Chapter Two
Dorian Acheron
“She’s going to be a problem,” Connor says the moment we’ve stepped out of Mira’s earshot.
I drop her backpack on the ground and hold up her phone. “I scanned it. Nothing in recently deleted messages or calls indicate that she’s been sent by someone.”
“She could have a burner,” Connor points out. “She could be here on a rival’s orders. Our operation is relatively new. The boss will not like that we’ve already fucked up.”
“We didn’t fuck up,” I correct him. “This is a wrong place wrong time scenario. Besides, do you really think Sergei fucking Novikov would be happy if he found out we killed a girl who might or might not have seen something?”
“If she’s a threat, yes,” Connor responds, folding his arms. “You’re protective of her. You know her?”
I glance over my shoulder at Mira, who looks a little lost as she sits on the ground.
Platinum hair reminiscent of a Targaryen; piercing, clear grey eyes; tiny form with enticing, delicious curves and creamy, unblemished skin.
I saw her in the library precisely two months ago.
Earbuds nestled in her ears, she was standing on tiptoes, reaching for a book.
It was her hair that got my attention—I couldn’t stop imagining what it’d look like coiled around my fist or fanned out on my pillow.
Then I saw her eyes, and I had to have her.
Except… she barely seemed to notice me. When I helped her with her book, it seemed like she was gazing right through me.
I thought she was on drugs for a second, but there weren’t any signs of that.
No dilated pupils, no disoriented movements. She was stone cold sober.
She intrigued me, so I dug into her a bit.
She’s nineteen years old and already on track to graduate next year as an animal science major.
Mira enrolled in Greywood with a year of college credits already under her belt and completed a summer semester last year, propelling her further ahead. The girl seems addicted to school.
She doesn’t appear to have any friends aside from her dorm roommates and rarely explores Greywood apart from visits to the library and campus café.
I’ve watched her a few times on campus; unless she’s with one of her roommates, she always has her headphones in, and often seems lost in her own world.
Daydreaming, maybe. For some reason, I haven’t been able to fucking stop watching her.
There’s something… compelling about her, for lack of a better word.
“Know of her,” I say. “I’ve dug into her before; she’s not involved with any of our rivals. She’s innocent, Connor.”
“How much are you willing to bet on her?” Connor questions. “Because if we let her go and she talks, that’ll mean problems. None of us like problems, and our boss fucking hates problems.”
I give Connor a hard look. “You’re acting like we’ve never done ops together. If you’ll recall, I am the first to advocate for tying up loose ends. She is not a loose end, she’s an innocent.”
“An innocent you want to fuck,” Connor observes. “Have you?”
“No.”
“Shame.” He casts her a lingering look, tilting his head to the side. “Very pretty.”
“Don’t,” I say harshly. “Do not. I’ve got dibs.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Oh? I thought you hadn't made a move.”
Because I haven’t been able to find a way to get close to her.
I knew when I first saw her that I’d have Mira.
I simply haven’t had the opportunity to ease my way into her life.
Something about the idea of Connor hurting her rubs me the very, very wrong way.
Our legion will do a lot of fucked up shit, but we will not hurt innocents.
Even our boss made that abundantly clear to us.
“Not yet,” I grunt.
Connor sighs. “We gotta figure out what to do with her. Seamus is almost done with disposal. He’ll be here soon, and he’ll ask what the plan is. We need to have it figured out by then. I want to go home. It’s been a long night.”
I work my jaw. “We can call Sergei and ask for instructions. He’ll be expecting our call, anyways.” He orders and supervises our missions from afar.
Connor’s brows lift. “You want to run this all the way to the top of the flagpole?”
“Better than killing her.”
“You’ve killed women before,” Connor says, brows drawn. “What’s the problem here? You really want to fuck her that bad?”
“I killed women who were menaces before,” I correct.
“Not nineteen-year-old girls that keep to themselves. I told you; I’ve dug into her.
I don’t think she’s going to be a problem.
So, yeah, I’d rather call Sergei and ask for directions than end up reporting that there were two dead bodies to dispose of tonight. ”
Connor considers me for a long moment. A lot of people think I’m a sociopath, which is entirely inaccurate.
