Chapter 17 Under Watch
SEVENTEEN
UNDER WATCH
TROY
Declan left two hours ago. He'd grabbed his keys off the counter and walked out the door like someone hadn't tried to put a bullet through the bedroom window this morning.
I stood at the window watching his truck disappear down the street, ignoring the pointed cough Dmitri made from the couch.
“You're going to wear a hole in the floor,” Dmitri said. “The pacing won't bring him back any faster.”
“I'm not pacing.”
“You've walked past the window six times in the last three minutes. That's pacing.” He was sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, boots up on the coffee table, eating an apple he'd found somewhere in the kitchen. “Sit down. You're making me nervous.”
“Good. You should be nervous. Someone just tried to kill us.”
“Yeah, I know. I was here for it, remember?” He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “But standing at the window like some worried housewife isn't helping anyone, especially not you.”
I turned to glare at him. “I'm not worried.”
“Liar.” Dmitri grinned at me around the apple. “You're very worried. It's written all over your face. You're freaking out inside.”
“I'm not freaking out.”
“Again with the lying. You're bad at this today.” He finished the apple and tossed the core toward the kitchen. It landed in the sink from fifteen feet away, which was just him showing off. “So, we should talk about the elephant in the room.”
“What elephant?”
“The one where you're now fucking your stepfather.” His grin got wider. “This is a very interesting development.”
My jaw tightened. “We're not talking about this.”
“Why not? It's a good topic. Very entertaining.” Dmitri sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You come back to Chicago, move in with the stepfather, and within weeks you're having sex on the kitchen table. This is an excellent story. I want the details.”
“You're not getting details.”
“Boring response.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling. “But I'm curious. How does this conversation even start? Hello, stepfather, I would like to climb you like a tree now?”
“Fuck off, Dmitri.”
“No, no, I'm genuinely asking. Is this an American thing? Sleep with the family members after breakfast?” He was grinning like an asshole. “In Russia we have a saying about keeping it in the family, but I didn't think you Americans took it so literally.”
“He's not my family. Not like that.”
“Ah, yes, because calling him stepfather makes it so much less weird.” Dmitri laughed. “I'm teasing. It's obvious you two have been dancing around this for a while. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife when I walked in.”
“There wasn't any tension.”
“Please. I'm good at reading these things.” He leaned back against the cushions. “And good for you, by the way. The man is very attractive. If you weren't already sleeping with him, I might have tried.”
“Don't even think about it.”
“Ah, there it is. The possessive jealousy. Very cute on you.” Dmitri's grin was pure mischief. “So how is he? Good in bed? He looks like he would be good in bed.”
“I'm not answering that.”
“Which means yes. Excellent news.” He stretched his arms above his head.
“You know what's funny? You spent all this time trying to get away from him, and now you can't stop staring out the window waiting for him to come back.
It's like a romantic comedy but with more violence and family dysfunction.”
I sat down in the chair across from him. “Are you done?”
“Never. But I'll pause for now.” He pulled his legs off the coffee table. “In all seriousness, Troy. You're happy? With him?”
The question caught me off guard. Dmitri rarely got serious about anything.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “I am.”
“Good. Then I'm happy for you. Even if it's weird as fuck.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he started laughing again.
“What?”
“You.” He was shaking his head. “You spent years telling everyone how much you hated this man. How impossible he was. How you'd never forgive him. And the whole time you were just wound up because you wanted him and didn't know what to do with that.”
“That's not—”
“Yes, it is.” Dmitri wiped his eyes. “Troy, I've known you for years. I've seen you hate a lot of people. You're very good at it. But you were never this intense about anyone else. Not even people who actually tried to kill you.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that obsession and hatred look very similar on you. And I think you've been obsessed with this man since you were a kid and only now figured out what that meant.”
He wasn't wrong. I had been obsessed with Declan. I'd called it hatred. Resentment. Every word except the right one.
“Fuck,” I said quietly.
“Yeah, exactly.” Dmitri grinned. “Now you're understanding. Growth is important.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't. You love me. I'm delightful.” He stood and stretched. “But seriously, Troy. Even if the situation is very fucked up, you deserve someone who makes you look less angry all the time.”
“I don't look less angry.”
