16. Miranda
16
MIRANDA
W hen I throw the broken remains of my once-mother-in-law’s chair into the trash can the garbage collection unit recently emptied, Nero’s eyes stray to the firepit I’ve kept well-lit for the past week.
His eyes glow with as much enthusiasm now as they have with lust the past twenty-four hours when I say, “A proper burial seems too good for any belongings of that woman.”
There’s no deceit in my tone, no treachery, so Nero accepts my reply as if it is gospel before he holds out his hand in offering.
I can’t recall the exact time he suggested we take a ride on his motorcycle, but since it was sometime between orgasm five and eleven, I stupidly agreed.
Cut me some slack. I’ve been riding the high of ecstasy for three days straight.
No one has smarts after one orgasm, let alone multiple.
While admiring the sexy curves of his pride and joy, I ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to take my car? It’s chilly out.”
I’m such a liar, and Nero knows this. With an arched brow and a furled top lip, he curls his tattooed fingers around my wrist and tugs me forward until I either hook my leg over his bike or flop over the seat like I’m about to be spanked.
The idea of being spanked by Nero isn’t unappealing, but since I’m just as curious to discover where he’s taking me under the guise of a late-night ride, I slip onto the seat instead of lying across it, and then I curl my arms around his waist.
Nero’s bike is as sexy as his face. It is dark, dangerous, and brooding. The rumbles of its engine when he kicks it over add to the throbs my pussy has been rarely without for the past week.
I nod like I’m not being eyeballed by a neighbor when Nero asks if I’m ready to go. Then I squeal. Nero’s bike has a lot of power. It thrusts me back and reminds me that with the right amount of willpower, even the biggest obstacles can be pushed aside.
Take my marital status as an example.
Excluding the multiple times I’ve dreamed about arriving at the hotel ten minutes too late or using the gun I found minutes after discovering my cheating ex bound and gagged in a closet, Roy has barely entered my thoughts.
I can’t wait to wash my hands of him. I just need to make sure Tempy isn’t caught by friendly fire first, and then all cards are off the table.
I’ll staple Roy’s nuts to the wall.
Within minutes, the familiarity of my surroundings vanish, replaced with long stretches of road and heavily treed properties.
“You’re not taking me out here to kill me, are you?”
I have to shout to ensure Nero can hear me. The wind is howling, and since neither of us are wearing helmets, there’s nothing to protect our ears from the elements.
“I’ve heard stories about the woodlands that border the Popov mansion. Nothing good occurs here.”
Nero laughs, aware the stories are the ones he’s shared with me over the past two days. He stopped hiding who he was the instant I stopped letting society tell me what job titles they deem acceptable.
“If you are, can we play a game of chase first?”
I swallow my sass for a later date when we bypass a familiar street sign. It is for the main road of the Popov mansion, and it reminds me that I’m not meant to be living my best days when what should be the most important day of a couple’s life is days away from being ruined.
It has been almost forty-eight hours since Nero offered to help me get the items I need to bring Justine’s ideal wedding reception to fruition, but I haven’t given him my list yet.
When I wrote down just the basics, it was obvious what I was asking was excessive.
Roy stripped my warehouse clean, leaving nothing but dust bunnies in his wake. I need everything from industrial ovens and the tents we use to shelter them while cooking to napkin rings and placement holders we place on every table setting.
As I battle my subconscious on whether I should accept Justine’s offer to use the Popov kitchen or encourage her to use the backup catering firm I booked in case I have to renege on her offer, Nero steers his bike down a street several clicks up from the Popov mansion.
The road is dark and eerily quiet. There doesn’t seem to be a single soul present… until the flashes of Nero’s headlight switches on a hundred bulbs.
The outside of the building we slowly pull up to seems industrial, almost warehouse chic, but the cars and bikes outside and its internal features scream millionaire’s lair.
I’ve heard there is a lot of money in the drug trade. I wouldn’t have believed it until now. The wealth on display is crazy, and it makes me suddenly envious I took the straight and boring route instead of testing the stretch of people’s leniencies.
I was born to be a rebel but settled for second best because I thought it was the right thing to do.
