45. BRAXTON
Chapter forty-five
W e touched down at Boeing Field just before sunset. The sky over Seattle was a muted gray, streaked with cloud cover that hadn’t made up its mind whether to rain or not. Typical. But even that felt good. Familiar. After weeks of traipsing through war zones, running for our lives, spending sleepless nights, and being ocean vagabonds, I didn’t mind a little damp chill.
Daria leaned forward as the limo pulled away from the FBO, her hand absently resting on the head of the massive dog stretched across the floor between us. Handsome looked completely at ease, his eyes half-shut, his tail thumping now and then. He hadn’t flinched once during the flight. Figured. If anyone on that jet had nerves of steel, it was him.
I watched Daria stroke his ears. “You think you might change his name?”
She smirked but didn’t look at me. “I don’t know. Killer? Slaughter? Slayer?”
“Jesus. You trying to get him arrested at a dog park? Although, he did already steal the butcher’s steak. I think we’re already there.”
She chuckled, her gaze finally meeting mine. “I still like Handsome .”
I groaned. “It’s not a name; it’s a compliment.”
“That’s why it works.” She bent down, scratched under his jaw, and whispered, “You hear that? You’re too pretty to be named anything awful.”
Handsome huffed through his nose and licked her knee. I gave up. Handsome it was.
By the time we turned onto the long, tree-lined driveway that led to Atticus and Samantha’s place, my chest was tight in a way that wasn’t about nerves. It was something heavier. I hadn’t seen my brothers in months—Conan, not since the Fourth of July, and Atticus, not since we’d left for New York to find Angel. After that, there had been several weeks of travel and then time spent in Kyiv before everything went sideways in Ukraine.
The limo driver pressed the button on the security box at the gate, and we waited. A few moments later, the iron bars swung open, revealing the house at the end of the long driveway. Dusk had settled over the property, the trees casting deep shadows. The last of the light clung to the sky, a faint violet glow behind the silhouette of the pines. The porch lights flicked on, washing the front steps in a soft golden hue. The bay behind the house shimmered in the dimming light, still and glassy. It looked peaceful. It looked like home.
Daria sat forward, taking in the woods, the water, and the house tucked back among it all. “This is beautiful.”
“Yeah.” I rested my hand on hers. “Feels like I’ve been gone for years.”
She glanced over at me thoughtfully.
“I don’t think I’m the same person anymore,” I said. “Not after everything I saw. What they did to those people. What they did to you.”
Daria didn’t flinch. She never did when I brought up the ugly truth about things.
I added, “It’s not enough just to survive it. I want to do something that matters too. I want to support whatever you think would make a difference.”
She gave my fingers a squeeze. “We will. Once we’re settled, we’ll figure it out. But first things first—you’ve got a family to see again and a wedding to attend.”
I smiled. “You’re not nervous to meet everyone?”
She tilted her head. “Depends. What did you tell them about me?”
I exhaled and tried not to wince. “That I was bringing home…a friend.”
“A friend ?” Her brow shot up, and she folded her arms tight across her chest.
“I know how it sounds,” I said, dragging a hand through my hair. “But keep in mind, I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to talk to them, given the circumstances. And it’s not the kind of thing you can just drop over the phone— ‘Hey, after I got kidnapped in a war zone, I married a Russian FSB lieutenant colonel turned Ukrainian double agent without even so much as giving you a heads up. Oh, and by the way, she’s also the daughter of one of the most powerful mafia bosses in the world—who just so happens to be a rival of the Volkovi Notchi.’ Not exactly a five-minute conversation.”
Her grin deepened. I could tell she was enjoying this.
“And now,” I added, “we get to break the news about Viktor’s death and Valentina’s disappearance. It’s gonna be a hell of a family reunion.”
She laughed under her breath. “Guess our marriage will be the least of their concerns.”
“Exactly,” I said, smirking. “Us getting married is basically the least dramatic thing that’s happened.”
I twisted to face her better, placing my elbow on the back of the seat.
I kissed the top of her head. “Now that we’re back to reality, I don’t think it has to change us. I don’t want to go back to my old life. I want to start a new one with you.”
She blinked up at me and smiled. “I love you, Braxton.”
The limo slowed to a stop at the foot of the front porch steps. Handsome whined, his ears perking up.
