Other guys are looking at her, and I’m keyed up enough to want to break their necks. I should’ve switched with Ace and brought Kaitlynn. At least with her, I wouldn’t feel ready to punch out every guy for being a guy.
Brooke gets fed up and walks over to the tall man with the goatee who’s been ogling her for the past ten minutes.
What the hell is she doing?
Goatee smiles when she approaches him. “I was starting to lose hope that you’d notice me.”
“Well, my friend over there won’t dance with me.” She pouts and points over at me.
I clench my jaw and shake my head, slow and exaggerated, in warning to her.
Goatee turns to me and then looks back at Brooke. “His loss,” he says. His accent is thick, but he speaks English well. The guy offers her his hand and she fucking takes it.
I can’t believe this shit.
He leads her out to the dance floor and grabs her hip.
I can’t hold back anymore. I storm over there and pull her out of the guy’s reach. “Keep walking,” I growl.
“Hey!” Goatee yells and steps after us.
I turn and glare at him. “Go home,” I snarl because if he doesn’t, I’ll kill the bastard, and he won’t know what he did wrong.
Goatee stares back at me like he forgot what he was about to do and then turns and walks out of the bar. He doesn’t stop to pick up his coat off his chair.
I saved his ass. From myself. I’m quite proud even if I feel like I’m losing my shit over something stupid. I place my palm on Brooke’s shoulder, leading her toward the back of the club.
We reach a back exit and I slap the handle, pushing the door open and whipping us in the face with cold air. She takes the brunt since she’s in the front.
The door leads out to a slender, cobblestone road, not wide enough for a car, with a building three feet away made of similar stone as this one.
She turns around once the door shuts behind us. I don’t know if she’s pissed because I embarrassed her or because she embarrassed herself. “You don’t have to be a jerk!” she yells.
I guess it’s me.
“I’m a jerk?” I get in her face and she has no option but to step backward. I am closer with every step back she takes, so I keep stepping until her back hits the opposite wall. “I have never once done anything to intentionally hurt you.”
She leans into my face. We’re so close we’re breathing the same air. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I was trying to get you to dance with me.”
I jolt my head back. “Oh, and because I didn’t, you turn around and go to the guy next in line? That’s low, Brooke.”
“What the hell? I’ve risked my relationship with my dad, with Kaitlynn, Jaren, and so much more to be with you.”
I narrow my eyes at her and lower my voice. “And I didn’t? Every moment I spend with you is another moment I’m risking my life.”
My emotions break through every barrier I’ve managed to hide them behind. I’m raw. If she touches me right now, it’ll burn. “I love you so damn much, Brooke. I waited around for you when you couldn’t realize Jaren was an idiot and you belonged with me. I’ve stood by your side through everything. I’ve risked my life for you and all I’ve asked is that you let me love you!”
“I have! I want you to.”
“No, telling me to leave is the opposite of letting me love you. You promised me. I don’t care that you did it to try to protect me. I don’t need that. I protect you, remember? I would’ve found a way around leaving you.”
She drops some of her defensiveness. “Yeah, fighting Vasek or my dad wasn’t going to be it, and that was where things were heading. He made it clear that if we didn’t stop, he’d kill you. What was I supposed to do? What would you have done if you were me?”
I tear at the zipper on my sweater and expose my bare chest to her in emphasis. She doesn’t get it. “I’ve bared my soul to you. I’ve given you my heart.” I slap my chest. “And the first time we feel some real heat, you break your promise—you abandon me. Abandon us, and ask me to leave.”
“You know why I had to do that.”
“I know why you felt you had to, but I told you not to say it, and you did anyway.” And that’s what hurts the most. She broke her word and didn’t trust me.
“Remember when you lied to me?” Brooke throws back.
“That’s not even on the same level as how you hurt me.” I glare at her.
“Maybe to you. But both of them are areas of trust that hurt the other. However well intended we were.”
I knew that would bite me in the ass one day.
“Mirko, I’m sorry. Okay? I couldn’t let him hurt you! You’d do the same thing if the situation were reversed.” She pushes me in the chest.
I grab her wrists and pin her against the building, her hands above her head, scraping my knuckles against the textured old stone.
But really, what am I thinking? Trying to keep myself from her, trying to give her up hurts as bad or more than what she did to me.
More. A life without loving Brooke when she’s here to let me has got to be the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever attempted.
I pierce her with my eyes, my jaw set. My breaths come loud and quick. Chest to chest, my heart beats against the top of her breasts. Her heart’s pounding too. “Do you want me to leave now?” I grate between my teeth.
Her body responds to me; her breath quickens, matching the tempo of mine. “No.” She yanks her hands, but there’s no give there. “I didn’t want you to go then, either. Well, I did. But only because I didn’t want my dad to hurt you. I didn’t want you to go,” she finally says more convincingly.
I slowly drop my head close to her ear. “Do you want me to leave now?”
“No.” She jerks her arms, trying again to loosen them. “I said I don’t want you to leave.”
“Show me,” I whisper in her ear. The words are hot as they leave my mouth and mix with the cold night air.
She shivers and arches her chest, pushing her body against mine.
