Chapter 22
GABE
Islip into a booth at the back of a seedy little diner an hour from the beach house. I hate leaving Nika, but half my men are there watching over her. She’ll be safe, even if Artyom decides to attack again.
It’s late, after eleven. I order a coffee, figuring I’ll need it for the drive back.
The tables are laminate and the waitresses are old.
It’s the sort of place locals come to hang around before and after drinking.
It smells like grease and the menus are fading from use.
I doubt they’ve been updated in a decade.
A few minutes after my coffee comes, a woman sits heavily in the seat across from me. She brazenly grabs my mug and takes a long slurp. I frown at her, sitting back.
“I needed that,” Lucy says, putting her phone on the table. She frowns down at it. “How’d you find this place?”
“Google.”
“Great. I hope your network isn’t compromised.” She taps at her screen. Always busy, this one. “How’s the wife?”
“Still alive.”
“That’s good.”
I lean toward her, voice lowering. “Did you know about Marat?”
She goes still. Lucy Hernandez is a dangerous woman. I have to keep reminding myself I can’t take her lightly. Her expression hardens. “Are you suggesting I somehow misled you?”
“I’m suggesting I nearly stumbled into a fucking trap.”
“If Massimo wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Fortunately, your sister’s husband is on your side.” She drinks my coffee again. “Despite my counsel against it.”
I take that in and let it settle. So Lucy doesn’t like me, or at least she doesn’t want me as a Dragon. No big surprise there. But she’ll do as Mass says, because that’s always been her job. He says jump and she breaks the Olympic fucking record.
“Why are we meeting again?” I wave the waitress down and get more coffee. Lucy politely asks for a refill.
“It’s our last chance to talk before the Dragons vote. It’s happening in Paris.”
I consider that. “Paris is a nice city. Nika’s going to love it.”
“Who cares what Nika likes?” Lucy jabs a finger into the table.
“Paris is your only shot. Mass wants you as the next Dragon, which means I have to find some way to get your ass on that throne. Artyom’s strong though, and now that the Turk is in the ground, the other Dragons are beginning to line up behind him. ”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, your support is pretty fucking thin.” Her lips press together. “As in, you have nobody. If this comes to a vote, I think you’ll lose.”
I feel like someone kicked me in the chest. I search her face, trying to figure out if this is a joke, but she’s deadly serious. I slump to the side, cradling the warm mug between my hands, jaw clenched.
“All this fucking work, and I might lose because of some damn popularity contest.”
Her laugh is bitter. “It’s not that. It’s more because Artyom grew up in Medved’s Bratva, while you’re practically stealing it. They see him as the more stable choice.”
“He’s a god damn psychopath.”
“They’re Dragons, Gabe. They’re all god damn psychopaths.”
She’s got a solid point. Even Mass is broken in his own way. I rub my face, trying to think. “My options are limited then.”
“Damn right they are.”
“I have to kill him.”
She grunts her approval and types something on her phone. “Damn right you do.”
“Where is he right now?”
“That’s the real problem. He’s back in Moscow licking his wounds.”
I let out a frustrated snarl. “Why the fuck is he hiding?”
“He probably knows he’s got more support than you. If I were him, I’d be doing the same thing.”
“I thought the Dragons couldn’t get involved?”
She gives me a flat stare like I’m an idiot and gestures at herself. “If nobody gets caught, nobody gets in trouble.”
“Then it happens in Paris.” I drink down the coffee and let it burn my tongue. The pain feels good right now. It helps cut into my anger. “I’ll find Artyom before the vote and kill him. Then the other Dragons will have no other choice. I’ll be the last man standing.”
“Solid plan. Good luck with that.” Lucy pushes herself from the booth. “Want my advice? In the meantime, find a way to prove yourself.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
She spreads her hands. “I don’t know. I’m not a damn Dragon.”
“You’re close enough.”
“They want stability. They want to know their next Dragon partner is strong enough to carry his weight. You’ve been through a lot, but it hasn’t been enough. You need to sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice? I’ve bled for this. I’ve killed and fought and nearly died a dozen times.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “So has everyone. Big fucking deal. You want to be a Dragon? You got to really bleed for it. Anyway, that’s all I have for you. Good luck out there.”
I want to ask her more. I’m sure Lucy’s holding something back. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve always been on my own, and I don’t need her help to win this prize. She wanders off, whistling to herself, tapping away at her phone screen like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
While I feel like I’m sinking.
