Pay the Piper (Blades and Blood #3)

Misha

“Thanks for inviting us over, man.”

“I’m not sure I invited you so much as Ellie insisted on coming to reminisce. Although it looks like the two of you brought an entire bakery’s worth of food, so I can’t complain.”

Teddy and his fiancée brush past me into what was briefly their condo, back when Teddy was just Teddy Williams, star NHL goalie. Now he’s Teddy Taranov, Pakhan of the Thunder Bay branch of the Taranov Bratva, and recently discovered half brother of my best friend Mila.

My best friend, who relied on me for years, and has now unceremoniously left me to babysit her lover while she handles the sordid Bratva business that’s my life’s calling.

For decades, I was by her side…co-dependence, she called it, when she explained why she thought it would be good for me to be away from her.

Her newfound love for Teddy’s best friend and new teammate, Thatcher, has changed her view on relationships and convinced her that she needs to play matchmaker.

“You need to find yourself a Thatcher. Someone to love and take care of who isn’t me. I promise, you might hate me for it now, but I’m right about this. Plus, you know they won’t do business with you…”

“Don’t let the baked goods distract you! They brought them as a diversion tactic so you won’t notice when they sneak off to defile the primary bedroom.”

The air leaves my lungs in a grunt as I’m engulfed in a tight bear hug while the golden retriever of a man who’s squeezing me laughs.

“Thatcher Prescott, are you trying to break my ribs?”

“Please stop full-naming me. We’ve talked about this. It’s weird!”

“It’s not my fault your name rolls off the tongue.”

He ignores me and bounds into the kitchen to no doubt raid my fridge and get started on the pastries that Teddy and Ellie brought.

Teddy and Ellie, who are currently nowhere to be found.

Resolving to remember to order new sheets for my bed, I shut and lock the front door and follow Thatch into the kitchen. Is this really my life now?

Well, it’s both simple and not. Simply put, I have no family other than the one I chose for myself, which consists of Mila Taranova, my best friend/boss. We left Russia as teens and never looked back, and she’s risen to the prestigious rank of Bratva Pakhan herself.

Less simply, well…

“Do you want any of these chocolate croissants, or can I have them all?”

Blinking out of my reverie, I see that the man who my best friend has chosen as her lover is double-fisting croissants already.

“You can have them all.”

“Phanks.”

Transferring both croissants to one hand, he continues rummaging, and I think again about how, really, truly, it’s not Teddy’s presence in my life that upended my routine. It’s Thatcher’s.

When Teddy arrived, traded to the Thunder Bay Rising Ride in the middle of the previous NHL season, it was on the heels of the bombshell that Mila wouldn’t be inheriting the Bratva after all.

Even though her father had trained her to inherit, upon his death, we discovered he’d betrayed us, and Teddy was named heir instead.

Or at least, we thought he’d betrayed us, but the truth was more complicated than either of us could have imagined.

After Teddy arrived, with no idea the Bratva existed, let alone how to run one, we pivoted and took over another branch of the Taranov Bratva in New York.

Mila’s second cousin wanted to get out of the business, and we were up for the challenge.

Once we arrived in New York, however, we discovered a plot to overthrow Mila, went to Russia to address an attempted coup, and realized the rot of misogyny in the Taranov Bratva went deeper than any of us knew.

In the midst of our frantic time between New York and Russia, Mila managed to fall in love with Teddy’s best friend, Thatcher Prescott.

A hotshot hockey playboy who fell for her immediately and somehow convinced her to give him a chance.

Now she’s stuck in Russia working with people who won’t give me the time of day, and she sent her lover back here to be as happy as possible playing hockey with his best friend in Thunder Bay.

Naturally, since I can’t help her in Russia, the next best option is staying nearby and keeping him safe. That, and…

“Please tell me you saved my pregnant fiancée at least one chocolate croissant?” Teddy gives Thatcher what I’m sure he believes is a menacing look before plucking the last one from his hand and handing it to Ellie.

Turning to me, he shakes his head and claps my shoulder.