She strokes her cheek along mine tentatively, like she’s not sure how to do what we both want her to do next.
I reposition her hands so I’m holding them to the wall with only one of mine and cup her cheek.
She kisses me. She kisses me so hard and deep, I feel something of mine bulge against her hip.
It excites her. She sucks my tongue.
I push my chest tighter against hers and grind my hips into her.
She lets go of my tongue and dances with it. I slowly let her hands drop. Once they’re free, she wraps her arms around my neck, pushing some of my weight off her. She jumps, wrapping her legs around me.
I’m about to reach up her dress when scuffling and a sob comes from around the corner. I jerk my head to the left and see a group of people chasing a woman into the alley.
Shit!
I pull Brooke away from the wall enough to slide farther away, but there’s nowhere to hide. I push her tight against the wall as the gang of Zao Duhs beat the woman with a crowbar until she drops to the ground. They pile on top of her and feed.
I’d run, but Brooke squirms, trying to get away and help the woman. I push Brooke tighter against the wall and try to wiggle her in the opposite direction.
“We can’t leave her,” she hisses. “They’ll kill her.”
She flexes out of my control and over to the feeding Zao Duhs. She grabs one by the neck and throws him to the side. She reaches for the next one, but the one she tossed is back up and going for her.
“Dammit, Brooke!” I run to get her out of the crazed Zao Duh’s reach. I push her and take the punch the guy cocked for Brooke’s head.
It hits my shoulder and jostles me sideways.
I bound back and punch him in the jaw, knocking him out. He drops to the ground, and in great timing because now I have to intervene between Brooke and another thug.
I grab him by the collar of his sweater and swing him around, meeting my fis
t with his nose. His face was already a bloody mess, but now his blood mixes with his victim’s.
Brooke’s not smart enough to stop, either. Every time I take over someone from her, she goes to the next one. “Let’s go!” I order and kick the punk she’s facing off with in the knee.
He falls, but now the others are standing up and facing us.
Brooke peers down at the girl, now fully exposed, as everyone prepares to come at us. She looks back at me and nods.
Oh, so now she realizes we’ve done all we can do?
Son of a bitch.
We turn and run like hell.
Footsteps pound on the cobblestones behind us. “Flex out of here.”
Brooke’s still beside me.
“Now!”
“No!” She keeps pumping her little arms as fast as she can while running in her dress shoes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I recognize some of these guys, so they sure as hell have to recognize me.
We turn a corner when hands grab us and pull us into a dark alcove.
I reach for the person’s throat.
“Shh, Mirko, it’s me,” a familiar voice whispers.
Andric?
Yes! I pull Brooke tighter between Andric and me and cover her mouth.
She finally realizes we’re okay and relaxes.
Pounding of many feet pass us and continue on.
When Andric feels they’re far enough away, he leads us across the street and a few doors over before he opens one and hustles us inside.
It’s the kitchen of a small bakery. “Is this yours?” He always did want to open one.
“Yeah. I finally quit blowing my money and saved enough to buy out the previous owner. It’s small, but it’s mine.”
“Well done,” I say and clap him on the back.
“Thanks.”
“You know him?” Brooke asks.
“Hi, I’m Andric,” he says and walks over to Brooke. When he leans in to kiss her on the cheek, she pulls back.
“Sorry, I’m a little on edge right now and would rather you not touch me.”
“American,” Andric says and looks at me with a knowing grin.
I shrug. I’ve lived in America for a long time. I’ve come to appreciate the women. Especially this one.
“I’m grateful for your help out there, but we should go before they turn back.”
“The least you can do is tell me why they’re chasing you.” Andric always liked a good fight. And to know everyone’s business.
“We’re here without clearance,” I say and lead Brooke toward what I hope is the front of the bakery.
Andric steps in our way. “Whoa. Why are you here without getting clearance?”
I shake my head. I don’t have time for this. Telling him will be the fastest, easiest way to get him out of our way, though. “We’re looking for Kresimira, but she can’t know we’re here looking for her.”
I put my arm out and try to push him aside, but he steps back in front of me. “Kresimira? Why?”
“Dammit, Andric. Because she’s a melez.” I point to Brooke. “Zladislov’s daughter, and we have a meeting with the Commissioners in two damn days, and Kresimira has evidence that Emerik is one as well, which we need for leverage within the Commission.”
“No shit?” Andric says and studies Brooke again. “Well, I don’t know where Kresimira is, but I do know of someone else who had melez kids with Sandor. And I know where she is.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I take a step back. All right, now we’re getting somewhere. For once, I’m glad Andric is a nosy little bastard.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Brooke
Mirko is certain Andric’s word is good and that he’s someone we can trust, so we’re waiting outside the main square early in the morning for him to pick us up. He’s taking us to the woman and the kids she had with Sandor who Andric mentioned last night. If we can’t find Kresimira and our evidence against Orell, maybe we can discredit Sandor. Not as good, but it’s something.
It’s chilly this morning, and a low fog has rolled into the area. We’re wearing our coats, but Kaitlynn and I still huddle close to share body heat.
Andric pulls up in a red hatchback Volkswagen. I’m not surprised by the color. Red cars here are as common as white cars are back home.
