by A. C. Bextor
Over dinner, Agatha offered that once I felt better, I should feel free to explore the house. This evening, tired of sitting in my room staring at the still broken and mute Eve, I decided it was time to do just that.
I was determined to find a piece of normalcy in my snooping. Using the cane Doctor Z insisted I use if I got tired, I stumbled through a few hallways, coming around a corner to find a quiet area to explore first.
A library.
The room itself is magnificent. The chandelier lighting is dim, but adds a calming touch of serenity. The books, rows and rows placed on shelves and every available surface, smell used and old. The expensive and uncomfortable furniture is delicate, possibly antique. The carpeting is gold and black to match the curtains. A perfect place to get lost and enjoy a quiet moment that I’ve rarely gotten at the club.
Standing at the door to the reading room, I admire Nikolas dressed in another suit. This one is gray, with a pressed black shirt beneath. The first button is undone, and he’s not wearing a tie.
When I don’t respond to his greeting, Nikolas admits, “I was afraid you’d left without giving us a chance to say goodbye.”
“Nope,” I return on a shrug. “I’m still here.”
His dimples dig deep, and his hazel eyes dance in amusement.
Looking back to the shelves full of books, ranging from history novels to action-packed stories, I use my finger to pick at the top edge of the first one to grab my attention.
“You look as though you’re feeling better,” he notes at my back.
“I am.” The heavy blush warms my cheeks. I hold my focus to the books. “Agatha said if I got bored, I could have a look around.”
“You’ve picked a favorite of mine,” he tells me. I turn, and he points to the hardback in my hand. “Lord Byron. He’s one of my favorites.”
Glancing over to his expansive collection, I smile. “Seems you have a lot of favorites.”
“Lessons can be learned in books,” he sighs, unsettled. “However, it seems that reading from real pages has become a pastime we rarely hear about anymore.”
I don’t share with Nikolas that I’ve never been much of a reader, or that I’ve never held a particular fondness for books in general. Yet, standing here in front of all of his prized possessions, I’ve adopted a fondness for being in the company of so many all at once.
Clearing his throat, he breaks my admiration. “I have news that may surprise you,” he starts. “Today I learned that you and I share a mutual friend.”
Walking toward him in careful steps, keeping a high-back, red velvet chair between us, I ask, “We have a mutual friend?”
“Yes,” he assures, nodding. “Vlad Zalesky and I go back a long time. So long, I knew his late father, Vory.”
My eyes widen, and I fight not to look uncomfortable.
Vlad Zalesky doesn’t have friends. At least, I wouldn’t consider him one of mine. I highly doubt he knows or cares if I live or breathe. I mean, sure, he’s helped Saint’s in the past. But that wasn’t solely a favor given from the goodness of his heart. At the time, it was because he had a vested interest.
Namely Wren, his niece, and Mia, the sister of his soon-to-be daughter-in-law.
I’m nothing to Vlad, and I can’t remember ever speaking so much as a terrified word to the man directly.
Attempting to keep my voice even, I prod, “You know Vlad Zalesky?”
Nikolas’s passive expression shifts. He looks down to my hands and observes, “Sweetheart, why are your hands shaking?”
Following his gaze and citing he’s right, I grip the book tightly in my grasp and explain, “Mr. Zalesky is a little scary.”
Waving a well manicured hand through the air, Nikolas offers, “Vlad is harmless.”
My eyes, already wide, grow wider.
Harmless?
Deciding he’s wrong, I aim to clarify, “Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?”
Nikolas smiles. “I believe there could ever only be one Vlad Zalesky. As luck would have it, I know him very well.”
“Then maybe I should rethink our friendship,” I give, skeptically. “Because if you consider Vlad harmless, I’m not certain I want to know how harmless you are.”
Nikolas laughs. I would love to think any of this is amusing, but I can’t.
Vlad is not harmless. He’s not even a little scary. As I’ve noted, he’s downright terrifying.
Nikolas collects himself and takes another step closer, side-stepping the chair I’d intentionally left between us. His eyes peruse my face, and he lifts his finger to run it gently over my battered cheek. He’d done this once; the first time we spoke. At the time, the gesture was distant, but still intimate. Now is much of the same, but to a point I can’t deny. The touch is gentle, and I stare back with unreasoned, stomach-fluttering fascination.
I was wrong the first time I laid eyes on him. Though a smart woman may turn to run away, she’d kick herself later for not being brave enough to dare so much as a chance.
Taking his hand away, a subtle veil of anger sweeps across his features. “Seveena will not come near you again.”
Seveena, I repeat in my head, thinking the name fits her well. Bold, harsh, and messy.
“Seveena?”
“She’ll burn for this,” he seethes. Redness mars his cheeks, his flawless skin fuming under his coarse thoughts. “I’ll personally light the match that burns that woman’s malevolence to ash.”
My God.
He and Vlad must be friends, or, at the very least, run among the same circles. Both are severe in their deliverance of punishment and execution.
In an attempt to sway his mood back to sweet, jovial, and kind, I blindly offer, “Maybe, if you don’t mind, you could call me and I could help you do that.”
