Chapter 41
Louhi
Jeesus Kristus. I’m an excellent cook. I lift another bite of juicy lamb chops into my mouth, barely resisting a moan. The glazed peas were the perfect pairing.
Sean and Mercer are having some sort of standoff, their glares locked across the dining table. I meet a pair of liquid honey eyes, and he smirks around the mouth of his beer bottle.
“So…” Jace starts and quirks an eyebrow, and I wonder what the bloody fuck might fall from his lips next. “Are we planning to stay here forever, Lou, or what?”
I flick my gaze to my brother, who lifts his fork to his mouth. Mercer and I have discussed this, but I haven’t told the other two blokes about my plan. I really don’t want to leave before he’s healed a bit more. He chews slowly and methodically. Must he be so dramatic?
“We can probably leave in the next few days.” I tilt my head toward Mercer, looking for confirmation.
He breaks his stare with Sean and fastens his attention on me. After a beat, he nods. “I just need to hear back from…”
“The Shadows,” I finish for him. His eyes flare and jaw tics. Sorry, brother.
If Sean and Jace are to be in our lives, Mercer needs to realize he can trust them. That starts with his job. There’s plenty he can share without compromising the integrity of the secret organization.
Sean had a valid point about knowing whether we’ve been compromised. I will not be going back to prison.
The two best friends glance between us, and when my brother remains silent, I explain, “Mercer is a mercenary for an underground revolutionary group.”
Mercer’s an anomaly. He does bad things for a good reason. I can’t say the same.
“Lou,” my brother warns, his voice dropping several octaves. The threat doesn’t intimidate me. I lift my glass of incredibly rare, expensive Bordeaux. So much for a peaceful, uneventful meal.
“Is that what’s all over your wall?” Sean asks.
It’s safe to say that whatever his assignment is, is what landed him in prison. When Mercer doesn’t answer, I push, “What’s your current job?”
Everything is related to The Shadows where my brother is concerned. Which is why his next two words nearly have me falling out of my chair.
“Conall McQuaid.”
I choke on my sip of wine. My throat burns as I cough into my napkin.
Surely, I heard him wrong. What would The Shadows want with one of my best friends?
That’s absurd. Conall launders money through the shipment of luxury cars and real estate.
Although, I suppose someone could’ve taken a hit out on him out of revenge.
But why hire a revolutionary group for that instead of someone like me?
“What? You can’t be serious!”
I glance at Sean to gauge his reaction, but I wish I hadn’t. There’s nothing there but firm, unwavering confirmation. No, this isn’t right. I shouldn’t have dismissed Sean when he asked if I saw Mercer’s bedroom.
Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and Sean is on his feet with a Glock in his hand in less than five seconds.
He strides out of the room with Jace on his heels.
My gut isn’t screaming at me, though, so I continue to gawk at my brother.
It’s only when Viktor’s voice roars through the dacha that Mercer meets my eye for the first time since dropping that bombshell.
“All you had to do was send me a text, Louhi.”
“Why are you here, Vik?” I call back, still scrutinizing irises the same color as mine.
“You were supposed to let me know when you made it. You didn’t, so I had to come ensure that you weren’t de—” His words fall off the face of the earth as he enters the dining area. “Mercer?”
I relax in my seat as Sean settles into his seat next to me.
Viktor enters the kitchen and returns with a wineglass and a chair.
He drapes his black wool coat over the back, then pours himself a glass of Bordeaux.
At ease like he’s lived here for years, he crosses one ankle over his knee, his polished dress shoes glinting in the warm light from the ancient chandelier.
At this rate, the four bottles of wine I brought are going to disappear faster than me after completing a job.
As I take him in, his earlier words finally register. “Wait, you came all the way to Saratov to…check on me?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I thought I’d need to collect your bodies.”
“It’s only been about thirty-something hours, Vik. You’re an impatient mother hen.”
His dark blond eyebrows slant. “Hens are female.”
“A cock, then?”
He rolls his eyes. “The more appropriate term would be rooster.”
I smirk. “I like cock better.”
“There’s always fowl,” Jace supplies with a ten-thousand-watt grin.
“This conversation is what’s foul,” Vik mutters.
I lift my wine in Jace’s direction, and he clanks his beer bottle against my glass.
“What are you doing here, Mercer?” Viktor circles back to the original topic. Lame. Jace and I could probably make poultry jokes all night.
“Lou’s brother was just telling us all that Conall McQuaid is his latest job assignment. He’s also the subject for his little art project,” Sean says.
Viktor couldn’t look more puzzled if he tried. “What does Conall have to do with anything?”
“Everything,” Mercer replies simply. He reaches into the middle of the table and lifts the bottle of wine straight to his lips. For fuck’s sake. “I was hired to gather intel on Conall’s illicit activities for The Shadows. They’re planning something big, but I don’t know those details.”
I purse my lips and incline my head the way he used to when I wasn’t giving him all the information after he became my guardian. He sighs, but understands there’s no way around answering this question. Not when four well-armed, trained people are sitting with him.
“It took me months to dig deep enough to uncover that he’s interested in far more than fast cars and fancy buildings.
That’s why I needed your help to buy myself more time, Lou.
” He looks sheepish when he meets my eye before taking another swig from the bottle.
I take my own small sip—from the glass because I’m not a heathen.
He meets my eye, then adds, “When I finally exposed the truth, I realized that he’s trafficking human beings.
Mostly women, but some men, too. Selling them. ”
I jerk backwards, my blood running colder than the temperature outside. “That’s…impossible.”
“It’s true,” my brother insists gently. “I couldn’t get the idea out of my mind that you might wind up in one of his shipments someday.”
I toss back the remaining wine in my glass, disappointed that it’s not something stronger. I didn’t bring liquor, though. Shoving my chair back, I stalk to the kitchen, muttering something about more Bordeaux. It’s an excuse. I need space, a moment to gather my thoughts.
My hands shake as I attempt to pull the cork from another wine bottle, and I hiss through clenched teeth when I can’t get it. A sinewy hand covers mind, carefully removing the bottle from my grasp. He uncorks it and sets it on the counter.
“Louhi,” Viktor remarks softly. He reaches for me, but I back up and repeatedly shake my head, my gaze locked on the floor.
Conall is one of my closest friends. I’d know if he was involved in something like that. How was all of this happening right under my nose? It’s grotesque and wrong. My skin feels like it’s crawling.
I’m no stranger to depravity. I don’t bat an eye at criminal activities and the only jobs I don’t take are related to children and animals, but what if my brother was right? What if Conall decided to drug me one day and…sell me? I’ve had countless meals at his house. What if—
“Did you know?” I ask, finally lifting my head to stare into Viktor’s handsome face.
He shakes his head. “No. You know better than anyone that I don’t deal in people. If I want someone gone, I kill them. I don’t sell them. If you’ll remember, I had you kill my grandfather over something similar. It wasn’t only because I wanted to be the Pakhan.”
I was the first phone call Viktor made after he discovered that his grandfather was moving more than illegal firearms. Running a hand through my hair, I blow out a heavy breath. “Vik…”
Expression solemn, he nods. My heart has fractured a little, and when I stare into Viktor’s bright blue eyes, I see that his has splintered, too. “I know.”
I wrap my fingers around the neck of the wine bottle and drag it back to the dining room. For the first time, I’m able to make out the larger image of the puzzle.