Page 2 of Wreaking Havoc
Sascha rolled over and groped for his offending phone, horrified to see that not only was it before ten, but it was onlyseven thirty in the goddamn morning.
Definitely straight to hell.
“Sergei, you son of a bitch,” he grumbled, putting the thing on speaker so he didn’t have to hold it to his face.
“Ivan wants you,” Sergei’s gruff voice told him evenly, unfazed as ever by Sascha’s less-than-enthusiastic greeting.
Of course. What other reason for his brother’s right-hand man to be calling than to do his brother’s bidding? Like it was so hard for Ivan to pick up a phone himself.
Sascha stretched, luxuriating in the delicious ache of his well-used body. All thanks to the dumb hunk of man meat beside him, the one that wasn’t even faintly stirring from the noise of the phone call next to him.
Poor man. Sascha must have tired him out.
He grinned at the thought, even as his tone stayed petulant. “Ivan neverneedsme, Sergei.”
“He requests your presence, then.”
Ugh. Sascha threw the covers back in one decisive motion, stumbling out of what’s-his-name’s bed. He knew better than to assume a request from Ivan was only that—a request.
“Why?” he asked—well, more whined, really, but Sergei would have to forgive him a little peevishness at this ungodly hour.
“Damned if I know, zaychik.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sascha griped, more out of habit than anything else. “Keeping things close to his chest these days, is he?”
“Maybe he wants you to take a more vested interest in the family business.”
That earned a real laugh from Sascha, one that finally had his companion rolling over with a grunt.Saschaan active member of the family business? No way in hell. Whether or not he had a head for numbers, he was about as intimidating as a wet kitten, and the thought of a gun in his hand had bile rising in his throat.
Not exactly the makings of a Mafia man, was it?
“Ivan knows better than to depend on another brother,” Sascha pointed out, pulling on the skintight jeans he’d been wearing the night before.
Sergei scoffed. “Not much family left in the family business, then.”
“Sure there is.” Keys. Where were his keys? “What about Cooper? He’s a—what—distant cousin?”
Sergei let out a very Russian-sounding grunt. “I suppose he does his part. Behind those screens of his.”
Poor Sergei. So old-fashioned. The thought of a hacker as part of the team had gotten him all in a tizzy, once upon a time.
Really, Ivan was lucky to haveanyoneon his side, with what an unbelievably major dick he’d been the last few years. Well, since birth, really, but he’d amped it up lately, even for him.
Sascha supposed betrayal did that to a man. Not that dear middle child Alexei had seen his actions as a betrayal—survival, more like.
Never mind that he’d left his little brother here all alone to deal with their oldest brother’s hissy fits.
“When should I tell Ivan to expect you?” Sergei asked, the faintest hint of impatience finally creeping into his voice.
“Give me an hour,” Sascha told him, slipping out the door. “I’m not decent.”
He’d need to find a cab too. He’d dismissed his driver the night before, not wanting to get an earful from Ivan about his extracurricular activities. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the guy reported all Sascha’s movements to his brother. And while Ivan wasn’t against those activities, exactly—not in the way their father had been—he didn’t appreciate Sascha “flaunting” them.
Sometimes Sascha thought Ivan wouldn’t have minded so much if Sascha had been some uber-masculine top. It seemed to be the lack of machismo of it all that fucked with these old gangsters’ heads more than anything.
Poor Ivan. Papa had messed him up good, hadn’t he?
Sascha ended the call over Sergei’s exasperated spluttering. Really, Sergei should be grateful. Nighttime activities aside, Ivan would blow a gasket if Sascha came in wearing what he was. While he may technically have been following the unspoken approved list—jeans and a black shirt, no color, no frills—neither item left much to the imagination. And Sascha was in no mood for a lecture.
