Chapter 18 - Mikhail
A daytime attack wasn’t unheard of, but it meant that whoever was behind the attacks against my cousins was getting more brazen.
They thought they could win in a war against us.
Right now, it was merely annoying, but even someone who mostly stayed out of things knew how dangerous escalations like this could become.
By the time I arrived, the quick, explosive fight was almost finished. Aleks was furious because one of his storefronts had been broken into, the plate-glass windows smashed, and an entire safe full of money carted off.
The cops were arriving, called by frightened neighbors when the smash-and-grab broke out.
Before I could get any of the action, Aleks was directing us all to leave it to the authorities for now and meet up at a bar in the same neighborhood to discuss what happened.
It was a new-old place that Rurik had bought, and I was glad to see him even in the tense circumstances.
We had grown up together, though he’d been in America for a while now and was settling right in. There were pictures of the bar in its original state on the walls, and the place was unrecognizable now that he’d changed it to a surf theme.
“How did the locals take it?” I asked, since we were at least forty minutes from the ocean, if the traffic was light.
“They keep coming in,” he said. “I kept the same bartenders and servers, so everybody’s happy for the most part. I’m rarely in here, but it was close.”
The rest of the crew stormed in, and we crowded into the back.
Those who’d been part of the fight tended their minor wounds, while Aleks bemoaned not being able to grab anyone to interrogate.
The guy I’d caught during the warehouse attack was only some thug getting paid to do a job, and was useless in helping us pinpoint this current enemy.
We went over what we already knew, which was so little that we ended up catching up on our personal lives instead. Just hardened criminals talking about their kids’ most recent recital or employee drama at their various businesses.
That was something I knew a little too much about lately, but didn’t share, or announce my nuptials. With the way I’d left Laurel, there might not be a reason to.
As if she knew I was thinking about her, she called, and I hurried out back so she wouldn’t accidentally overhear one of my cousins talking about the last guy he had to shoot.
“Hi,” she said sweetly, and I relaxed. Of course, she was going to be reasonable. “Can we talk?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ll be back at the restaurant in less than an hour.”
“How about you meet me at my apartment,” she said, not sounding so sweet anymore. “I’ve got some questions, and I sincerely hope you have answers.”
Well, shit. I didn’t expect her to go running back to her apartment after a tiny disagreement. The movers had already been and gone, so if she was there now, she knew she no longer had a place of her own.
“I’m heading that way now,” I said, ending the call.
Fuck. I didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone. There was nothing important left to discuss, and this was more pressing to me right now. What a pain in the ass.
I got stuck in a knot of traffic and was irritated by the time I found a parking place in front of Laurel’s old complex. However, it was nothing compared to her quiet fury when I found her sitting in the courtyard.
“Why are you here?” I asked, not sitting down, when she waved for me to take the chair on the other side of the small patch of cacti and scraggly flowers.
“I’m here because there’s nowhere to sit in my place,” she said, looking at me with a smile on her face but ice in her eyes. “Apparently, it’s not my place anymore.”
With a sigh, I sat down. She wanted answers. “We’re married. You don’t need your apartment anymore. This has to look real, remember?”
“Your father’s such a hardass. He’d look up my rental history?” she asked incredulously.
It wasn’t out of bounds of anything someone in my family might do, but no, my father wouldn’t go that far. Because the whole premise of him demanding I marry a traditional Russian Bratva bride was ridiculous.
I stood up again, not about to get into another argument out in public. “This is real, Laurel. We’re married. We live together. And if you want to sleep in a bed tonight, I suggest you get in the car and come home with me. To our home.”
With that, I turned and left, not completely certain she’d follow. She might seem like a scared mouse sometimes, but she had a stubborn streak. It took about ten long strides toward the gate when I finally heard her jump up and scamper after me.
The drive home was tense and silent. Every time I glanced over at her, she was resolutely staring out the side window, her hands clenched together in her lap.
Fine, she was mad. So was I, for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
She just brought it out. Until I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.
What the hell was that? She swiped it away, and there were no more, and when we were in the house, I expected her to lock herself in her room, but instead, she pulled herself up to her full height and let me have it.