“A little bit. It's a small improvement, but I notice.” He headed toward the kitchen. “I'm making coffee. You want some?”
“Yeah.”
I sat there listening to him bang around in Declan's kitchen like he'd been doing it for years. The house felt too quiet without Declan in it. Too empty. Like all the air had left with him.
The thought pissed me off. I shouldn't be this aware of his absence.
Shouldn't be checking my phone every five minutes like some anxious girlfriend waiting for a text.
Shouldn't be wondering if the security detail actually followed him all the way to the center or if they'd gone slack halfway there because they thought the threat had passed.
My phone buzzed.
Declan
Made it to the center. Security followed me the whole way. Your friend Dmitri's people are very obvious.
Troy
That's the point. They're supposed to be obvious. Keeps people from trying anything.
Declan
Still feels like overkill.
Troy
Someone shot at us this morning. It's not overkill.
Declan
Fair point. I'll be home by six. Try not to burn the house down before then.
Troy:
No promises.
I set the phone down just as Dmitri came back with two mugs. He handed me one and dropped back onto the couch.
“He's okay?” Dmitri asked.
“Yeah. Made it to work safely.”
“Good. The security team is competent. They'll keep him safe.” He took a drink. “Luka and Ash should be here soon. They were thirty minutes out when I last checked.”
“How pissed is Luka?”
“On a scale of one to ten? Probably a fifteen.” Dmitri grinned. “You know how he gets when his people are in danger. Very protective. Very intense. Very Russian about it.”
“That's just great,” I muttered.
“It's fine. Ash will keep him calm. Mostly calm. Calm enough that he doesn't break things.” Dmitri's phone buzzed. He checked it. “They're ten minutes out. You should prepare yourself.”
“I've been interrogated before.”
“Not by Luka after someone puts a sniper on one of his people.” Dmitri set his mug down. “He is going to want to know what triggered the escalation. Then he is going to try to move you to the safe house. Then you are going to say no, and then it is going to get loud in here.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Just try not to fight with him too much. He's worried. That's why he's angry. You know this.”
I did know it. Had known it for years. Luka's anger was just fear wearing a sharper suit. But knowing that didn't make it easier to deal with when he was in my face.
A car pulled up outside. Doors opening. Voices. Then footsteps on the walkway.
Dmitri got up to let them in.
Luka walked through the door like he owned it.
He was tall and sharp in a black suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, his hair pulled back tight, his expression carved out of ice.
Ash followed behind him, quieter and softer around the edges despite the serious look on his face, dressed more casually in jeans and a dark sweater that made him look younger than he was.
“Troy.” Luka's gaze locked on me and ran a fast inventory. “You're alive.”
“Yeah. Disappointed?”
“Don't start.” He moved into the living room. Dmitri closed the door behind them and locked it. “My team had the report within ten minutes. Single shot, east-facing window, zero-six-forty.” He looked at me steadily. “I want to know what you saw from inside.”
I walked him through my side of it. Where I'd been standing. What I'd heard. The angle of the glass, where it landed, how far the shot had traveled before it hit the frame. Declan refusing to go to the safe house.
Luka's expression got darker with each detail.
“And Declan is at work right now,” he said when I finished.
“He has a business to run.”
“He has a death wish.” Luka pulled out his phone and started typing. “I'm putting more security on him. He doesn't get to be stubborn about this.”
“He's not going to like that.”
“I don't care what he likes. He's a target now, which means he gets protection whether he wants it or not.” He looked up at me. “And you're not leaving this house without Dmitri or one of my people. Understood?”
“I'm not a prisoner.”
“No. You're someone who almost got shot in his sleep this morning, which means you follow the protocols until we figure out who's behind this.” His voice went harder. “This isn't a suggestion, Troy. This is how we're doing this.”
The anger flared up immediately. “You don't get to come into Declan's house and start giving orders.”
“I do when those orders keep you alive.” Luka stepped closer.
Ash moved between us. “Let's sit down and work through this.”
Luka's jaw tightened but he stepped back and moved to the couch
Dmitri took the other chair and left me the spot across from all three of them, which felt pointed.
“We went from a hands-on assault to a sniper,” Luka said. “That's a significant escalation. Which means something changed.” He looked at me. “What did you do after we met at the Drake?”