Chapter 37
LUKE
The Quartier is locked down tighter than a supermax. We’ve caught Lowbridge convicting himself in his own words. I’ve got the world’s most lethal operators literally frothing to take out Kozlov’s thugs when they come.
And I’m still jumpy as a grunt on his first tour.
I left Zin in her dressing room before I said something I couldn’t take back. I’ve been doing a heroic job of not checking the security camera in there ever since.
That doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what is going on all around her, of course.
I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t. But I don’t trust myself in the small, intimate space, with Zin all but naked under her silk robe, her beautiful eyes dark with that internal storm I thought I quieted long ago.
Why is she doing this to herself?
I’m tempted to cast my last shred of professionalism to the winds, simply walk in to her dressing room, and kiss the fight out of her altogether.
I felt her tremble earlier, when I leaned close.
I could feel the desperation and nerves behind her impeccable makeup, the underlying vulnerability I’ve always sensed behind her cool facade.
Right now I should be entirely focused on the operation.
Instead, I’m running on autopilot, my every conscious thought focused on how the fuck to stop Zinaida from leaping from a cliff I know we can’t come back from.
I’m still arguing with myself over what to do when Mak walks in.
As usual, he looks like a cross between James Bond and the cover of GQ magazine.
Normally that amuses me.
Tonight it just pisses me off. Along with everyone else.
“About fucking time,” I growl as he comes through the entrance, pulling him into the security room.
Mak’s eyebrows shoot up. The blatant amusement on his face does absolutely nothing to improve my mood.
“I wasn’t aware we were on such a tight schedule,” he says mildly.
“I like the changes, by the way,” he adds, his expert eye taking in the hidden body scanners, discreetly suited guards of both genders blending seamlessly into every corner, and cameras covering every angle. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
He casts me a sideways glance when I don’t answer.
“Definitely in need of a drink, then.” He opens the door and winks at a passing dancer.
“Sienna, darling.” He kisses her on both cheeks, his sloping eyes traveling up the length of her lean thigh.
“You’re looking as heavenly as ever. Bring us a bottle of whiskey, would you? ”
“I’m a step ahead.” Sienna presents a bottle and two glasses on a silver tray. She dimples at Mak’s open admiration, looking just as beguiled as every other female who gets in close proximity to the man.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I cut my eyes pointedly toward the booth where Agatha and Lowbridge are still making stilted conversation.
“Oh, relax.” Mak gives me a dry look. “There’s enough muscle on that floor to overturn a small country. And besides.” He grimaces. “I’ll need more than one drink before I face Dame Agatha. Thank you, sweetheart.” He takes the enormous whiskey Sienna pours for him with a wink that makes her blush.
“And don’t forget your mask,” she tells him. “If you’re going into the theater, then you need to look the part.” She hands him a masquerade mask that covers the face to just below the nose. I’d swear her cleavage is two inches lower than when I saw her ten minutes ago.
“No need.” Reaching into his jacket, Mak comes out holding an elaborate black-and-silver construction that was probably made in fucking Venice. “Brought my own, darling,” he says, grinning.
I shake my head. “Of course you fucking did.” Despite the fact that Mak is a smug prick, I can’t help feeling a twinge of amusement. He’s a hard man not to like.
Sienna looks suitably awed. “Come find me later,” she says, giving him an extremely smoky eye, “when the clothes start coming off.”
Then, glancing at me, her smile fades, and she beats a hasty retreat.
“Going by that death stare of yours, I take it the lovely Miss Melikov is still playing games?” Mak sips his whiskey with every appearance of nonchalance. But behind his ridiculous mask, there’s a sharp look in his eye that says he, as usual, sees rather more than I might find comfortable.
“She’s got a job to do tonight,” I say shortly. “We all do.” I give him another pointed look.
“I spoke to Zinaida earlier.” He turns his glass, completely ignoring my not-so-subtle hints. “She seemed unusually tense.”
“Not surprising, given the amount of people planning to kill her tonight.”
“No, that definitely wasn’t it.” Mak is entirely unconcerned by my blunt tone.
“When it comes to facing death, Zinaida is one of the coolest customers I know. It’s embracing life that she appears to be struggling with.
” He takes a mouthful of whiskey, eyeing me from behind his mask.