That’s done with now.
After dismounting his bike more awkwardly than he straddled it, not wanting to accidentally kick me, Nero tosses his keys to a man with a gun strapped to his chest, before he lifts me off his bike. He once again makes it seem as if I am the weight of a feather.
When we head toward a group of men with obvious sneers and an array of dangerous weapons, only a micro part of me is scared.
This is far from the stuffy business get-togethers Roy never let me attend during our tumultuous marriage, but it has me more excited than terrified.
This is an equivalent of a workplace visit for Nero, and I’m delighted he’s already reached a stage where he’s happy to include me in any part of his life, let alone something obviously important to him.
The way he speaks of the Popov crew and his clear respect for its current heir makes it obvious these men and women are his family. He cares for them as much as he does his mother—and as I hope he one day will me.
As we enter the warehouse, we’re awarded the eyes of everyone in the facility, including a handful of extremely skinny and practically naked women.
They’re gorgeous, and for the first time in my life, I don’t mentally chastise them. I return their smiles and revel in their confidence of loving the skin they’re in.
With his hand curled around mine, his eyes nowhere near the numerous pairs of naked breasts, Nero asks, “Where’s Eight?”
A man with a scruffy blond beard and numerous tattoos and piercings nudges his head to the right. “Doing inventory on stock we just acquired.”
Nero jerks up his chin in thanks to a man with a British accent instead of the preferred Russian/American accent of the rest of the crew, before he heads in the direction he nudged.
He doesn’t even get three steps away before the unease the man’s thick beard can’t hide slows his steps. “Do you think this is a good idea? Nikolai said only this morning that the investigation is still ongoing.”
Nero pffts off his first sentence, but he struggles to ignore his second. “And I told Nikolai this afternoon that she has nothing to do with that.”
So that’s who his heated conversation was with this afternoon.
Since his call seemed work based, I stepped back and kept myself busy. Only once it was done, and Nero was on the verge of exploding in anger, did I fumble into the role of caregiver as he has done for me numerous times whenever my confidence dipped below unbearable the past week.
Nero grips my hand so firmly that I almost yelp when the blond retaliates. “Do you think you’re the best man to make that assessment? We’re not meant to fuck the enemy, Nero. We’re meant to destroy them.”
Enemy?
Nero’s smirk is menacing, and it pushes my inquiries as to my status in his life to the back of my head. “You, of all people, are judging my idea of what is right and wrong. Did you forget the little incident that occurred K’s first night here?”
I don’t know who K is, but the blond sure as hell does, and he isn’t happy she’s been brought into this fight. “Keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.”
The bearded man looks set to rip Nero’s head off with his bare hands, and I’m not the only one noticing. The crowd circles in close, hogging the premium seats.
Nero doesn’t seem worried.
He looks like he has a ton of steam to burn off, and his target is locked and loaded.
I learn why when he spits out, “When you were lighting up her temple bright enough for everyone in Vegas to mistake it as the northern star, did she look like she had been here before, Trey? Did she have any fucking clue that you had the scope of your sniper locked on her fucking head like I did?”
Trey remains quiet, his expression a mix of peeved and pleased.
I tighten my fingers around Nero’s hand before he can race across the concrete to force an answer from Trey, compelling him to use words instead. “Answer me! Did she look like she had been here before, or have any indication of the danger I was placing her in by trying to show you bunch of neanderthals that she isn’t like the rest of them?”
“No,” Trey eventually answers, his expression unreadable. “But Nikolai still won’t like this.”
“Then he can tell me that himself.” Nero’s voice is still dangerous. Still deadly. “Until then, step the fuck aside. This isn’t your kingdom to guard.”
While mumbling something about kingdoms being merely conquered provinces, Trey moves aside as requested.
My stomach gurgles when his soundless permission for us to enter Nikolai’s realm is quickly chased by a man from the sidelines hooking his leg over an all-terrain vehicle and taking off in the direction of the Popov residence.
He wears tattler as obviously as I wear worry.
“I don’t need to be here,” I say to Nero, halving the lengths of his strides.
