Beautiful Rush

by Rose, Emery

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She nodded, still looking down the street at everything but me, sensing that I had more to say and she wouldn’t like it. I couldn’t keep doing this. I needed to focus on my job and get it done. Once it was over, I’d be free to see her whenever and wherever we wanted. I’d be able to hang out with her family, wake up with her in the morning, go out with her in her neighborhood, without the fear that someone would rat me out or that she’d inadvertently get dragged into the middle of this. Sneaking around and constantly looking over my shoulder had gotten old.

  “I need to stay away for a while, until this is over. It won’t be much longer.”

  “Good. Because I’m planning to bake you a cake for your birthday.”

  My twenty-ninth birthday was next week. Chances were slim that I’d see her on my birthday, but I would love to see her baking a cake. I grinned. “You’d bake me a cake?”

  She gave me a mischievous smile. “You said you trust me with your life. We’ll have to test that theory.”

  I laughed. “Can’t wait for that cake.”

  Her smile slipped. “Stay safe, okay? I’d kind of miss you if you weren’t around.”

  “I’d kind of miss you too.”

  I pulled her close for a goodbye kiss. We didn’t linger like we should have. I didn’t say the words that I should have. I love you. If I had known then what I do now, I would have said goodbye differently. I would have made sure she knew exactly how I felt about her. That I had no doubts that she and I were meant to be together. Not just for a moment, but a lifetime.

  But I didn’t say any of those things. I hailed a taxi and held the door open for her.

  “Goodbye, Buttercup.”

  “See ya, Batman.” She blew me a kiss as the taxi pulled away and I watched until the taillights disappeared. Then I headed for the subway back to Long Island City to drink vodka with my favorite Russians.

  * * *

  “Ivan Petrov,” I repeated as I paced the floor of my apartment, my cell phone to my ear. Of all the drug and arms traffickers in the world, he had to come to my city. It sounded like the punchline of a bad joke.

  I’d spent enough time on the force to know that coincidences did happen. But this was a hell of a coincidence.

  “He’s been laying low,” Casarico said. “Flying under the radar.”

  Now he was back in action, and he was getting into bed with Dmitri. To hear Dmitri talk, you’d think Santa Claus was coming early.

  “I need you to stay away from Keira,” Casarico said. “No calls, no messages, no late-night visits. No contact whatsoever.”

  I’d already told her that last night, but the Ivan Petrov connection put a whole different spin on this. “I need to know that she’ll be safe.”

  “The feds have eyes on Petrov. If he contacts her, we’ll know about it. But we have no reason to believe that she’s in any way involved.”

  Would Petrov contact Keira? She was a link to his dead son. It would be a personal visit and he would have no reason to involve Keira in his business. Not that we knew of, anyway.

  “You’d better hope to hell that if he does contact her, she doesn’t talk,” Casarico said. “If your cover is blown, this whole operation is jeopardized. We’ve put too much time, energy, and resources into this to—”

  “She hasn’t told anyone, and she won’t.” I was confident that it was true. I had faith in Keira. She’d be loyal to me, knowing the stakes were high. She hadn’t wanted to be a part of her father’s world, but she understood how it worked and didn’t readily offer up information. Keira knew how to keep secrets. I looked forward to the day when I didn’t have to be another one of her secrets.

  I crossed to the window and flicked up the blind, staring out at the East River. Dust motes floated in the sliver of sunlight streaming into my apartment, bare except for the essentials.

  “Stay focused,” Casarico said. “Do your job and we’ll have everything we need in a few weeks.”

  I needed to keep my eye on the prize and trust that Keira would be safe.

  “I need to go,” I said, lowering the blind. Time to hang out with my BFF.

  Slinging my gym bag over my shoulder, I strode out the door and walked to the gym, my aviators warding off the bright sunlight. As I entered the boxing gym that Viktor owned, I stowed my sunglasses in my gym bag and blinked a few times, adjusting to the gloom. The gym smelled like sweat and blood.