“This would be interesting,” he comments lightly.
Yes, it would be. Being as I never want to set eyes on the wickedness of her kind ever again.
“Can I ask how you know her?” I brave the question before I can take it back.
“She once had a place in my bed,” he states, and I blink. Once. Twice. And again.
How is it that the witch was someone Nikolas once cared about? Being that he does what he does, the notion he’d ever consider her in his home seems impossible.
“She wasn’t always who she turned out to be,” he excuses.
I don’t reply.
“She struggled after all that was done to her.”
This grabs my attention. “Done to her?”
“Like you,” he shares. “But she wasn’t rescued before the worst of her nightmare came to life.”
Parts of what he tells me make sense. She may not have been born malevolent and spiteful like my father. Someone could have taught her how to be this way.
“Did you still care about her?” I question with caution.
Nikolas’s expression conveys his regret. “Not anymore.” As quickly as regret comes to the surface, the emotion passes to something else altogether. “She betrayed me. Then she betrayed her own kind.”
Women, he means.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, that she betrayed your trust.”
Nikolas shakes his head slowly and grins. “You know, Cricket, I think I’m going to miss you.”
“You’re going to miss me?” I smile through a strangled giggle. “You don’t know me.”
His grin forms a smile. “Then, I think I may miss getting to know you.”
“That’s fair.”
Taking in a deep breath and grabbing the book from my hand, he looks down and deliberately flips the pages while informing, “Vlad has arranged for you to go home.”
At this, my smile dies. With his attention to the pages of his book, he misses my hesitant reaction.
If I were honest, I’d tell him I’m not ready to leave. I have no doubt that all my friends are worried to the point of panic. And though I’m sorry I’m the cause, being here, away from the chaos of family and friends for t
he first time in my told-what-to-do life, I’m finding peace with my own thoughts. An understanding that no matter how much they love me, try to protect me, I’m my own person. I can make my own decisions.
Where I live. What I do. Who I choose to love.
Not to mention, Eve. She’s not much in way of company, but being in the presence of someone who went through what we did together has become a crutch, a form of comfort, however small amount that may be.
Nikolas looks up, tilting his head to the side. His concern is obvious. “Do you not wish to leave?”
“I do,” I assert, but add, “I think.”
“You’re free to stay as long as you’d like,” he explains.
“Where are the other girls?”
“Most have already gone back to their families,” he relays, to my surprise. “Some will be okay, others maybe not. Only time will tell what happens next.”
The man is too much.
Reflecting back on my time with Agatha and her explanations of Nikolas, I’m hungry for more information.
“Can I ask you something?” I pose.
“Anything.”
“Why do you do what you do?”
His brows furrow. He doesn’t understand.
“Agatha told me there have been many women.”
“Ah,” he murmurs, understanding my intent.
“I’m just wondering why it is you do what you do.”
Simply, he returns, “Because those women were born free. They didn’t ask for their lives to be interrupted in violence. In short, they matter.”
At this, I swallow, visibly trying to rid the clog in my throat so not to burst into tears.
Sensing my doubt, he expresses quietly, “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like.”
“Thank you.”
“However,” he counters on the heel of my appreciation. “After meeting your people, I don’t think they’ll take lightly to you being gone much longer.”
Shocked and surprised, I return, “You met my people?”
Nikolas nods, not unhappy, but not elated. “I met your friends, yes.”
I hadn’t known. As I was making plans about what to do the next hour of my day, Nikolas was obviously making plans to ship me home.
“Specifically, I met a man,” he tells me, his face growing hard. With added aggression, he sneers the name, “Leglas.”
Oh, God.
Nikolas met Leglas. And being that Leglas is who he is, he obviously made his usual impression.
“Does Leglas know I’m… uh… here, then?”
Nodding briskly, he answers, “He does.”
My expression must mirror my thoughts. Nikolas’s tight lips turn up in a smile. “I can see you understand his disposition after I told him you were here, in my home. With me.”
“Leglas must’ve been in a good mood since you’re here and I’m here and he’s… not.”
A chastising grin paints his face, and he compliments with, “This is lucky for me.”
Another blush creeps up my neck. Damn the man for being so charming and sweet.
“Is Leglas doing all right?”
“I don’t like messes,” Nikolas tells me in lieu of an answer. “And, unfortunately, if you’re away from him much longer, he may force my hand and demand that I make a rather large one.”
I don’t know Nikolas enough to know if he’s true to his words. However, he did rescue me from Satan’s lair. Without knowing who I was or where I belonged, he welcomed me into his home. He made sure I was cared for and looked after. I have no reason to doubt anything he says is true.
“My friends can be a little protective,” I note.
“I like that for you,” he replies thoughtfully. “It was made clear how much you mean to each of them.”
Nikolas turns back toward the door. I watch as he starts his way to it, then stops to turn.
“There was also another man,” he declares. “He, too, was not happy, but with him there was more. Something else—”
“That was probably Elevent,” I assure. “He’s my brother in a way. He—”
“Everything,” Nikolas finishes, and I draw my brows together.
“I’m sorry?”
“Elevent was there, yes. Good man. A man who has a well-established relationship with Vlad. One who desperately wants you back with your family.”