His narrowed eyes widen the longer they float over my worried expression. “They won’t hurt you, butterfly. They were ordered not to months ago. They won’t disobey a direct order. Not from Nikolai or myself.”
“I’m not worried about me.” Nothing but honesty rings in my tone.
I trust Nero because why would he build me up so high only to stand back and watch me be knocked down? It is the intentions of others I am worried about.
In between the wild, crazy sex, and a sickening number of calories to keep our energy up, we talked—a lot.
Years of stories were spilled in hours. Nothing was off-limits, and the purge brought us so close you’d swear we’ve been dating for months.
If we’re even dating.
Nero scoffs as if he heard my thoughts. It doesn’t match his smirk when he asks, “Then who are you worried about?”
“You,” I answer without pause for contemplation, speaking from my heart as I have numerous times over the past four days. “And how many people Tasha hooked with her nails while she was here.”
I’ve been ruminating over Tasha’s game plan since Nero explained the swiftness of their marriage and how it came about. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.
I reconsider my analogy after remembering how tiny she is.
I don’t trust her. Period.
Nero’s smile turns genuine, and it makes my knees quake for a completely different reason than my worry that we’re walking into a trap.
“If that’s the case, butterfly, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He continues walking, taking me with him. “She’s never been here, and she will never be invited to come here.”
I don’t bother hiding my delight that I’ve progressed further than his quickie Vegas marriage. He can’t see my smile since he is in front of me—though you wouldn’t know that from how clammy his hand gets when I set it free.
My heart is already in a state of disrepair, but it surges to coronary failure territory when we pass through thick plastic curtains at the side of a warehouse. All the catering products I wrote down, and a handful of missed ones, stretch from one wall to the next.
Everything I need to bring Justine’s wedding reception to its glory is in this room. He even sourced the engraved caviar spoons most guests don’t know how to use.
“How?” My mouth moves, but that is all that comes out.
I’m too shocked to speak.
I didn’t give him my list, so how did he get everything I need?
I’m torn between hollering in excitement and growling in anger when Nero answers, “The buyer Roy sought was a friend of a friend. He had no clue he was purchasing stolen goods. He thought it was a regretful sale of a once-loved business because of the dissolution of a marriage.”
I talk through the lump in my throat when the entirety of his reply works through the lust haze stealing my smarts. “This is my stuff?”
Nero nods, and the nonchalance of his response makes me laugh. It is highly inappropriate, but it is either laugh or tackle him to the floor and let him impregnate me like the desire shouldn’t only ruminate from the exhaustion of multiple orgasms.
Regretfully, I go for what I believe society will find acceptable for a woman still technically married.
“Will Roy get in trouble for this?” I pick up a napkin holder I purchased specifically for Nikolai and Justine’s wedding before twisting to face Nero. “I don’t care about what happens to Roy. I’m just curious as to the process of selling stolen goods to someone in the mafia.”
“Bratva,” Nero corrects. “This is the bratva.”
He twists his kissable lips, disappointing me that I went for the route society deems acceptable even after he’s proven time and time again the past week that it isn’t close to what I crave.
“And I guess it depends.”
“On?” I ask, his reply seemingly unfinished, and fighting like hell not to backflip on my earlier decision.
Nothing but honesty rings in his tone when he steps so close to me that I can smell my perfume on his skin. “On how you want to punish him.” He frees my lower lip from my menacing teeth before he says, “He stole your belongings, butterfly. So you’re the only one who can choose his punishment.”
I place down the engraved napkin ring before stepping closer to him. I’m grateful for the natural rub of my thighs. I need something to take the edge off before I make a fool of myself.
“Is that how it usually works in the bratva?”
With how fast the bulge in Nero’s crotch grows, you’d swear I moaned my last word while climaxing. That’s how rapidly his cock thickens from my underhanded respect of his world.
“Is the person who was hurt always the judge of their perpetrator’s punishments?”
My answer doesn’t come from Nero. It is from a voice outside the room. “Not always… but a king who respects his queen is always open to compromise.”
My heart patters in my ears when Nikolai enters the room. He has the swagger of a man who knows how attractive he is but also the aura of a mass murderer. Unlike the times we’ve met previously, when his wife-to-be was present, he screams danger and is extremely on edge.