I feel plenty of emotions and have empathy, I just don’t let my feelings control me.
And the people who think I’m bad have never run into Connor.
Not only does he have the build of Thor, he is actually a sociopath.
Killing a witness would be nothing to him—just a calculated move to keep our legion and operation safe.
To pass the time, I squat down and zip open Mira’s backpack, checking through it. There’s nothing remarkable to be found; an empty container that smells faintly like peanut butter, AirPods, a few notebooks.
“Fine,” Connor says once I’m done. “Call him. We’ll do what he says.”
I pocket Mira’s phone, pull my own out, and dial the infamous Bratva Pakhan himself.
Not long ago, the Russian mob boss decided it was time to branch out from his home in the motherland and set down some roots in America.
He has several businesses here, but no criminal dealings.
He crossed paths with my unofficial legion on one of his state visits and was impressed with our skills, so he offered to sponsor us.
Usually, I’d say fuck no to having a boss, but Sergei is an exception.
He makes working in the criminal underground look like an art form; graceful, precise, lethal, beautiful.
Sergei picks up after three rings. “Status?”
“Mission complete. One complication.”
A pause comes over the line. Connor walks up to me, leaning close so he can listen to both sides of the conversation.
I hear Sergei’s muffled voice, presumably speaking to someone nearby. A moment later, he’s back with me. “Give me the overview.” His thick Russian accent seems more prominent than ever, making his order ring with command.
I tell him in clear, concise detail about our situation with Mira.
She saw nothing. She heard what she thought was sex—hilarious.
If I was fucking, there’d be a lot more noise—and ran.
Connor and I went after her, detaining her.
She was compliant with our requests and seems to sincerely want to forget about this.
Sergei’s silent for two minutes after I finish, during which I feel my heart rate speed up. I might not know the girl personally, but I’ve learned plenty about her, and she does not deserve to die. Certainly not before I’ve had a thorough taste of her.
“I see,” Sergei says. “What do you think is the best course of action?”
I know the words are a test. He wants to see what my response is and judge me off it. If I lie, he’ll know; the man is like a walking lie detector. He’d be able to tell even over the phone.
“I don’t want to get rid of an innocent,” I say, then allow my logic to take over.
I distance myself from the intrigue Mira inspires, and think over the situation with sheer calculation, shedding my veil of emotions so I can see the facts clearly.
“Letting her go right off the bat won’t be advisable, either.
She’s shaken and possibly hurt. She might tell someone about this after she’s come back to her senses.
Better to watch her for a while until we know. ”
Another pause ensues. “You have regard for her,” Sergei says, sounding faintly surprised.
“No—”
“Not a question, soldier, I can hear it in your tone. Do not lie to me, ever.” He pauses, letting his unspoken threat sink in like a blade into flesh. “Do you know her?”
Connor smirks; I glare at him.
“Not really, sir. We’ve run into each other before. She intrigued me, so I looked into her.”
“Have you been intimate?” Sergei questions.
“No. She doesn’t even remember me.”
“What have you learned about her in your… looking into her?”
“Full name is Miranda Greene. She’s nineteen years old. Animal science major, several semesters ahead on studies. Reclusive, doesn’t have many friends, but enough people know her that her disappearance would raise eyebrows.”
“Is she malleable? Will she listen to orders?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Find out. Keep her close for a period of one week. Put her in your house. Better yet, in your room. Work out whatever interest you have while ensuring she’s trustworthy. Earlier, you said she might be hurt. What did you mean?”
“She said she had a dislocated shoulder.”
“She said or she does?”
Connor leans close to say, “Grown men with a shoulder dislocation aren’t able to keep down their yells of agony. There’s a reason it’s an effective torture method. If she was that hurt, she’d be bawling.”
“You’d be surprised,” Sergei responds coolly. “Shock does interesting things to people. Connor, a word?”
Connor takes my phone from me and walks away. Whatever Sergei says to him makes his features tighten. After two minutes, he says his goodbyes and hangs up.
“Verdict?” I ask.
“She’s your charge. Watch her closely. Keep an eye on her, bug her, keep track of her communications. And figure out if you want to keep her.”