Chapter 36
Indigo
Two Weeks Later
“No,” I moaned, making my negative response sound much more like a yes than it should.
“Lochlan, we can’t.” I gasped as his teeth scraped across my earlobe, his boxer-clad erection grinding against my ass and his hand tracing seductive circles on my hip.
Bob, I loved being this man’s little spoon.
I wanted to be his snuggle cutlery for life.
“You’re still healing!” It had been two weeks since I thought I’d lost him, since Roark Callahan had almost killed my Growly Gus.
Priest escaped with his life that night, though he’d always carry scars left by the Beast of Boston.
Thankfully, Mikhail spared no expense to make sure Priest was taken care of in his privately owned bratva clinic.
The stab wound to his gut had been painful, but thankfully, the blade had missed most of the important stuff.
Once he was sewn up, Dr. Bratva told him to rest and take care of his sutures. No strenuous activity.
As lucky as I considered Priest to have survived Roark’s attentions, Bear was even more so.
When I’d followed Priest’s stretcher out of Savage Delights, I believed for a horrible moment that Bear was dead.
He lay so still, close to the wreckage of their motorcycles as Ratched and one of Mikhail’s men worked to secure him for transport.
Aside from the bruises and road rash, Dr. Bratva said Bear suffered from a concussion and a lacerated liver from being hit by the SUV.
Thankfully, we had a big, burly biker nurse in-house to help with their recovery.
I’d promised Bear that I’d help with any physical therapy he needed, but he seemed to take that as more of a threat than an assurance.
My fingers traced the healing cut on Priest’s bicep, careful not to grasp too desperately as Priest’s tongue trailed seductively along my neck.
“The doctor said no strenuous activity, angel,” he rasped out in his sexy morning voice.
“He didn’t say no sex.” I ground my ass back into him, causing a seductive groan to slip past Priest’s lips where they were pressed against my neck.
“Sex with you is always strenuous activity.” I giggled as Priest let out an annoyed huff and began to tickle me over my ribs.
“We’ll compromise, angel,” he growled. “I’ll lie here and let you do all the work, I promise. Now, be a good girl for me and come sit on my face.”
I wiggled away from Priest and rolled off the bed, flopping onto the floor of my room and peeking up over the edge of the bed.
Sutures and scars aside, I liked seeing Priest like this.
Sleep rumpled, playful, and relaxed. He and I weren’t magically a perfect couple, but we’d definitely grown together since our night in the confessional.
Now that Roark and the Iron Raiders weren’t hanging over our heads, and now that we understood each other better, we’d taken the last few weeks to deepen our intimacy.
Today, our intimate bedroom bubble had to pop, however.
“As much as I enjoy that wicked tongue of yours, we don’t have time this morning.
Today’s the day.” I’d been avoiding my Russian family since we came back to the MC compound, not because I was upset with them, but because I just didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with Roark.
My demons might have given me an assist the night I faced my tormentor, but that didn’t mean we were cool now.
My ghosts may have banded together to help me finally stand up against Roark, but once the threat of the Beast of Boston was removed, we went right back to our old shenanigans.
Them, trying to break free and wreak havoc on my mental fortitude.
Me, struggling to keep my trauma packed into (mostly) neat boxes in the crawlspace of my memory. I really needed to find that therapist.
But alas, I was due at The Goldfinch today to finally put at least one of my demons to rest. Permanently.
Riordan
“You know, when you finally got the chance to torture your uncle, I thought it might improve your mood, sobrat.” Ivan huffed from across the hallway as I exited the cell housing Roark.
“You’ve been a grumpy motherfucker the last couple of days, though.
This wouldn’t have anything to do with your absentee assistant, would it?
” Ignoring my oldest friend, I locked the door behind me and headed to a locker room area to clean up before my cousin arrived.
My father and I had spent the last two weeks making Roark Callahan regret ever being born.
We’d held off from killing the sick bastard, in part to extend our catharsis, but also to allow Indigo the time she needed to recover before she faced him one last time.
Ivan, refusing to take my lack of response as a rebuff like a normal person would, followed me into the changing area.
Leaning against a locker and using a small blade to clean the blood from beneath his fingernails, he continued to stir shit up.
“Where is the lovely Astrid, anyway? I miss seeing at least one smiling face around here instead of your broody scowl.” I stripped my blood-spattered clothes off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my waist.
“Ms. Vaughn,” I bit out, “had some personal business to attend to back in Chicago. She’ll be back in a few days. Instead of worrying about my PA, you should focus on corroborating the information Nicodemus sent.”
“I’ve been working with Rook, but we may have to wait until he reaches out to us.
This guy knows how to cover his tracks. Even the Crow’s pet hacker up in Colorado has had trouble breaking through the Astraea firewalls.
Until then, I think I’ve found a new project to pique my interest.” On that slightly ominous note, Ivan left to wait for Indigo’s arrival, leaving me to shower in peace.
Hot water pounded down from two showerheads, the warmth soothing the ache that lingered in my neck and shoulders.
My father sent me to Nevada to give me a taste of what running a bratva was like without him peering over my shoulder.
The gravity of bloodshed and brotherhood gave our “family business” an edge that no mere internship could have prepared me for, which was why my parents have been molding me to lead my entire life.
The weight of expectation such a legacy created was no small thing.
It was no wonder my shoulders were in knots.
The black epaulets inked on my shoulders flexed as I wiped the mirror at the sink free of steam with one hand and ran my fingers through the strands of my wet hair, pushing it back and away from my face.
Tattoos were never given in the bratva; they were earned.
I’d earned them, just like any of my father’s brigadiers, but I’d always felt like I had to work just a little bit harder than the other vory to prove myself.
I wasn’t even thirty yet, and already a skull with bared fanged teeth was tattooed on my right pectoral, marking me as a man who’d stood up for his brotherhood against an enemy authority and won.
I knew without looking that the dog inked over my left shoulder blade snarled ferociously, representing the grudge I held for anyone who stood against the bratva’s interests.
The bound and bleeding Irish mob boss currently in my wet room was testimony to how far I’d go for our brotherhood.
A black widow spider crawled up the left side of my neck, meaning I was active in the bratva, a thief in law.
On the right side was the symbol of the Petrov family, a two-headed eagle encircled by a ring of stars.
The stars inked on my knees marked me as one of the most respected men in our organization, one who bowed to nothing but the might of the brotherhood.
Rings and words in Cyrillic decorated some of my fingers, celebrating milestones or commemorating events that proved my dedication to our family.
There wasn’t a single drop of ink on my body that wasn’t earned in service to our brotherhood.
I wouldn’t change it, but sometimes I wondered what I’d have been like without it.
Meeting Indigo and getting to know her over the past few months has reminded me of who I used to be, before I joined the brotherhood and followed in my father’s footsteps.
After dressing distractedly, I left the underground and headed through The Goldfinch and up to my penthouse.
My father was due to head back to Chicago soon.
The Commission would convene to recognize the new head of the Callahan family, whomever that turned out to be.
Currently, the Callahans were too busy waging a civil war among themselves to worry about greater Mafia politics, but it wouldn’t be long before the new leader took his seat.
Until then, I didn’t really care what the Irish did.
I doubted it would affect me, either way.