Chapter 11
(A Couple of Hours Before)
“How’s Theory?”
Juvie’s question sounded surprisingly sincere, no goofiness or sarcasm in his tone.
I looked over at him as he, Mikhail, and I walked into the ground floor of one of the Sidorov warehouses, the cool and darkness a welcome relief from the Texas heat.
An easy little smile curved his mouth, and he shrugged.
“I can be serious sometimes. Been rolling witchu for almost half my life now—”
I laughed softly. “Six years out of twenty is half, now? Nigga, that math ain’t mathing.”
“Focus, bruh. The point is, them country ass girls got y’all wide open in a way I ain’t never peeped. I need you to get this right, cuz Ev had Real sick, and I ain’t dealing with that shit again. Ol’ heartsick mothafuckas,” he teased.
“Man, fuck you.”
“Seriously, though. The house shit ain’t getting to her too bad, is it?”
I thought about how to answer his question.
Theory was more bothered than she had initially let on.
She’d woken up in the middle of the last couple of nights, shivering and whimpering, her eyes wet, her hands holding onto me like she feared that there was a chance in hell that I was letting her go.
The dreams could’ve been about her asshole ex, but for some reason, I knew that they weren’t.
I talked her down, holding her against me until she fell sound asleep, curled in the safety of my arms. My milaya didn’t want to admit it, but on some level, she craved me for comfort and security.
I was gon’ always be there to give that to her.
“She a lil’ shook. That’s why this Igor fool gotta get shook, too,” I finally said.
He nodded. “‘Igor.’ Nigga sounds like a monster.”
Smiling, I tapped in the code on a pad outside a solid, metal door. “He just fucked with someone even scarier.”
I opened the door to the sight of Grigor and Timur, Maxim’s preferred muscle, guarding two zip-tied men.
They both looked like the big enforcers had laid hands on them, but they’d held back a little.
I assumed that was for my benefit. Grigor and Timur were not the type to hold back from what I understood.
I walked to the square table and pulled out one of the four chairs. Lowering myself to sit, I gestured toward the men all trussed up.
“Untie ’em,” I ordered.
Grigor reached into his pocket and produced a big ass pocketknife. Unfolded, that thing looked wicked. Juvie let out a low whistle.
“That shit looks like one of them knives PawPaw be skinning deer with,” he muttered.
I side-eyed him. “You really gotta stay yo’ ass outta the country.”
He rubbed his belly. “Shiii. Soon as Granny Nette stop cooking like that.”
I decided, as I quite often did, to ignore him. Waving toward the seats at the table, I turned my attention to the men in the room that I hadn't met. “Where are my manners? Gentlemen, sit down, please. My mama would have a fit if I were remiss with my hospitality.”
Juvie scoffed. “‘Remiss with your hospitality?’ That must be the college talking?”
“Julien,” I warned as the former captives warily approached the table and sat.
The short blond rubbed his arms, teeth chattering in the cold of the warehouse. The concrete block, combined with the air conditioning and the freezer units, kept this place frigid. The cold was the least of his worries, though. He'd be warming up soon enough.
I turned to the dark-haired one, recognizing him from the file our team had quickly compiled.
He stared back, his dark eyes a strange mix of fear and disdain.
That’s how a lot of these cats looked at me—like they feared me and looked down on me all at once.
Knowing the fear would eventually, painfully win out pleased me.
“Igor, let’s get straight to it. I heard you know a lil’ something about how my girl’s alarm systems failed the other day,” I said, tone conversational.
“Now, where in the world would you hear something like that?” he sneered, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists. Like his blood gon’ be circulating long, anyway.
I smiled. “Oh, little Russian birdies told me.”
He sat back, feigning surprise. “Russian birdies? I assumed you only associated with crows.”
He meant that to offend me. I chuckled instead. “You funny, huh? That’s an old ass insult. But I know some old shit, too… like that line about who laughs last.”
His smirk fell. Mine didn’t.
“I’m sure I don’t know anything about any alarm system.”
“Mmm.” I nodded.
Igor Petrov was an IT and security specialist, the best of the few trusted to work with Russian crime syndicates. Hell, according to his file, he was probably one of the best in the business, period. He was excellent. And with excellence, I knew, came pride. I decided to try this another way.
“Whoever fucked with her systems undid some of the best work in the country. Hell, my brother said the one he had installed there was built by some Marine you helped train. We know for a fact that the jar head didn’t breach it.
