She gasped loudly and flushed ten shades of red.
“In your dreams, buddy,” she mumbled, shaking her glorious hair.
“In my dreams, you wear lingerie. But don’t worry, it’s not on you for long.” I trailed my hand down her arm, watching her tremble.
“You’re making me want to change my mind. I suggest you go away. Oh, and no bothering me until Friday.”
“Very well, kitten. Until Friday.” I bowed, feeling lighter than ever.
Chapter 20
Ivan
To Us
In the hushed confines of the drawing room, I waited for Nik to get home from the office and for Alek to come from wherever the fuck he was off to. No doubt it involved Kinsley Taylor.
Everything he did these days seemed to revolve around her, except he hadn’t found out anything to help us with her case. My fingers instinctively gravitated toward the leather-clad hilt at my side. With a smooth, practiced motion, I drew the blade from its snug sheath. It gleamed in the light as I turned it, marveling at its edges.
As the minutes stretched, I idly ran my fingers over the cold steel of the blade in my hand, meticulously inspecting its dual edges. The weight of the weapon grounded me. Soothed me.Excitedme.
The lives I’d mercilessly taken with it might as well be engraved on the damn thing. I recited them in my head, the last one being Anton’s. Thinking back on the kill had me smiling. They all started and ended the same.
I called it the five stages of torture, and Anton’s was no different. The first stage comprised of them whining like a bitch, which led to stage two—denials left and right. It was the denial stage Nik loved most. He was always prepared with facts to debunk them.
The third stage led to my favorite part—the begging. Being the midway point, it was my cue. Pleading for their lives was something every last one of them did, too. I liked to remind them of their victims while they did so, and how ironic it was that they were then in the same position.
The fourth stage, bargaining, signaled the end. It was when they realized death was coming for them. Stage five was where the truth came out. However, unlike the saying “the truth shall set you free,” death was the only freedom they received.
Each time I used the weapon in my hand, it was with a clear conscience, and the knowledge that one less evil person walked the earth was cathartic for me.
My thoughts had me analyzing the past few days. I’d dug into the background of the girl I’d been assigned, and she was quickly eliminated, along with the girl Nik was looking into. Which left us with Kinsley Taylor and the task of locating the Russian who hired Anton in the first place. Since Alek was taking his sweet time, the job had been given to me.
The single thing the girls had in common was dance, so using that information, I’d chased several leads. Everything from brightly lit dance studios to smoke-filled bars, I flashed pictures of the tattoos Anton told us about in the hopes that someone might have seen him lurking around.
One lead, in particular, seemed promising, but after we’d picked up the man and realized he wasn’t our guy, I couldn’t help but feel frustrated. That was two nights ago.
Just as I sheathed my blade into the hilt again, Nik breezed in. He must have come from the shower because beads of water dripped from the ends of his hair. His eyes landed on the decanter and three empty glasses on the table.
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Something you need to talk about?” He was referring to the almost ten-thousand-dollar bottle of vodka sitting there waiting to be poured.
“It arrived earlier today. I swear, Marcel and his impeccable timing. That man can sense my need for escape almost as good as Vanya used to. Remember when…” I let my voice trail off, not having the mental capacity to discuss her this evening.
“Never mind. We’ll have to wait for Alek.” I waved at the bottle on the table. “It was sent addressed to the three of us, and technically, it’s from Marcel and Bash.”
Sebastian Caruso and Andrew Marcel were our brothers, not bound by blood, but by an unbreakable bond forged through some serious shit. Bash’s family and ours dated back to before we were even born—our mothers had been best friends.
The shared experiences of growing up with him, our youthful innocence giving way to the weight of responsibility as we became a crew seeking justice, solidified his presence in our lives.
Marcel had been seamlessly integrated into our brotherhood when I was twelve. His unwavering loyalty, courage, and sound advice could only be matched by his constant support and uncanny understanding of each of our differently wired brains.
Nik joined me and reached for the decanter to inspect it. “Leave it to them to send one of the most expensive brands of vodka in the world. And you’re right, the timing is perfect. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the anniversary of that fateful night.”
I broke into a wide grin and shook my head as memories flooded my mind. A nostalgic warmth spread through me. “That’s right. God, we got so drunk that night. Poor Gran didn’t know what to do with us.”
“Right. And Marcel kept telling her over and over how it was for a good cause, but then couldn’t remember what exactly that was,” Nik said, shaking his head.
Alek walked in at that point and strode over. His demeanor was upbeat and, dare I use the word, relaxed for the first time in a while. Plopping down on the couch, he took in the scene.