Mirko takes the front, and the rest of us climb into the back.
“Good morning, good morning,” Andric greets us and then we’re off. He’s a nice enough guy, but he knows something about everyone. For the whole half hour it takes for us to get to Šćitarjevo, an area of one of the oldest settlements in Croatia, he updates Mirko on a ton of people.
It seems gossipy to me, but I’m sure Mirko regards it as intel. Some of it’s in English, some in Croatian.
I catch bits and pieces of the English stuff, and hear enough to know the woman we’re seeing, Cila, is older now and might be cranky about our stopping by.
The neighborhood we arrive in is a mixture of low-class and lower-class homes. They appear to be from different time periods, some large, some shacklike, some in good condition, and some worn with age.
Andric stops in front of a tiny green home on a medium-sized plot of land. You could fit three of the smaller-than-a-single-wide homes on the property. There are two-story houses on each side, making the little one seem even smaller. And the plaster is crumbling away, exposing reddish-brown bricks near the corners.
Andric knocks on the maroon door, and a short, old woman answers. She’s wearing a purple, long-sleeved blouse with lilies on it, and her gray and white hair is pulled back and mostly covered with a white scarf. Her tanned face is wrinkled, probably from years of working outside in her yard and garden.
Mirko speaks to her in Croatian.
She grumbles something back, but moves out of the way to let us in.
I follow behind Mirko and Andric, and Kaitlynn and Ace follow me. The inside is as small as it looks from the outside. It’s an open floor plan with no walls separating the living area from the kitchenette and the bedroom. There is one small door in the corner, which I assume is the bathroom because I don’t see a toilet or shower in the space.
Cila says something in Croatian, and Mirko smiles and shakes his head. “She’s offering us water.” Cila then walks over to the fridge that reaches the top of her short height, probably a full five feet.
Mirko offers the floral, lightly aged sofa to Kaitlynn and me. There’s a rocking chair off to the side of the room’s center, not far from the dresser next to bed, but Mirko leaves that for Cila.
“What did she say before the offer of water?” I whisper while Cila hands a glass to Andric.
“She asked if we wanted any rakia. It’s a fermented fruit, alcoholic drink.”
The legal drinking age here is eighteen. Do we all look at least that old, or does Cila not really care?
She hands out the last glass and sits heavily and stiffly into her rocking chair. She speaks with Mirko in Croatian, and he replies the same.
She drops her head, shaking it. She looks agitated and sad as she speaks. The wrinkles in her chin deepen as her frown intensifies. She puts her arms out and lifts her sleeves, revealing nasty scars.
Mirko reaches over and grabs a tissue from the box on the dresser and hands it to her. He says something when she takes it. His tone is gentle and comforting.
“She said she did have twins with Sandor, a boy and a girl. When they were eleven, Sandor came to their home and tied the kids up in the house while she was away at the market, and he lit the house on fire.
“She arrived in time to see his stražar running from the property and the house go up in flames. She tried to get in and save them, but the flames were too high and too thick. Her clothes caught fire and her arms burned. There was nothing she could do to save them or put out the fire, so they burned to death. They’d be in their thirties now if they were still alive.” His voice is sad as he translates.
“Oh my gosh.” I cover my m
outh. How horrible. Sandor’s evil goes far beyond what I ever thought possible. To burn his own kids alive seems like the worst way he could’ve killed them. It’s so cruel.
It’s not lost on me that this also means we won’t have any of Sandor’s melez offspring to bring back as evidence. But I feel so bad for Cila, I can’t find it within me to be sad for myself.
“Does she have any proof Sandor fathered her kids?” Ace asks.
I look at him with my eyebrows stitched together. Insensitive of him, but I can’t be too mad because I know he’s only doing his job. He must realize it is somewhat rude because he asked Mirko in English instead of asking Cila directly in Croatian. It’s Mirko’s call if he thinks we should ask her that.
He waits for Cila to drop her hand with the tissue into her lap before he speaks again.
She replies, and then Mirko translates. “She doesn’t. All she has is her story.”
“Well,” I say, the pieces falling together like a perfect line of dominoes, “if we thought Kresimira would’ve testified about Emerik, we could’ve used that instead of the journal or painting, right? So if Cila will come back with us and testify, that should work too, wouldn’t it?”
Mirko speaks to Cila again.
She shakes her head sharply as she talks.
They go back and forth for a minute before Mirko translates. “She says she doesn’t want to travel, nor does she want to see Sandor again.”
“Please,” I beg her. “This could be your only chance at justice for your kids. It will really help me too, because they want to hurt me. And my family. Things are not good there now with Sandor and his friends. We need you. And the least that would come of your testimony would be that you can tell everyone what Sandor did to your poor babies.”
Her face softens as I speak. I’m not sure if she understands any of my words or just the emotion within them and on my face, but something shifts within her.
Her lip quivers and she tells me something in Croatian.
Mirko translates. “She’s afraid.”
“I know you are. And I am too. But Sandor is a terrible man. He shouldn’t be allowed to have any power over people. He should be punished, or in the least shunned, for what he did to your kids.”
Enemy Within (Vampire Born Trilogy, #2) Page 26