  * * *

  “Clothes make the man, Kosta. Never underestimate the power of an expensive suit. It makes people sit up and take notice. They treat you with more respect. You’ll see. I’m going to take you to my tailor and my barber.”

  “Are you asking me to be your prom date?”

  Dmitri laughed and pointed his gloved hand at me. “You’re funny. You make me laugh. Not many people do.”

  I knew that. Few people joked with Dmitri. They were too busy kissing his ass or trying to protect their own. Thwack. My fist slammed into the leather bag.

  “Who taught you how to box?” he asked.

  “I learned how to fight on the streets.”

  “You have good form,” he pointed out.

  My grandfather taught me how to box. He hung a leather bag in the garage and gave me gloves when I was ten, and still small for my age. I used to spend hours in the garage, punching a bag, trying to work out my excess energy. I’d wanted to grow bigger and stronger. With every punch, I was beating up all the bad guys who had screwed Natalya both literally and figuratively, to the point where she could only see one way out. Taking her own life.

  “Self-taught,” I said.

  “You’re a self-made man. You came from nothing and made something of yourself.” He gave me a friendly jab on the upper arm. If this was what he considered ‘making something of yourself’ that was pretty fucking pathetic. “That’s why I respect you. That’s why I let you into my close circle. Let’s go a few rounds. Leon will be the referee.” He raised his brows in a challenge.

  “Just stay away from my face.” I graced him with my most charming smile as we climbed into the ring.

  Dmitri laughed and looked over at Leon, his constant shadow who had positioned himself outside the ropes, arms crossed, stance wide. No way in hell would Leon be an unbiased ref. “Pretty boy is vain.”

  Leon grunted. He didn’t even crack a smile.

  “You need to get a sense of humor,” Dmitri chided.

  “Are you gonna fight the pretty boy or kiss him?” Leon asked dryly, earning a laugh from me and Dmitri.

  Dmitri and I tapped our gloved right hands. “Anything is fair game except the junk,” he said.

  I nodded and shot him a grin as I bounced on the balls of my feet. “You’re going down.”

  “Leon will have to carry you out of the ring.”

  “Game on.”

  Four un-refereed rounds later, I ended up with a split lip, a black eye, and bruised ribs. Dmitri didn’t fare much better. We beat the shit out of each other, evenly matched and not holding anything back. I landed a body shot to the liver that made him double over and an uppercut to the jaw that snapped his head back.

  “You need to move your feet, not stand there like a stone statue,” I taunted as I dodged a powerful right hook aimed at my face, his favorite target. “Try some weaving and bobbing.”

  “You punch like a pansy.” He grunted as my fist landed in his solar plexus, knocking the air out of his lungs.

  Pansy, my ass.

  Playing fair had never been in the cards. Later, we limped out of the gym and into the glaring sunlight, looking like two thugs after a street fight, a stronger bond having been forged. Sometimes I had to remind myself that I was a cop and he was a criminal. We were not friends. What a mind-fuck this assignment was. It had hit too close to home and had stirred up memories best forgotten.

  “You’re coming to the dinner with me,” he said, referring to the dinner in two weeks’ time when he planned to wine and dine Petrov. Pay dirt. This was ex
actly where I needed to be. “I want you to meet Ivan. You’ll be the ambassador. Break the ice with some of your smooth talk and jokes.” He chuckled, happier than a kid at Disney World. Dmitri wanted to make a good impression on Ivan Petrov who he admired. I detected a hint of hero worship. In Dmitri’s world, Ivan was at the top of the food chain. He acted like we were courting him rather than cutting a deal that would net tens of millions for Dmitri. He had his hopes set on buying the McMansion in the Hamptons and believed that Petrov was the man to make this happen for him.

  One week later, on my twenty-ninth birthday, Dmitri took me to his tailor and his barber. The new suit and haircut made me look more like Deacon than Kosta. The expensive designer version of Deacon.

  The game had changed. The stakes were higher. This was not just a job anymore.

