Chapter 24
I left Theory at her desk because I knew when to fall back…
sometimes. Before I walked away, l watched as she sat there, looking at the screen like her characters had pissed her off.
But I could tell I had put something on her mind.
Her fingers started moving again, slowly at first, then faster.
I stood in the doorway, watching her slip back into her passion.
My wife loved words. She could sit in a room and build whole lives and worlds somewhere else. And I realized I loved watching. At some point, her eyes moved back toward me.
“Why you still standing there?” she asked, not taking her hands off the keyboard.
“Looking at you.”
“Yo’ creepy ass.”
“Nah, shorty. I prefer 'romantic,’” I corrected.
She rolled her eyes. “This must be the Russian Bratva version of romantic.”
I grinned. “I’ll take that.”
Huffing, she went back to typing, but a little smile curved her mouth again. It was quick, tiny, and unfortunately, gone way too soon. But it was enough for now.
I pulled her door shut, making my way back toward my own office. My phone vibrated suddenly and I grabbed it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. I did a double take.
Everly Miller-Hamilton. Real had made me save his wife’s number, just in case.
I wasn't expecting “just in case” to come so quickly. Theory’s cousins weren't feeling me much. Ev tolerated me because Real trusted me, and Prime and Ajani had given their reluctant approval of me. It probably helped that Theory hadn’t asked for me to be buried on the family’s farmland.
Anyway, if one of the Miller women were texting me, I was gon’ pay attention.
They were all close, as thick as thieves.
And that was saying something, coming from a man who now belonged to a literal “brotherhood of thieves.”
I swiped my text app open.
Everly:
I don’t know if you need ideas, but I’ma help you so you don’t mess this up.
I stared at the message, amused.
Me:
So friendly. No wonder Real is soft on you.
Three dots popped up immediately.
Everly:
Don’t be cute with me, Targen.
Me:
I can't help it.
Everly:
Theory’s favorite erotic romance author will be at a private reading Friday night in Houston. Her name is Rielle Bright. It’s an invite-only thing. Theory has loved her forever. She’s a fan girl, real heavy.
I stopped walking.
Rielle Bright.
The name was familiar because I had made it my business to know the shit my wife loved, even when she didn't know I was paying attention. I knew the designer perfumes she wore. I knew the expensive pens she liked. I knew she watched true crime to relax, which still seemed crazy as fuck to me.
And I knew Rielle Bright because Theory had had two shelves of her books at her old house.
They were alphabetized and clearly well-loved, loose as some of the pages were.
It made me wonder what my beautiful bride did while reading the spicy little novels.
For a minute, I envisioned her on her back, pretty little hand sliding between her thick thighs, stroking the plump lips of that juicy pussy before finding her engorged, sensitized clit…
Me:
Send the details.
Everly:
You better make this good.
I smirked. Of course, I would. Suddenly, another question popped in my head.
Me:
Why you helping me?
She didn't respond immediately; took so long I wondered if she was going to at all. Then…
Everly:
Because you understood she needed a doula for her mind even before she needed one for her body. There's hope for you, Targen Jones. But I'm still gon’ be the one assisting when the baby comes.
I wasn't gon’ argue with that. Just the fact that she believed there would be babies was enough.
By the time I reached the bottom level, Mikhail was waiting near the security room, his big blond ass standing there like a refrigerator with feelings.
“Mr. Sidorov,” he greeted with a nod.
I returned the gesture.
“I need access to Rielle Bright at a private reading tomorrow night.”
He blinked once. “Need access… in what way?”
I frowned at him. “Alive, Misha. Alive, comfortable, and willing to help me surprise my wife.”
He nodded again. “That is no problem. It is easier than other possibilities.”
I looked at him.
He looked back.
“Mikhail.”
“Yes, Mr. Sidorov?”
“Do I look like I was about to have you kill some random author?”
He paused too long. My eyes narrowed.
“I thought perhaps she was Mrs. Sidorov’s competition. My apologies.”
“Nah. My wife has no competition in anything. And don't apologize. Just answer.”
“You move quickly when it involves your wife,” he said carefully.
I stared. He stared back. Finally, he looked away.
Smart man.
“Find out who is hosting. Security needs to be tight, even if the location gotta change. Get us the table closest to the stage. Make sure my wife can meet her privately before the event. No cameras. No crowd. No bullshit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I wanna surprise Theory, so I need to speak to the author first.”
His eyes came back to mine. “About this surprise?”
“The surprise is a poem.”
That knocked him off his square. His brow lifted. Barely, but I saw it. I don't know why I said it. The idea had barely formed in my head, and I had no idea if I could do it. But Theory loved and respected words. So, on top of everything else, I would give them to her.
“A poem?” Mikhail repeated.
I scowled at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I am not looking.”
“You looking.”
“I would never look,” he denied, the statement as ridiculous as this conversation.
I stepped closer. “You tell people I wrote a poem, I’ma make your insides look like—”
“Borscht,” he finished gravely.
“Exactly.”
He nodded. “I will guard your artistic privacy with my life.”
“Now you being funny.”
The side of his mouth tilted slightly. “A little,” he admitted. “You should stop leaving me alone with Julien Reed.”
I shook my head and walked away before I laughed. Couldn’t have him thinking his insides were safe.
I wasn’t a poet. The things I knew were different. I knew money, fighting, guns, pain… and murder. That, I knew well. I understood danger and what it meant to be hard. But Theory made me want to understand softer things. I could never be soft for everybody. Fuck everybody. But for her?
Yeah, somehow, I knew I had to learn to be soft for her. So, I went to my office, closed the door, opened a blank document… and tried not to feel stupid.
(Friday, June 20)
Friday evening, Theory gave me hell before she even got in the car.
Naturally. That was my girl.
“Where are we going?” she asked from the doorway of our bedroom.
I looked up from fastening my watch and almost forgot the question.
She wore a black dress that made me reconsider leaving the house.
The front was deceptive, high at the neck and stopping just above her knees.
Then she turned a little, and I saw the back of the dress beneath her bra line was mostly gone, nothing but thin straps crossing the soft golden-brown skin I wanted my mouth on.
My shorty was a menace. She knew it, too, because she watched my face and smiled like she hadn’t done a damn thing.
“A private party,” I answered.
Her nose turned up, wrinkling the little gold chain crossing it. “What private party?”
I shrugged. “The private kind.”
“Targen.”
“Theory.”
She narrowed her eyes. “One day, I’m gon’ ask you a question and you gon’ answer it like a normal human being.”
“I answer you.”
“No. You give me little mafia riddles, then kiss me so I stop asking follow-up questions.”
I walked toward her. “Does it work?”
“Unfortunately,” she muttered.
“Then why would I stop?”
She kissed her teeth, but she let me pull her close.
That was new. I didn’t mean the touching part—despite what I had initially said, we touched plenty.
Nah, I meant the letting me part. She still fought me on principle.
I’d heard every day that she had not forgotten a single thing I had done wrong.
But she came to me easier now. I dipped my head and brushed my lips over hers. She kissed me back.
That kiss made everything right in my world.
“Trust me tonight, milaya.”
“I trust you to be sneaky.”
“That's a start.”
“It is not.”
“It is for us.”
She laughed softly, then pushed at my chest. “Move. And wherever we going, don’t have me out here overdressed.”
I let my eyes drag down her body and back up. “That shit is impossible.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“You still corny.”
“And you still blushing.”
She shook her head. “I’m hot.”
“You could be.”
Her jaw dropped. “See? Just terrible.”
I smiled and took her hand.