I figured no one else could undo your work…
Except you. Maybe I was wrong. I did hear that Daniil Vasilov was just as good. I’m gon’ pay him a visit next.”
Igor was not some hardened Russian gangster trained to withstand interrogation.
His work was lucrative. He spent most days glued to a chair in front of screens in lavish surroundings.
Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know how to hide his tells.
He wasn't so bad that he gave it away in words.
But the slight narrowing of his eyes, the flaring of his nostrils, the red creeping up his neck when I suggested that Daniil was capable of undermining his work was enough to tell me exactly what I needed to know.
“Maybe you should see Daniil.” He snarled the name, his tone belying the suggestion he thought was delivered nonchalantly.
“Nah. I think I’m seeing just who I need to see. Someone trashed my baby’s house, ruined it. That was possible because her systems were compromised. Can you imagine what would have happened to her if she were there?” I demanded.
His eyes locked on mine, a crooked half-smile twisting his lips.
“You know, some have been curious about the mysterious chernaya zhenshchina (black woman) that Maxim Sidorov extended protection to. If that is the woman you speak of, I saw an image of her… in passing, of course. A beauty, that one. So, yes.” His smile widened as he spoke.
“Yes, I can imagine what would have happened to your woman. It could have been so… unfortunate.”
He was smug, amused at the thought of how badly Theory could’ve been hurt. My blood was simmering, headed toward a rolling boil, but my demeanor remained calm, composed.
“I’m glad that situation was avoided. But just the possibility… you do understand why someone has to pay, right?” I asked.
His smile slipped just a little. “I do. And I hope you find him. I know that it must really have gotten beneath your skin, the way someone outsmarted whatever the great Sidorov family had in place. I can tell by your impulsiveness in bringing me, an innocent man, here and having me assaulted. I understand that you can’t help it.
Your people are so emotional and reactionary; you must take after your mother more than Sergei.
He always seems so intelligent, so logical. ”
Juvie made a disgusted sound behind me. “Emotional and reactionary? Yo, Targen, let me emote and react across this nigga’s head,” he spat.
I held up a hand, silencing Juvie. “I’d like to think I’m just as logical and reasoned as my father. We’re sitting here talking calmly, right?”
I looked around the room expectantly. Mikhail nodded once.
“Da,” rumbled Grigor.
Juvie mimed shivering. “Cool as a frozen cucumber,” he agreed.
Smiling, I let my gaze return to Igor.
“See? This is how logical and reasoned looks. But just for demonstration purposes, emotional and reactionary would be something like this.”
I was out of the chair and fisting his hair before he realized it.
I slammed his face into the table until I was satisfied with the pattern of the blood spatter on the surface.
I liked to imagine myself quite the abstract artiste.
He’d disrespected the two women I loved most. No matter how composed I presented, no one was about to play in my face.
I sat back down, watching him cradle his fucked-up jaw.
The blond looked from me to Igor, then down at the table, his bobbing Adam's apple betraying his nervous swallowing.
“Now, Igor, I didn’t come here for that today. I just wanted to know who hired you. That’s all. You could’ve gone on living with your nose and lips intact,” I lied. “I’m tired of playing with you, though. You did this shit. You put my woman in danger. You—”
“Blyat!” he groaned. “Poshel na khuy! Idi na khuy i tvoya suka!”
The angry cursing made me laugh. Mikhail, Timur, and Grigor moved, ready to end him, I knew, for daring to talk to me that way.
“Fuck he say?” Juvie asked.
“Told me to go fuck myself and called my girl a bitch, basically,” I translated. “I think he was feeling a little emotional and reactionary.”
Juvie exhaled heavily, his face twisting into a scowl. “You through playing yet?
“Almost. Igor still has something to tell me.”
“I have nothing to tell you. I will never have anything to tell you, fucking mudak,” Igor vowed.
I shrugged. “Oh, I think you will. I trust Grigor and Timur will change your mind.”
“Wh-what about me?” the blond man finally spoke up.
I held up both hands. “All I know is that Maxim wanted you here.”
“That means you done fucked up somewhere,” Juvie explained with a smile.
I stood again, straightening my tie. “If you’ll excuse me, Igor. I’m meeting my fiancée for lunch. And you have an urgent meeting with Grigor and Timur. But trust,” I said, my eyes boring into his, “I’ll be back.”
(The Present)
“Not again,” she moaned, but she still snuggled into me like my chest was the only pillow she needed.