After taking in my flushed cheeks and Nero’s balled hands, Nikolai shifts to his left. “Is everything here?”
Again, the chance to answer is given by an outside source. “From what I can see, yeah.”
A guy who’d have to be at least seven feet tall joins our trio, plumping it out to a quartet. I’ve seen him previously, though we’ve never officially met. He was behind the steering wheel of the vehicle Nero was seated in when I exited the hotel.
“Though I wouldn’t say no to a second look from someone in the know.”
When everyone’s eyes shift to me, I melt like a popsicle on a hot summer’s day.
It isn’t in a good way.
Nero’s gaze is still hooded, but some of the lust brimming in his eyes only moments ago has switched to anger, meaning they now house as much unease as Nikolai and the unnamed man hold.
They’re hard for me to read. I can’t tell if they’re looking at me as their friend or the enemy Trey warned Nero about earlier.
“Um…” I swallow to replenish my throat with spit before saying, “We did a stock take recently to prepare for tax season. I have a copy of the report on my laptop…”
My words trail off when the unnamed man hands me the printout he’s clasping. It is an itemized list of the items in my warehouse, an exact replica of the one I typed up.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, the printout too familiar to discount.
It is from my laptop. I have no doubt about that.
“Answer Eight’s question first,” Nero says, his tone a mix of danger and seduction. “Then we will move on to smoothing that groove between your brows, butterfly.”
My libido surges from his underhanded comment that we’re about to get frisky, but for once, my brain overrules it.
“Have you been spying on me?”
“Butterfly—”
“Answer me, goddamnit!” I shout, too angry about having my feelings stomped on over and over again to realize I am taking my frustration out on the wrong people.
Nikolai looks like he wants to slit my throat. Eight appears amused. But Nero… he looks like he wants to devour me where I stand, one perfectly placed lick, bite, and poke at a time.
My backbone turns him on, so it is only fair I give him some of the sass he’s worked hard to unearth in an astonishingly quick time.
“Everything on the list appears to be here except…”
I wait until the tension reaches its boiling point, and then I curve a brow, wordlessly announcing I’m not speaking another word until I’m given something in return for my efforts.
Eight breaks the intense stare down first. “Aight. I’ll bite.” He rubs his hands together while shuffling from foot to foot. “We’ve misplaced something. We’re of the belief you have it.” After gesturing his hand between Nikolai and himself, he nudges his head to Nero. “Nero believes differently.”
I appreciate both his honesty and belief that Nero has faith in me, but it doesn’t alter the facts.
I’m being eyeballed as if I am the criminal half of our duo.
“How long ago did your… stuff go missing?” I want to ask how long I’ve been under surveillance, but it is less heart-breaking this way.
It is a fight not to fold in two when Nikolai answers, “Four days ago.”
“Which was a good twelve months after Nero purchased the house across the street from you so he could make out he isn’t mowing another man’s turf by stroking his cock to his missus from afar.” Eight’s lips snatch shut when Nero growls. “What? I thought she knew.” He swallows harshly before shifting his eyes to me. “How do you think he changed so fast tonight? Tempy wasn’t giving up his shirt for anything, even with it reeking of sweat, and the winds are too cold to go shirtless on a motorcycle, so he popped home for two seconds to get dressed, most likely for the first time in days, while you rustled up a pair of fitted jeans from the back of your closet.”
I can’t fight the urge to bend for a second longer.
He’s been watching us.
Does that mean he saw us…
I can’t say it.
I refuse.
I’m also devastated by what his confession could mean. I thought Nero was attracted to me because he saw past the stigma of being with a plus-size woman. I had no clue he was only sniffing around to find the goods his boss believes I stole.
I’ve never felt more stupid.
“Could you make it sound any more perverted, fuckface?” Nero snaps out, his fury undeniable. “He was watching you, butterfly. But only because I asked him to keep an eye on you. I had to know you were safe when I wasn’t there. But he only had access to the cameras monitoring the outside of your home. He didn’t have access to anything behind closed doors. I’d kill him before I’d ever let him see you like that.”