“I still can’t believe Mila let you out of her sight.

You’re basically her third arm. She told me it was to keep an eye on Thatch? ”

“Yep,” I grumble. “If the boss needs me to watch her precious sunshine, that’s what I do.”

“Ha!” Thatcher licks Cheeto dust off his fingers from a bag I didn’t even know I had and points at me. “This guy isn’t allowed to stay and help Mila in Russia—”

Now he has Ellie’s full attention in addition to Teddy’s.

“Because he defiled three Russian princesses!”

“There are no Russian princesses. They were the prime minister’s daughters—”

“On their wedding nights!”

“It’s not like there’s a rule against that, per se…”

“Jesus, man,” Teddy groans as Ellie laughs.

“And! Those are two good reasons, but Mila told me one more. Apparently now that she’s found her soulmate and one true love—”

“Don’t—”

“She wants Misha to find the same. So she kicked him out of the nest to stay here with us, so we can be his wingmen.”

“That is not—”

Ellie takes up Thatcher’s argument immediately, her eyes gleaming with the thrilling prospect of matchmaking. “You can volunteer at the hospital with me! There are tons of cute nurses. Or there’s usually a good crowd at the beach cleanups. We’ll find someone for you in no time.”

“Thatcher is exaggerating, Ellie. I’m not looking. I’m here to stay out of the Russian affairs because that part is true and to keep an eye on him. A close eye.”

“Speaking of which,” Teddy says as we file into the living room. “Are you ready for practice tomorrow?”

Luckily, I don’t have to answer that with a definitive no, because Thatcher’s managed to log into my streaming service.

“Oh, hell yeah. You’re a fan of Family Love Island, too?”

It is my current favorite guilty pleasure, but Teddy and Ellie clearly haven’t heard of it, and I leave them to bicker and go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.

It was mine and Mila’s guilty pleasure, the latest in a long line of trash television that we drowned ourselves in when we moved to the States.

Our gateway drug was watching Gordon Ramsey make chefs cry over sauce, and we quickly spiraled, marking the day of the week by which of our shows were on.

“What the hell is Family Love Island?” Teddy’s bewildered expression as Thatcher queues up the first episode of the series makes it clear that his mind went straight to the gutter.

“It’s not like that. It’s like dating between the families while they all fight among themselves and try to survive,” Thatcher explains, pointing out the different families during the show’s theme song.

“Yeah, but still, imagine trying to get some while you’re nasty on an island, but the bush you choose is already occupied by your grandma and someone else’s grandpa.”

“Family drama makes the best reality TV, babe,” Ellie interjects. “And you know you enjoy curling up with me to watch Keep—”

“I like cuddling you! Not watching the trash!”

“That’s the whole point, guys. It’s trash. It melts your brain and makes you forget about real life. Tell them, Misha. It’s so bad it’s good!”

Settling into the open end of the sectional, I sigh at the reality I live in, where I’m agreeing with Thatcher Prescott. “It’s so bad it’s good.”

His triumphant whoop and Teddy’s grumbling about how he thought this was a “safe space” from reality TV make it impossible not to chuckle.

It’s a little slice of normalcy to have Thatcher around even though I can tell that he’s a shade dimmer without Mila.

Teddy and Ellie are the same as I remember.

He was an asset during our operation in Russia, but now that he’s back with his pregnant woman, he’s more like the big softie that I first met.

We all chat for a while about the vague updates that Mila’s been sending, the upcoming hockey season, and Teddy and Ellie’s nursery renovations.

It’s going to be a very different team in Thunder Bay this year, with the usual post-season trades shaking things up.

Ellie’s brothers Nikki and Gabri still play for the team, and with Thatcher added, they have quite a bit of firepower.

He’s not the offensive addition that everyone had hoped for, though.

An all-too-common feud between families took out the most promising Santori talent.

His loss, while heartwrenching, was a stark reminder that no matter how hard we all try, the life we live is a dangerous one.

That perilous undercurrent is one of the reasons Mila wants my eyes on Thatcher.

