Chapter 19 Seamus #2
I stand outside the exclusive clothing store, letting Ava choose what she wants.
Shopping isn’t really my thing, though I’m willing at some point to give it a try.
For me, the thrilling aspect is her trying everything on after first doing a strip tease.
I’d like to see how much I can make her beg and how far I can bend her to my will.
I’m an alpha, but so is she, and it turns me on to no end. I don’t have to like her to want to mark her as mine.
Or is it that I still don’t trust her?
She has that ability to turn me upside down and inside out in unexpected ways. She’s cold and yet burns volcano hot.
And I’m still not one hundred percent convinced she didn’t try and shoot me the other night. I believe her when she told me she wasn’t about to kill me. But shooting me, maiming me? That’s a different story.
We’re both in this together. This mutual mistrust, dislike, lust. It makes for one hell of a volatile and seductive cocktail.
“Where are you?” Dec asks when I pick up the phone. “You sound like you’re loitering somewhere, causing trouble. Are you?”
He snickers, and I imagine ways I can get revenge for that crack. But right now, I need him. There’s no way I’m going in blind to this meeting tomorrow night. Ava steps out of the changing room area and the salesgirl fusses over her.
As she fucking well should. She has my credit card and she’s dreaming of a big commission, one Ava seems hell-bent on ruining as she hands the girl two things. I open the door and stick my head in.
“Get it all, sweet thing.”
“I only need—”
“What I tell you.” I look at the girl. “She needs an entire wardrobe, casual or whatever passes as casual to evening. And if you don’t have it, get it shipped in here for her to try on and buy.”
I close the door.
“That sounds pretty excessive. I thought you called her a witch,” Dec says.
I’d sucker punch the kid if he were here. I’m pushing into my thirties, but he’s still basically in diapers. He needs to learn respect. “A witch should be well dressed.”
“I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I don’t like you and I keep you around.”
“That,” Declan says, “is because Cal loves me.”
“He’s an eejit.” In the background, Clawzilla yowls and Arnold barks. I frown. “Why are they fighting?”
“They’re not. I don’t know what’s up with them. They want to go out, but I’ve already taken them.”
He moves to what I presume is another room since the cat and dog noise fades.
“I gave Torin a mission to find out the names of those in the Volkov Bratva,” I say. “He has four guys I need checked out, and anyone of interest they might meet today. You up to it?”
“Hell yes.”
“Good, he’ll send you the info shortly.”
“Anything specific to look for?”
I blow out a breath. “Meetings… or anything out of the ordinary. Tor says they stick to a regular schedule that he’s cobbled together. If they meet with a tall, gray-haired man with a scar, let me know immediately.”
“Will do.”
The enthusiasm in his voice flows through to me. He loves shit like this. And he’s good at it.
“Be careful. And Dec?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave the dog and cat at home.”
I hang up and look around. There’s a patisserie across the street, so I walk over there, get a croissant and an Americano, and sit outside.
I sip the coffee and pretend to play with my phone.
But really, I’m watching the street, watching my sweet thing through the boutique window as she stomps into and out of the changing rooms, dumping clothes into the waiting arms of the salesgirl.
That side of the street is shadowed so I can see in clearly.
Of course, if I can, so can others, and for some reason it makes my chest tight and my senses buzz.
Because what if she really is in danger?
When I first met her, I don’t think it would have bothered me. Now it does.
I don’t have to like her to be bothered by her in danger, right?
And danger seems to permeate the air, like a sixth sense. I run my gaze over the people in the street, in cafés, and the cars that are parked.
There’s one car with tinted windows in a strategic position near the store. I start to stand up and its engine guns. The driver pulls out, and the car disappears into traffic. I snap a picture of the license plate and send it to Torin. Then I go and get my bride and her shopping bags.
Mikey pulls up once we’re done, and I open the door for her, giving her a gentle shove into the back seat. I toss in the bags, then slide inside. I hand her the paper bag with the croissant.
“Poisoned?”
“Now, sweet thing,” I say, “where’s the fun in that?”
Ava’s about to snap something vitriolic at me when her phone buzzes and she answers it.
She doesn’t say much. Just listens. When she hangs up, she takes a bite of the croissant and then says, “Damn.”
I take it and help myself to a bite. “Not enough poison?”
“Nope.”
“Who was that, Ava?”
“Launceston. They’ve moved the meeting to tonight. Only it’s not a meeting, it’s a gathering. I’m going to be introduced, with you, as the new future Pakhan.” She pauses to take another bite. “And he also gave me a heads-up that Romanov will be there.”
Romanov. I don’t know exactly what’s going on—yet. But I know I don’t trust that fucker.
At all.