“I love you too, Daria.” I nodded toward the door. “Now come meet the family.”
I stepped out first and reached back to help Daria. The second her heels hit the driveway, Handsome barreled out after us, his paws thudding on the concrete before he bounded up the steps like he owned the place.
I turned to the driver. “Leave the bags here. We’ve got it. Thanks for the ride.”
He gave a polite nod and moved toward the back of the car.
Daria glanced up at the house, where I could already hear a dog barking from inside and what had to be Sam’s voice calling to Atticus.
By the time we reached the top of the steps, the front door was flying open.
“Braxton!” Samantha barreled into me like a freight train, arms wide and grinning from ear to ear. I barely had time to brace myself before she crushed me in a hug. “Oh my God, you’re home!”
I laughed and hugged her back. “Told you I wouldn’t miss the wedding.”
She pulled back just far enough to look at Daria. “And you must be Dasha!” Without waiting for confirmation, she wrapped Daria in the same kind of bear hug that had just knocked the wind out of me.
Within seconds, Murphy came flying down the hallway, his claws scrabbling on the wood floor as he barked his tiny head off. Handsome stepped forward like a bodyguard on duty. Murphy caught sight of him, tried to stop, and instead belly-slid right under him—like a curling stone between two goalposts.
Samantha screamed. “Oh my God, Murphy!”
“Stand down,” Daria said, calm as could be.
Handsome moved aside and dropped to his belly next to the tiny dog. Murphy scrambled up, clearly rattled, and backed away, eyes flicking between all of us. Handsome lowered his head and nudged Murphy gently with his nose.
Murphy turned his head left, then right—trying to decide whether he’d just met a friend or a death sentence. Then he barked once and made a break for the sliding glass door leading from the living room to the back porch. When Handsome didn’t follow, Murphy paused halfway and barked again.
Daria kneeled slightly. “It’s okay, but be careful with him,” she told Handsome. “He’s little.”
Handsome gave her a look—and something just short of a nod—then trotted off after Murphy like he’d been given a mission.
Samantha stared after them. “That dog is terrifying but brilliant.”
“He’s definitely one you shouldn’t judge by his cover,” I said, stepping inside.
“Come in, come in,” Sam said, waving us through. “Atticus, get their bags, would you?”
Atticus appeared in the doorway, grinned at me, then looked at Daria and gave her a polite nod. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thanks,” Daria said, her eyes flicking between Atticus and me, probably noting our resemblance.
I followed Atticus back down the steps to retrieve the luggage, and when we returned, Samantha was walking Daria to the kitchen, pointing out things as they went.
“And here’s the kitchen—Atticus’s favorite room. The espresso maker—his obsession. You can always count on wonderful coffee in the morning,” Samantha said, laughing. “That’s Murphy’s treat jar. Don’t let Braxton near it—he steals the peanut butter cookies.”
Daria cracked a small smile. “Noted.”
“So, how did you and Brax meet?” Samantha asked, turning to face her.
I stepped into the room just in time. “Guess that’s my cue.”
I walked up behind Daria and slid my hand across the small of her back. “Sam, Atticus…I’d like to properly introduce you to my wife, Dasha Thorin.”
Atticus choked. Samantha blinked, surprise written all over her face.
“Your what?” Atticus said, his brows climbing halfway up his forehead.
“Wife,” I repeated, draping my arm around her waist. I pulled Daria close, and she leaned into me.
Atticus raised both hands. “All right. That sounds like a story best told with food.”
Samantha gave Atticus a sidelong glance and moved to the counter, where a couple of boards filled with finger foods rested. She picked one up and walked to the dining area.
“We’re already on it,” Atticus said, heading for the oven. “There’s wine, beer, whatever you need in the fridge. Help yourselves.”
Samantha glanced back at Daria. “So—have you heard about Braxton getting snatched in Ukraine? The Russians ambushed his volunteer van. It was insane.”
Daria and I both laughed—a full-bellied kind of laugh that came from deep within.
I kissed her temple. “Oh yeah. She had a front-row seat to all my misadventures.”
Daria smirked. “And sometimes the driver’s seat.”
Atticus regarded us suspiciously, as though he was trying to decide if we were messing with him. “This is going to be one hell of a dinner.”