Artyom’s winning. After all this, that fucker’s got more backing than me. Killing the Turk didn’t help—it only consolidated everyone behind the wrong man.
Paris. Fucking Paris. That’s my only chance.
End Artyom there and they’ll have no other choice.
I pause in the back door of the beach house and listen to the waves lap against the sand. It’s strange—I’ve had this place for a while now, but I never bothered using it until I needed a comfortable place to stash Nika.
I should’ve come here more often.
But if I’m honest with myself, it’s not the sand or the water, not the sunlight glinting off waves or the sound of the gulls or the smell of the salty air.
No, what I love about this place is my wife.
She’s lounging in the shade on our back patio looking down the dunes toward the water.
Her lean legs stretch into the sun, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
She’s got a book lying face-down on her belly, the edges of her bikini bottom pulled up to show off her faint tan lines, one arm draped lazily over her head.
She’s got thick black sunglasses on but I can tell she’s half asleep.
I watch her for a while. The idea of disturbing her right now feels like sacrilege. After what she’s been through, Nika deserves an afternoon to sit in the sun watching the water and reading a book.
I know that can’t last forever. I’m leaving for Paris and as much as I don’t want to move her from this place, I can’t stand the thought of going alone.
But she’s so beautiful. It breaks my fucking heart, knowing what’s going to come.
There’s more pain. More struggle. More blood.
“I know you’re there,” she says, tipping her head back and smiling at me. “And you’re being a massive creep.”
“I’m that obvious?”
“You’re breathing like a moose.”
“I get excited when you’re in a bikini.”
“Pervert.” Her smile gets bigger. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing at all.” I drift over, struggling with myself. I should tell her. Get it over with. “You look comfortable.” I kneel down beside her chair and put a hand on her thigh. It’s smooth and warm.
“Sleepy,” she admits. “Been a stressful week and I guess I’m still drained.”
“I know that feeling.”
She tilts her sunglasses down. “Are you admitting to a little vulnerability?”
“I’m admitting I could use a nap.”
“Unbelievable. He’s really not made of steel.”
“Parts of me are steel, that’s for sure.” I bend down and kiss her shoulder. She lets out a soft, happy sound and turns her head away. I take the cue and kiss her neck, moving up to her chin.
“Easy there,” she murmurs. “The guards are home.”
“I’ll send them away.”
“Now Mr. Russo, why would you need to do that?”
I pull her chin to me and kiss her mouth.
I hold her like that, tasting her, knowing in the back of my mind that this is going to come to an end.
My life can’t be like this—happy, comfortable, joyous, lazy, all the things normal people strive for.
Even if I have the money, it’ll never be enough, not until I’m sitting at the top of the world with my massive dragon tail wrapped around the equator.
She shifts toward me. The book slides off her body and topples to the ground. Her fingers run through my hair as our kiss deepens. I bite her lower lip and pull back with a snarl, looking up over my shoulder, back toward the house.
“Everyone, get the fuck out,” I bark loudly enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “You have ten god damn seconds.”
“Ten whole seconds?” Nika laughs. “I didn’t know you could control yourself that long.”
I turn back to her, heart racing. “I can’t.” I lean down to devour her mouth, not caring who’s watching anymore.
She groans as I press her suit top aside, exposing her breasts to the sunlight.
I tease her nipples, kissing her neck, her chin, down to her chest, taking one pink bud between my lips.
She arches as I suck hard, one hand in her hair, the other moving down to stroke between her legs.
She whimpers, wriggling as I tease, sucking her tits and stroking her pussy.
“Fuck, Gabe, nobody better be in that house.”
“What do you care? Are you ashamed of your body?” I release her hair and squeeze her breasts. “Look at you, Nika. You were made for this. You’re so fucking beautiful it kills me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep control around you?”
“I don’t… believe you…” She gasps as my other hand slips down the front of her suit.
Fuck, she’s soaking wet already.
“You dirty fucking girl,” I purr, leaning down to kiss her mouth again as my fingers do their work.
I stroke her lips, spreading them wide, rolling around her clit before plunging inside her tightness.
She moans into my mouth as I taste her tongue, the salty ocean air on her puffy pink skin.
I stroke in deep, curling my fingers, and she grabs my shoulders as I pull them back out and drive them in again.