Chapter 19 Ransome
RANSOME
“I’m telling you guys, if you want a girl to put out on the first date, you have to have a Hemi,” Maverick says as Baron spots him over the bench.
We are at the gym, a private CrossFit style place in a warehouse that most people think is abandoned. Of course, people know it’s Rozanov territory, so everyone knows better than to come around.
“You need a car to get laid?” Baron asks, putting the bar back in place while Mav sits up. I come here to spend time with my best friend and my cousin, away from my dad and work and every other pain in my ass.
“I don’t need anything to get laid.” He stands up, his chest puffed.
“Just a Hemi,” Baron jabs.
I am doing pull-ups, ignoring both of them. As much as I typically appreciate the guy talk, it’s annoying me today. Everything is annoying me today.
“Listen. That car has done laps around you and your dry dick and the Chadovichs for years.”
“Okay, Zuko. Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Baron laughs and starts to walk around Mav, but Mav jabs him.
“Can we not talk about the Chadovichs?” I snap between pulls.
“Tristan is getting cockier and cockier by the minute.” Mav blows around what I just said and shoves Baron with a dumb grin on his face, his signature fight-picking expression.
“What do you expect?” Baron asks, knocking him back.
“I expect him to stay in his own lane, both on the streets and off. But I guess that’s kind of difficult when Ransome here is banging Tristan’s cousin.”
With that I drop from the bar, sauntering over to him. “I’m not banging Jenica.”
“And that’s why you’re in such a dickish mood lately,” Mav says, swinging at Baron, but I catch his fist before it makes contact with my cousin’s face.
“I’m in a dickish mood because I am trying to run a fucking empire,” I snarl.
“We’ve got trucks with my name on them carrying almost a thousand pounds of powder per, and I am set to marry a woman I have no interest in even speaking to, and all you two and anyone else can talk about is beating Tristan Chadovich in a fucking street race! ”
Baron stops. His smile wanes a little, because he knows. He knows Tristan and racing and everything surrounding the Chadovichs is bad blood for me.
Mav, on the other hand, doesn’t know when to quit. An irritating quirk of his that’s going to end in him having less teeth than eyes if he doesn’t shut the fuck up and quick.
“This new mood of yours doesn’t have anything to do with your sassy little assistant, does it?” Mav has the gall to shove me a little, a cocky grin on his face. He’s always had nerve, and right now, he’s on my last one.
“Watch it,” I warn him.
Baron tosses us our gloves. And while I’m not in the mood for sparring, I wouldn’t mind knocking him on his ass.
We suit up and hop in the ring. Immediately, Maverick goes for it. I duck out of it and pop him hard in the teeth.
But Maverick smiles through it. “So you are fucking the help. I knew it.”
“Watch your tongue or fucking lose it!”
“Why is it a sore subject?” Mav asks as we turn and dodge each other, managing a few clips here and there. “She’s quite the filly.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I grit out.
“So you’re going to marry Jenica then,” he says.
I pop him again. “Of course not.”
Mav swings and misses. “Why not? Hot piece of ass you can parade in front of her cousin. Meanwhile, you become pakhan and tell your dad to back up. Sounds like a silver platter to me.”
“I’m not marrying a Chadovich for an olive branch as flimsy as my love for a woman I hardly know.” I swing and hit.
“‘Love’, huh?” He rolls with my punch, clearly feeling it but too stubborn to call it quits. “Didn’t know you were this much of a softy.”
And for that, I hit him again. This time, I draw blood. “It’s about doing what I want and not what I’m told to do. I don’t listen to orders—I fucking give them.”
“Tell that to your watch,” he sniffs, whipping blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist. “It’s ticking, you know. If you’re not going to marry a woman you don’t love, you better find one you do. And fast.”
I want to hit him again. But I don’t. Instead, I just duck out of the ring and make my way to the door, done with the conversation and the fight and everything else.
I know I am in a tight spot. I don’t need Maverick to remind me of that. I don’t need anyone to remind me of that.
I head home—to the estate, not the penthouse—gritting my teeth the whole way.
It’s one thing for my dad to throw us to the wolves on this new El Paso deal.
The underbelly of my life is about to get a whole lot hotter with these trucks running cross-country loaded to the fucking brim.
I’m going to have to grow eyes on the back of my goddamn head.
But I’ve dealt with runs before. And he is right about one thing—it will give us an edge on the Chadovichs. It’ll give me an edge over Tristan.
I’m not the only one in line to be a pakhan. Jenica doesn’t have any siblings, no heir to the Bratva throne as it were, which means Tristan’s been pulling the strings with Dmitry Chadovich for years. Ever since his own dad died and Dmitry took him as his own.
Personally, I think it has less to do with love than a need for someone to carry on his name. Blood runs thick in the Bratva, whether it’s for loyalty or through bullet holes.
But that’s not what’s got me gripping the steering wheel and I know it. It’s her. Amara is seeping into my thoughts. The way she looked in the dress today, even though I was pissed she was wearing it at work.
I was pissed because I should be the only man—the only person—who gets to see her in that dress. Fucking ever. Period.
It hits me that I have pressure coming in from all sides right now.
Like levies broken by hurricane strength winds, and now the water is coming in hot.
Everyone’s eyes are on me. And because of not one, but now two public kisses, those eyes are waiting for our next move.
If I am going to convince anyone of anything, the heat is going to need to turn up a notch.
Which means one thing. It’s something that has my jaw locked, my hands turning white on the steering wheel, and my pants fucking tight.
I need to make good on that clause in our contract.