Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
THORA
“Oh my God,” Blair says as she slides into my Corvette. “That’s the guy you told me about?” She shakes her head. “I guess you forgot to mention the man from the wedding was none other than the sexy baby brother of the head of the Russian mob?”
“Yeah…I guess that part slipped my mind.” I grimace before I drop my head to the back of my seat, my eyes closing as I see him all over again.
His dark brown eyes, staring at me like he was ready to kill me or kiss me—or both. Those few strands of almost-black hair falling past his forehead, the sides buzzed and the top left full enough that all I wanted was to run my fingers through it.
And I sure as hell didn’t miss the ink. At all. The half-skull tattoo covering his right hand, a bleeding rose on the other. His thick neck was inked too.
Blair jerks my arm, yanking me straight out of the very vivid image in my head.
Her hazel eyes darken as she stares at me, way too perceptive for her own good. “You absolutely are not allowed to daydream about fucking anyone in the mob. The last thing you need is more danger in your life.”
Of course Blair knows all about that, being the daughter of one of the dirtiest politicians in the country and one of my dad’s closest friends.
The Whitlocks are known for a lot of things—philanthropy, saving horses through the Whitlock Foundation—but Daddy can’t run his dirty business without greasing palms like Blair’s father’s.
“I don’t know what it is about him, but I just want to pull him into my arms and give him a big hug. He’s just so…”
“Intense? Homicidal?”
“No.” I narrow my eyes.
“Thora, he’s not some stallion you can fix. He’s a man. A man who clearly wanted nothing to do with you.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say I wanted to date him. My God, Blair.”
Of course, I don’t tell her how attractive I think he is, but that’s not even what this is. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him pulls me in.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I just like having something broken to fix. But what’s so bad about that? If half the people in the world took their time helping just one other person, how much better off would we be?
“Not a word of this to my sister.” I cut her a look as I pull us back onto the road.
“I wouldn’t do that to you. Plus, Greer scares the fuck out of me.” She grimaces as she reaches for her seat belt and clicks it into place.
“She’s not so bad. She’s got a heart of gold. That is, when she doesn’t want to kill you.”
We both laugh.
Even though I’d never say it to her face, I love my older sister.
She and my four brothers have spent my entire life trying to shield me from every bad thing that could happen—which, if I’m being honest, is also incredibly irritating.
I hate being treated with kid gloves, like I’m something fragile.
There’s more to me than that.
ANTON
Family dinners with my brothers are as appealing as being asked how I feel. But they’re mandatory. Konstantin insists, and I’m not in the mood to argue, so here I am, parking my Ducati sportbike in the driveway and heading inside.
Blyat, I’m going to have to suffer through small talk. I hate small talk. I much prefer discussing strategy and death.
As soon as the guards open the door and I walk in, the smell of something heavy with garlic hits me straight in the face. I am actually quite hungry.
“There he is.” Konstantin approaches, slapping me on the back as the voices from the dining room carry through the house. “How are you, brother?”
“Great. How long do I have to stay?”
He shoves me lightly, his mouth pulling into a grin. “Come sit down. Everyone’s already here.”
The second I enter the dining room, every eye turns to me.
“Privet,” Kirill says.
Aleksei only nods, and both of their wives greet me next.
A second later, Emilia, Konstantin’s wife, walks in carrying a large tray of ribs. He’s on his feet in an instant, taking it from her before leaning down to kiss her temple.
They look at each other, and it’s strange, the way they all do that. The way they see one another. I’ll never understand. It’s like watching aliens, wondering what that must be like. To care.
Sure, I want my brothers alive. They matter. They’re family. But that’s where it ends. Whatever bond they all seem to share with each other and their women, I don’t have it. Maybe that should bother me, but it doesn’t.
They all keep talking, and from my periphery, I catch Lev, Kirill’s nine-year-old son, staring at me. I force a smile, because that’s what you do with kids, right? You smile at them. Try not to look like the boogeyman, especially to a child who has autism.
But that’s exactly what I am: a monster.
She wasn’t scared of you.
Stop thinking about her. She’s going to be dead soon enough. Konstantin will give the order, and it will be over.
Volchok will be mad.
He’ll get over it.
“So, Anton…” Sloane peers at me all sweetly, and it’s almost painful watching her try this hard to make conversation with me.
“Yes?”
“How are you? Anything new?”
My brows pull in as I glare over at Kirill, wondering what the hell is wrong with his wife. Why is she asking me this? Like she knows something.
Kirill chuckles. “She’s got it in her head that Thora likes you. You know, Thora.”
He shoves a piece of bread into his mouth and tries to hide another laugh, but fails. Of course Sloane doesn’t know what I have to do with Harlan Whitlock’s youngest daughter.
“Why would Thora like me?” I reach for the plate of roasted potatoes before grabbing a rib.
“Well…” Sloane shrugs. “I saw the way she was looking at you at our wedding, and I figured maybe there was something there.”
“There’s nothing there.” I fix her with a hard stare. “At all.”
She recoils from my sharp tone.
“Relax.” Kirill’s jaw clenches.
I give him a nod, my version of an apology, but there’s nothing going on with that wretched woman. Nothing.
I don’t care about the way her eyes sparkle when she smiles, or the way she looked at me like she was searching for something that isn’t there. It hasn’t been there for a long time, longer than I can even remember.
A laugh clips out, and when I catch Aleksei gawking, I realize it came from me.
“What’s so funny?” he asks while his wife, Fiona, stares at me too like I’m a zoo animal.
“Nothing.” I shrug. “Nothing at all.”
When dinner finally ends, I get ready to head out back to my own place, full of fucking solitude.
“Anton.” Konstantin’s voice carries behind me.
I shut my eyes, swallowing a groan before I turn to face him. “What is it?”
“How’s it going?” He leans in. “With her.”
“Fine. Observing. Just like you wanted.”
He nods once. “Good. Good.”
“Need me to kill her yet?”
A dry smirk tugs his mouth. “You seem quite eager to get rid of her.”
“What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”
He chuckles and slaps a hand across my back. “That you are. But no, not yet. I’m going to give her family one more chance to spare themselves the bloodshed.”
“I’m not holding my breath.”
“Me neither.” He stares thoughtfully. “It would be a shame to end someone like her, but that’s how this life works, isn’t it? We’re all casualties.”
“Have you ever talked to her?” I scoff. “She’s quite annoying.”
His laughter returns. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was growing on you.”
“I’d rather be shot again.”
He shakes his head.
Wait. He thinks I’m joking?
“Oh, Anton, I would miss you if you were gone.”
“I think I’d miss you too.”
He nods. “From you, I will take that as a compliment. Get home safe, horosho?”
“Paka.” Bye.
As I head out, throw a leg over my bike, and drag the helmet on, she appears in my mind again. I twist the throttle until the engine roars, trying to outrun the thought of her before she infiltrates somewhere she has no business being.