“You had no right to do that,” she said, eyes flashing. “If you didn’t want to pay the rest of the lease, all you had to do was say so. You had no right to steal my things and put me out on the street.”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. She caught it anyway. “Don’t you dare try to make it seem like I’m being hysterical.”
“Everything is safe in storage,” I told her. “If you want something, we can go there right now. I’ll hire a damn truck and bring it all over tonight. And you’re not on the street. You’re in a very nice house.”
“Don’t flaunt your wealth at me. You can’t buy everything. You really can’t buy a single clue about wine, by the way.”
“Is this about the fucking glasses?”
“Don’t swear at me,” she said, her voice breaking as she took a step back.
No way she was afraid of me. “I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my voice back to normal. “But if you’re freaking out so much about the glasses, then—”
“Stop acting like I’m being unreasonable,” she cut in, clearly fighting demons that had nothing to do with me.
I reached out and took her by the shoulders, not gripping, just holding on. “Laurel,” I said.
She blinked and jerked out of my grasp. “It’s not just about the glasses, although they’re more important than you seem to think.”
“I think they’re very important. That’s why I got the best.”
“Just because they’re pretty and expensive doesn’t mean they’re right. Didn’t you hear me at all when I asked why you even kept me on if you’re not going to listen to my input?” She shook her head and flapped her hands. “Oh my God, this isn’t about the glasses. You stole my apartment from me.”
“You don’t need it,” I said coldly, though I was burning up. “You’re my wife, and this is where you live now.” Her fists balled up, and her whole body was trembling. She was so damn beautiful but still so angry and afraid. “Go ahead and hit me,” I said, holding out my arms. “As hard as you want.”
She looked like she might, and charged, but at the last second, she only slapped her palm onto my chest. “You can’t do whatever you want,” she said, looking up at me, chest heaving, biting her lip so hard I expected to see a bead of blood appear.
“You can,” I told her, reaching for her shoulders again.
Our eyes locked, her brows shot together. Every muscle in my body was fighting to drag her closer. “You can beat the crap out of me if you want,” I said. “We can talk about the fu—damn glasses. But you’re my wife. You’re staying my wife. And you live here.”
If she needed to smack me to feel better, I’d take it.
If she needed to purge whatever that asshole did to her by taking out her anger at me, I’d welcome the blows.
But why did she have to look so enticing, standing there as if she was trying to decide, trying to figure out if this was some kind of trap?
I moved my hand to the back of her head and gently gripped her hair. In one swift movement, I tipped her head back and ducked down to kiss her. Because I wanted her, because if that was what it took to show her she could let me have it, then it wasn’t much of a sacrifice.
Her lips were soft, and she tasted sweet, but it was over too soon when she shoved me away. And I let her.
“How the hell are you kissing me right now?” she asked.
“Because I wanted to.”
“You’re as bad…” she stopped, because she knew I wasn’t. She had to know that. I’d make her know it. “We’re in the middle of a fight,” she finished.
“Yeah, and I’m as pissed off as you are.”
“I doubt that,” she said.
“Then go ahead and let me have it. As angry as you make me, I will never hurt you, Laurel. So go ahead and fucking give me exactly what you want.”
Her hand raised, and I braced myself for the bee sting of her slap, but it never came. Instead, she made a growling noise and wrapped her hand around my head, gripping my hair and shoving her body against mine.
Our mouths slammed together, and for a moment, she was totally wild, maybe trying to bite me or show she was indeed in charge. My hands slid down her arms and around her waist, and she sighed against my lips.
As quickly as she launched herself at me, she relaxed, and the kiss became slow and almost languid, her body melting as she loosened her grasp in my hair to wrap her arms around my neck. For a long moment, I just savored her soft lips and the play of our tongues, holding her close.
For a moment, it was enough, then she rose up on her toes, and the feel of her ripe tits brushing against my chest made me dig my fingers into her hips.
Her head dropped back, and I dipped my chin to trace my tongue down her neck, smiling as she shivered in my arms. Her ass felt amazing under my palms, and I lifted her higher, rubbing my stiffening cock against her soft curves.