Even with Ellie’s family and our Taranov strength surrounding him, you never know who to trust in this business.

That’s one of the reasons it’s easier to be single.

I know it is. Mila swears it’s worth it to finally open up to emotions and love, but I can’t see how. Especially when…

“You guys can go without me. Misha promised he’d show me the bike!” Thatcher’s energetic hop up from the couch shakes me back into the present.

Ellie laughs as she stands, and I must have been zoned out for longer than I realized. The episode’s over, the sun has gone down, and Teddy and Ellie are preparing to leave. Thatcher, on the other hand, isn’t making any move at all to leave, and that’s a problem.

“I am not showing you the bike tonight. It’s late.”

“Ugh, fine, Grandpa.”

“I’m the same age as your girlfriend.”

Instead of seeming insulted, Thatcher smirks. “That’s right. Do you wanna know what I call her?”

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Teddy opens the front door as I push Thatcher toward it.

“Take this with you.”

“But Daaaaaddy!”

“Did you watch the motorcycle safety videos I showed you?”

“Well, no. I just want to learn how to backpack, though! I want to surprise Mila when she gets back and be the perfect backpack.”

Ellie’s coo and Teddy’s muffled chuckle accompany me as I shoo Thatcher out the door, promising we could talk more tomorrow about a backpack training program.

After practice…Practice. Refreshing my tea, I lay out my things for the morning with the military precision that’s as natural as breathing.

It isn’t my usual uniform, that’s for sure.

Checking my phone one last time, I find it quiet.

A few messages from various guys from both Thunder Bay and New York.

One checking in to report he’s finally making fluffy pancakes after weeks of my tutorship.

Another asking what he should do with an underling who’s running his mouth around people he shouldn’t.

Nothing from Mila, which isn’t a surprise considering how hard she’s been working.

Most of the other people I interact with regularly just left.

The crushing anxiety I feel at the lack of communication from Mila isn’t new.

It started as soon as my plane took off, leaving her behind in what I consider to be a den of vipers.

She has excellent people around her, but nobody knows her like I do.

If she has a panic attack, or doesn’t have someone to cool her down when she needs it…

fuck. There’s nothing for it except to hope the intrusive thoughts fade over time.

Sliding between the fresh sheets I thankfully remembered to change after Teddy and Ellie left, I set my alarm and prepare to try for a solid night’s sleep.

Even when we left Thunder Bay for New York, my mental preparations for the following day had been consistent for years.

It’s impossible to sleep deeply after growing up the way I did, a street urchin turned child soldier turned Bratva hit man and second-in-command.

But with enough practice, I’ve managed to rest well enough with meditative breathing and a heavy focus on my mental checklists.

Lists of things that held me together for a lifetime, calming me as I mentally checked them off after a long day’s work.

The relative strengths and weaknesses of tonight’s patrols around the grounds.

My personal security server humming resolutely from my spy station in the corner of my room, ensuring me that if it found a hint of threat while it combed the darkest chat rooms online, it would wake me overnight with its ping of danger.

Mila’s headspace following the meetings from today.

Mila’s headspace for the meetings for tomorrow.

Mila’s follow-up appointment for her carpal tunnel.

Mila’s favorite tea that’s on backorder…

Now, my server still hums in the background, but I’m not involved in the patrol protocols at the Taranov compound anymore.

Teddy told me, when I offered, that he had it handled and that I could relax and focus on Thatcher.

But Thatcher, needy little bastard that he is, has a fairly boring routine in place these days, and spends most of his time ensconced within the protective walls of the compound.

Most of the time, he…well, he doesn’t really need me at all.

So now, I’m here with a mental checklist of only one thing: prepare myself for practice tomorrow.

My first foray into the shittiest part of my Thatcher protection assignment.

I can’t remember the last time I was closing my eyes in anticipation of trying something new.

Almost new. I wasn’t the greatest skater as a kid, but I’m stronger now with balance for days.

There’s no doubt I’ll be a natural, but still.

Misha Mavrin, Bratva god, feared assassin. Gearing up for fucking practice.