  I had forgotten that I was Aleksei Konstantin Nikolevksy. I was about to be reminded of exactly who I was.

  20

  Keira

  “I still can’t believe you got married without us,” Eden said as we ate our deli sandwiches on a bench in McCarren Park in the mellow late-September sunshine, so different from that oppressively hot August day I’d come here with Connor and Killian.

  “You’re starting to sound like my mother. You need to get over it,” Ava said, elbowing Eden in the ribs.

  “Ouch. You have sharp elbows. Must you be so physical?”

  Ava winced. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  “I’m hoping Killian will forget,” Eden said with a sigh. “He hid the stupid ladder.”

  Eden was painting a mural in the new rec center. A few days ago, Eden had climbed a ladder to paint the top part of her mural. When Killian saw her, he lost his shit and they had a massive argument. That was how we all found out that Eden was eight weeks pregnant, something she had wanted to keep between her and Killian until she was in her second trimester.

  “Do you know where the ladder is?” she asked Ava, perking up.

  “Nope,” Ava said, taking a big bite of her sandwich.

  I was harboring the ladder at Atlas Motors. Killian had delivered it to the garage, with strict instructions that nobody was allowed to tell Eden about it. Tate had shaken his head and muttered something about not getting involved in family affairs.

  Eden’s gaze swung to me. “You’re the one hiding it,” she accused.

  “I am,” I said, coming clean. “But this time I’m on Killian’s side.”

  “Traitor.” Eden crossed her arms over her chest and slumped in her seat. “It’s going to be a long seven months.”

  Ava snorted laughter. “Seven months? It’s going to be a lifetime. God forbid you have a girl.”

  “He’ll lock her in the tower like Rapunzel,” I said.

  “No guy will have the guts to ask her on a date.”

  “Killian will challenge them to a duel.”

  Ava and I cracked up, but Eden wasn’t amused like I’d expected her to be. “He’s worried,” she confided. “And I think he’s scared. He wants to be a good father. He wants to do all the right things and be nothing like his own father.”

  “He’s nothing like Seamus Vincent,” Ava said, her voice ringing with conviction.

  “I know,” Eden said. “He’s a good man. And our baby is going to be so damn lucky. I know he’s going to be the best dad ever...” Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away. “Ugh. Stupid pregnancy hormones.”

  “It’s going to be great. I can’t wait to be an auntie,” I said.

  “Just don’t let Auntie Mario teach the kid to drive.” Ava shot me a look that made me laugh. “Any time I get into a car with you, I’m taking my life in my hands.”

  I rolled my eyes as we gathered up our trash and tossed it in the garbage can.

  “Time to get back to work.” Ava glanced at Eden who had her phone to her ear and from the sounds of it, she was trying to make her case for why she needed that ladder.

  “…for the next seven months. That mural won’t paint itself. I need to do this. And when I’ve finished, I have two more murals I’ve been contracted to paint, Killian. We talked about this.”

  He said something on the other line, and she rolled her eyes up to the sky.

  “I’m painting the mural. I want that ladder back in the rec room tonight. It’s a sturdy ladder, it’s not even that high, and I promise I’ll be extra careful.”

  She listened to him talk on the other line.

  “I know. I love you too and I know you’re just trying to protect me and the baby, but you’ll make yourself crazy if you keep worrying—”

  He must have cut her off and she heard him out. Meanwhile, Ava and I shamelessly eavesdropped on Eden’s end of the conversation.

  “I understand where you’re coming from. One hundred percent. But Killian… I’m withholding sex until I get my ladder back.”

  With that, she cut the call and smiled smugly.

  Sure enough, Killian’s Range Rover pulled up outside Atlas Motors a few hours later. “Someone will be spotting her at all times,” he said. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

  I stifled a laugh, having been privy to her tactics, and gave him a little slug on the shoulder. “She’s a tough girl. She’s going to be okay. It’s great that you want to protect her, but don’t go overboard. If you try to control her, she’ll resent you for it.”

