what I need to be, to protect us. And I told you, I’m fine.” I knocked back my coffee, even though it was still so hot it burned my mouth. Then I embraced him and got out of there.
Before I met Finn, I had to shake off Alison.
I led her on a winding path through back alleys, but she stayed with me.
I drove around a huge underground parking garage, but she was still there.
When we stopped at a red light, I sat watching her in my rear-view mirror, my gaze searing into her as the anger roiled and churned inside me.
How dare you! How dare you try to destroy everything I’ve built?
She was so small, so insignificant, and yet so irritating, like a little bird peck-peck-pecking at a bear.
With her gray FBI suit and that tight, tight blouse, and those lips so insolently pouting as she glared back at me. I just wanted to...wanted to...
She cocked a perfect eyebrow at me as if to say, Well?
A horn honked behind me. Fuck! The light was green. I stamped on the gas, my face heating.
I roared across the intersection with her right behind me. Then right, down a side street. Left, into an alley. She was still there. I was panting with adrenaline, pissed off and cursing and—
Alive. More alive than I’d felt in years. I’d never had a worthy opponent before.
Ahead of me, a garbage truck was reversing across the alley. I floored it and shot through the closing gap…
There was an ugly screech of metal on metal as the prongs at the back of the garbage truck clawed at my car. Then I was through, and she was left behind, stuck behind the garbage truck. Finally! For the first time in weeks, I was free of her.
Then I checked my side mirror. A long, ugly scratch ran almost the full length of my beloved car. I thumped the steering wheel and cursed. Yebat’! Pizdets blyat’!
Finn wanted to meet at the dog track, where his gang had gotten its start years before as illegal bookmakers. It was hot, loud, and the ground was littered with discarded betting slips soaked in spilled beer. In my Armani suit and Italian leather shoes I didn’t exactly fit in.
“There he is!” yelled Finn, slapping me on the back.
His white shirt was rolled up to the elbows, showing off thickly muscled forearms covered in twisting tattoos.
He gave me a wide grin, green eyes flashing, and pushed a bottle of whiskey into my hand.
“Let’s walk while we talk. This one’s running in the next race.
” He rubbed the fuzzy head of a greyhound and set off, the dog trotting alongside him.
I sighed and followed. I’ve never liked the O'Donnells. They’re our polar opposites, casual where we’re professional, emotional where we’re reserved. We’re skyscrapers, expensive vodka, and a silenced shot in the night. They’re rowdy bars, whiskey and headbutts.
The crowd parted ahead of us. This was Irish turf, and everyone knew the O'Donnells: the men bobbed their heads respectfully and avoided eye contact; the women blushed and smiled at Finn. He swaggered, a king among his people.
“We’re ready to do the deal,” I said in a low voice. “You can keep seventy-five percent of what you make.”
“Feck, always straight to business with you, isn’t it, Gennadiy?
” He had just a hint of an Irish accent, like a spinning coin twinkling as it catches the light.
A pretty young redhead heard it and turned, wide-eyed and breathy, and Finn grinned at her.
I rolled my eyes. I’ve never understood his effect on women.
Finn took a pull on his whiskey and looked at my bottle. “You’re not drinking.”
“It’s eleven in the morning.”
“You Russians would have a lot more fun if you pulled the sticks out of your asses. I want eighty-five percent, Gennadiy, and that’s me going so low my balls are brushing the ground. And they’re big balls, I’ll grant you, but that’s still fucking low.”
I was about to argue when one of Finn’s brothers rushed over and grabbed his arm. “Eyes on us. Ten feet back, gray suit.”
I groaned and crumpled. I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was her.
Finn looked over my shoulder. “You brought a tail?” he demanded, furious. “A fed?”
“I thought I’d lost her. She’s...annoyingly persistent.”
“Fuck this. C’mon, boy.” He started to lead his greyhound away.
“Finn, wait!”
He turned and jabbed a finger into my chest. “Deal’s off. Come back when the feds aren’t crawling all over you.” And he walked away.
Chyort! I hurled the bottle of whiskey at a wall. Radimir was going to be pissed, and it was all her fault. I finally turned, and there she was, casually leaning against a wall. She glanced towards Finn and made her eyes go big with mock concern. Oh, did your meeting not go well?
I marched over to her as hot, dark rage spread through my chest. “Why are you doing this?!” I snarled in her face.
She gave a quick little intake of fear as I loomed over her, but then glared up at me, blue eyes gleaming. Even through my anger, I was grudgingly impressed. “It’s my job,” she told me.
“Bullshit. No one’s this devoted.” I searched her face. “This isn’t just about a theater, is it?”
For a second, her eyes flickered. There was something else driving her. I leaned closer, scowling down at her...
And then I blinked in shock. Turned and marched away, shaken. Just for a second there, I’d glimpsed something. What was driving her wasn’t some noble, idealistic cause. It was hate. Anger.
Just for a second, it had been like looking in the mirror.
I climbed into my car and slammed the door. Then I ran a hand through my hair and scowled, calming my breathing. It didn’t matter if we were somehow alike. All that mattered was, she’d gone beyond annoying. She’d become an actual problem.
You want to play, Alison? I threw my car into gear. Fine. We’ll play.