“Right. He—”
“But the man I refer to calls himself Gypsy,” he says, and I grab the top of the chair. My fingers dig deeply into its cushion for balance. “It was he who told me you were… everything.”
Christ, that hurt. Gypsy’s home, and he took a meeting with both Elevent and Leglas.
Leglas and Gypsy together in a room, with not only Vlad in attendance, but Nikolas.
Shit.
My stomach turns. “I think I’d like to stay a little longer, if you don’t mind?”
Nikolas understands, proving this with a thought-provoking statement. “Home can be messy. Those who live there can be dramatic. However, home is also love. And your home, Cricket, I’m almost certain is full of exactly that.”
Tears spring to my eyes, my chest heavy with the sudden need to go to said home. A place that Nikolas said is right—is full of love.
“I’ll leave you to your evening,” he dismisses. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell Agatha, and Kurtis will take you home.”
“Thank you, Nikolas.”
Before walking out, he turns. Quiet, almost reflective moments follow.
“You are a surprise,” he tells me.
“I’m sorry?”
“A very nice surprise at that,” is all he gives back before walking away for good.
Now I understand why Vlad’s wife, Klara, allows her husband to consume her. These Russian men do not play fair. With bikers, you’re tossed about, bossed around, and basically handled the way a caveman would handle his woman.
Russian men are a different species altogether. Charming, somewhat sweet, and appreciative. At least Nikolas is.
And, unfortunately, he’s right. Unless I go home and deal with what’s waiting, Leglas and Gypsy may push his hand and force him to create a mess.
As much as I’d rather not, I need to get there to sort the disaster that’s become my life.
Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.
I chose this place knowing it would be as crowded as it is tonight.
The bar room is filled with wannabe bikers, dressed in worn jeans and dirty tees. Those who actually belong in the life are fitted into leather chaps, donning cuts of all colors.
A lot of the patrons are drunk, therefore loud. The air is fueled with testosterone and desperation. A few standing around chance a glance in my direction, but don’t make a move to mingle.
I picked this part of town for that very reason. I don’t want anyone, including any of the members of my club, to know where I am, what I’m doing, or who I’m doing it with.
“I was hoping the address you forwarded wasn’t where I thought it was,” Abram Wiles touts, standing at the opposite end of the table dressed in a three-piece, expensive black suit. He not only appears gravely disappointed, he looks entirely out of place. Grabbing the wooden chair across from mine, he dwells on his regret, “Unfortunately, it seems my hopes were for naught.”
The dignified Russian businessman doesn’t flinch at the cruel smile I send his way. The bastard knows he has nothing to fear from me. Not because we’re acquainted through mutual relationships, but because I’m not stupid enough to risk my semi-peaceful relationship with Vlad and his brigade of armed men.
The club, as well as myself, owes Vlad for using his contacts to find Cricket. I know this. And if Abram agrees to do as I ask, I’ll owe Vlad and his men even more.
Mindful of this, I sit straight up in my chair. Abram looks down at the dust-laden seat and purses his lips.
Prissy bitch.
He uses the napkin from under the scotch I ordered for him to wipe its surface clean. The hand
held revolver inside his suit jacket shines in the dull light from above, reminding me of who exactly I’ve invited here.
Abram is the only man I know who can help with what I’m about to ask. He’s also the only one I trust to keep his mouth shut over what he finds, if anything. Abram has no vested interest in what I do, making this favor a transaction solely based on information, should there be any to exchange.
Resting his arms on the dusty tabletop, he grabs the tumbler of scotch to inspect. Bringing the glass to his nose, he looks around the room and chastises, “Something tells me you come here often.”
Flatly, I return, “Only when I have a good reason.”
Abram turns his head where he catches the long-standing line of lonely and available women at the bar. Those who came here looking for a night of fun. Most have their bodies on display: short skirts, legs for show, and chests busting from their seams.
Abram’s not impressed. “I’ll never understand a man’s taste for used women,” he decrees, then furthers his point. “A warm body in your bed has nothing in comparison to owning a beautiful woman’s heart.”
Not wanting to waste time, I insist, “You can skip the romance advice, Abram. I get your guidance probably works. I’ve seen it in the others. But don’t waste your breath on me.”
Clearing his throat, he touts, “Ah, so you are numb to the concept.”
“Of love?” I flip back. “No. I’m numb to the concept of gettin’ advice from you.”
“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Now that you have me here, would you like to tell me what it is you think I can help you with?”
When I contacted Abram directly, not bothering with permission from Elevent or Vlad, I was surprised when he agreed to the meet. I heard the curious tone in his voice. My interruption to his evening at home with his family was the last call he’d expected.
“I need a favor,” I tell him, reaching for my wallet.
Abram sits back, stoic, but casual. Only his brows furrow with question, and I smirk at his confusion. The older man is leery of my intent. Good. Maybe that’ll keep him from dishing out more unsolicited advice should he accept my proposal.
“You need a favor,” Abram parrots. “You’ve brought me here for business?”
“Well, I didn’t bring you here to make a goddamn toast,” I remark.