  He blew air out of his cheeks, trying to rein in his frustration. Who was I to be giving relationship advice? Especially to Killian who had a solid relationship with Eden. “I’m not trying to control her. Eden is too stubborn to be controlled. I’m just trying to keep her safe and protect her. There’s a difference, Keira.”

  I knew that now. I’d learned that from being with Deacon. But I didn’t appreciate his tone. “No need to be so patronizing, big brother.”

  “No need to tell me how to treat my own wife.”

  “I give good advice.”

  He raised his brows. “How many relationships have you had, Keira?”

  “Ooh, hitting below the belt.” The only person who knew about Sasha was Deacon. And the only person who knew about Deacon was me. “Take your ladder and hit the road. I have a hot date with a GTO.”

  Killian climbed into his Range Rover and shut the door. I thought he would leave, but he called to me from his open window.

  I planted my hands on my hips. “What now?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, something he always did when he was uncomfortable or about to bring up an awkward conversation. “If you had a boyfriend, you’d feel comfortable enough to introduce him to us, right?”

  “That depends. Would you glare at him and threaten to beat him up?” I teased.

  “If he messed with you, damn straight I would. But if he was a good guy and treated you right, I’d be in his corner.”

  “When I find a good guy who treats me right, I’ll invite him to a family dinner.” Hopefully, that would happen soon.

  Two weeks and I hadn’t heard a word from Deacon. No late-night visits. No messages. No calls. Nothing. Even though he told me he needed to make himself scarce, I was worried about him. And I missed him. A lot.

  Killian nodded, satisfied with my answer. I smiled at him. “And hey, just for the record, you’re going to be a great dad. The best.”

  He squinted into the distance, his blue eyes translucent in the sunlight. Sometimes it caught me off guard when I looked at my brothers. It was those eyes, so like my mother’s. Even their hair was the same shade of dark brown. It was weird. I looked more like my father, but the resemblance wasn’t as noticeable. Killian’s gaze settled on my face and I caught a rare glimpse of his vulnerability. “I never thought a guy like me would ever have it this good. A wife. A baby on the way. A family. I don’t know what I did to deserve it but I sure as hell won’t take it for granted.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. His words slayed me. I reached into the car and wrapped my arms around him. He gave me an awkward pat on the back that made me laugh.

  “Get back to
work,” he growled. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  I chuckled to myself as he drove away, the ladder bungee corded to his roof. Then I texted Eden.

  Keira: Mission accomplished

  Eden: I knew he’d come around

  Keira: I’ll be over there soon, and I’ll hold the ladder for you, k?

  Eden: Better yet, bring tacos

  * * *

  I had just gotten home from the rec center when a knock came on my door. I practically flew across the living room. Deacon was here. His assignment was over. My stomach was all fluttery with excitement and without even bothering to check the peephole, I flung the door open and I froze.

  The man standing outside my door was not Deacon.

  Raising shaky hands to my mouth, I stared, not quite believing that he was standing right in front of me. In Brooklyn. Outside my apartment door. I took it all in. Dark hair cropped short. Tanned skin. A hint of a smile on his full lips. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with no tie, the top two buttons undone under a dark suit jacket tailored to fit his broad shoulders. My eyes met his dark ones and I threw myself into his arms.

  “Anthony,” I whispered. The familiar scent of his cologne—Tom Ford Black Orchid—filled my nostrils and I breathed deeply. It was him. It was really him. He was alive, and he was here.

  “Hey Babygirl.”

  Babygirl. I laughed at the stupid nickname and released him, stepping aside to let him in. He was carrying a bag and I followed him into the kitchen, still marveling that he was here. He set the bag on the counter and reached into my cupboard for two glasses as if he knew exactly which cupboard I kept my glasses in.

  I eyed the bottle of whiskey he pulled out of the bag. The Macallan 18. My father’s favorite whiskey. Anthony poured the amber liquid into two Ikea tumblers and handed one to me.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Celebrating your belated twenty-first birthday.” He smiled and it softened his hard features. “It was the first one I missed in nine years.”