I want to believe him, but four plus four doesn’t equal ten.
“Then how does he know Tempy claimed your shirt?”
Eight answers before Nero can. “She dragged it onto the patio this afternoon so she could nestle with it next to the firepit and in the low-hanging sun.”
Oh. I’m still angry, but Tempy loves heat, and the temperature in our home cooled drastically when Nero took his call, so his excuse is believable.
There’s just one thing that doesn’t make sense.
“What’s your excuse for knowing I wrestled my jeans out of the back of my closet?”
Now, I’m not the only one angry. Nero looks furious, and his I’m-going-to-kill-you stare has Eight speaking at the speed of sound. “Her ex is a douche. He’s been giving her shit all week. When I shut him up with my fists, the front of his pants got a little stained. I figured I’d replace them with a pair from across the street, forgetting she had burned all his belongings, including his ugly-ass suits.” He shifts on his feet to face me. “I saved myself a trip to the store by compromising with a pair of jeans I found in the back of your closet.” His smile is unexpected considering the heat of our exchange. “For someone who thinks meat on bones is for dogs, your husband’s new threads are an extremely snug fit.”
“Soon to be ex -husband,” Nero chimes in, not wanting anyone to confuse his dislike of cheaters.
As I drift my eyes between three sets, I suck in some big breaths. There’s too much to take in. I’m the most confused I’ve ever been, but somehow, also curious.
“Don’t,” I snap out, pulling away when Nero attempts to bring me out of my stupor state with touch.
I’ll never work through my confusion with that man’s hands on me, and I’m suddenly sickened by the idea instead of hopeful.
Once I’ve sucked in a lung-filling breath, attempting to weaken some of the fog in my head, I twist to face Nikolai, the man I’m reasonably sure is responsible for Nero’s resurrection in my life.
“I don’t have your… stuff . Everything that was in my warehouse is here…” I pause again. This time, more from the sudden realization not everything Shiloh and I counted during stock take is present on the inventory list. “Except the commercial bags of flour I purchased for your wedding. Justine wanted the guests served freshly made Prizohkis. They require a lot of flour.”
“Flour?” Nikolai asks, his brows pulled together. “That’s all that is missing from your inventory. Just flour?”
I nod, words above me.
As he works his jaw side to side, Nikolai twists to face Nero. I’m torn between throwing myself in front of Nero’s body and saving myself when Nikolai’s eyes narrow into thin slits.
Luckily for me, death stares can’t kill, so I don’t have to deliberate on a choice that shouldn’t require deliberation.
“Were the bags of flour in her warehouse when they first searched for the coke checked?”
Nero’s dark eyes snap to Eight, who suddenly looks mighty uncomfortable. “I thought it was flour, so I didn’t bother.” Nikolai growls, so Eight talks faster. “It’s just fucking flour?—”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s just fucking flour.” Nikolai mocks his non-Russian accent. “Which is how we get it past customs with no fucking issues!” After a quick grind, Nikolai orders Eight to take some men to my warehouse to check the authenticity of the product in the bags of flour, and then he shifts his focus to Nero. “Take your girl home.”
Too hurt to not respond, I murmur, “I’m not his girl.”
Nikolai acts as if I never spoke. “This appears more a mix-up with shipping than blatant disrespect of my authority.”
He goes to leave, but something stops him.
I realize it is me when Nero pulls me behind him before I can protest.
While smirking like he isn’t surprised by Nero’s protectiveness, Nikolai says, “Don’t make me remind her of the consequences when someone upsets my ahren .” It is a struggle to hear what he says next. That’s how loud the grinding of Nero’s teeth is when Nikolai’s threat picks up steam. “Sort your shit out, and then have you and your girl on deck Friday afternoon to bring Justine’s dreams to fruition Saturday night.”
“That’s only days away,” I push out, too shocked not to speak. “He’ll need a lot longer than that to fix the mistakes he’s made.”
Nikolai’s smile announces why Justine fell in love with him so fast. It is as corrupt as it is knee-wobbling, and it exposes he is a man with many sides.
“I’ve worked with less.”
Not looking back, he leaves me alone with Nero and too much anger not to displace.