“Or should I say, she appears to be struggling with embracing a life that includes you.”
“Her life doesn’t include me. Or it won’t, after tonight.” I stare down at the theater without seeing any of it. “And I’m not sure that struggling is the right word. Zinaida does what Zinaida wants to do, whether that includes me or not.” I’m uncomfortably aware of the harsh edge to my voice.
“You’re smarter than that, Macarthur.” For once, Mak’s voice is quite devoid of irony.
I look at him, trying to discern his expression, but the mask makes him even more elusive than usual.
“You’ve gotten under her skin, or else she’d never contemplate playing the role of Winter Queen at tonight’s revelries.
I heard the rumors,” he adds when my eyes narrow.
“Along with most of London, which is why there’s a theater full of opportunistic fuckers out there, all of whom would enjoy nothing more than seeing the infamous Zinaida Melikov reduced to their own sordid level. ”
His cold delivery cuts to the bone, not to mention makes me grind my teeth with frustration.
“If Zin takes that stage tonight,” he goes on in the same tone, “she will lose the respect of every person in that audience, along with every advantage she’s spent the past decades earning.
Her power has always rested on mystery. Take that mystery away and her power is gone, no matter how much people paid for the privilege of being here tonight.
I know it, you know it, and deep down, Zinaida knows it, too. ”
“Then why the fuck is she planning to do it?” The question escapes even my iron discipline, exploding out of me before I can rein the words in.
“The burlesque is one thing. That’s a show, an illusion.
It will only deepen her mystery, make her more intriguing.
But why the fuck is she contemplating the rest of it? ”
I’ve never been prudish, but even I can’t bring myself to say the word orgy out loud, not when it’s Zinaida I’m thinking about.
“I think you already know the answer to that,” Mak says quietly. “It’s the same reason you continually took private contracts. The reason that, up until now, you were content to work for other people, rather than building something for yourself.”
I give him a quizzical look. “Wasn’t it you who told me, right back at the start of this, that I wasn’t made to build an empire?”
“I said that some men were born to build empires. Not that you couldn’t do it if you chose to.
” Mak’s face remains as elusive as ever.
“What I did say was that you possess a particular set of skills at which very few truly excel: ‘the ability to hunt and kill—but also to protect.’” His dark eyes pin me from behind the mask.
“The only person who ever put limitations on how you use those skills is you, Luke. The difference between you and other men is that you have never needed to build an empire out of ambition, or to give your life purpose. The reason you created Macarthur Securities was because you saw a way to protect and care for the men you once fought beside. That’s your gift, Luke.
Your true skill. The ability to protect those around you, even when they don’t know themselves that they need protection. ”
I stare at him, the cogs of my mind moving in strange ways. “What are you trying to say, Mak? That Zinaida needs to find something she cares about enough to make her see sense?”
“No.” He gives me a small smile. “I’m saying that she’s already found that—in you. All you need to do, Luke, is protect her from herself until she realizes it.”
Zinaida’s fishbowl control room is dark, lit only by the camera screens. Seeing Mak walking toward Agatha’s booth, I check the other cameras, making certain everyone is in place. I need to be here alone when Zin’s dance starts. Entirely focused, watching everything without distractions.
Yeah, sure, Luke.
The distractions. That’s why I want to be alone.
Nothing to do with whatever X-rated performance Zin is about to give.
Or with what Mak just said.
I rub a hand over my face.
Focus, Luke.
But my mind keeps dancing around, trying to make sense of what will happen if tonight goes wrong.
And by wrong, I don’t mean Zin getting shot.
Wrong is what happens if tonight leaves me with no choice but to walk away.
Because the thought of leaving Zinaida makes me want to kick a wall. Let alone the thought of anyone else trying to keep her safe.
I don’t give a shit how good her security team is. They can’t do what I can.
And my heart literally skips in horror at the thought of abandoning her to the ambitions of motherfuckers like Lowbridge. To inadequate men who think they can take down the only woman in their world who can outsmart them.
The thought of Zin vulnerable and alone in that world is fucking killing me.
I’m almost grateful that Mak chooses that moment to appear onscreen in front of Agatha and Lowbridge’s table.
“Who the fuck are you?” The ridiculous mask he’s wearing makes Lowbridge’s attempt at a menacing snarl sound a lot more like fear.