by RC Boldt
It’s not okay to be needy. Certainly not around her. For her.
The wine’s effect has caught up to her. This is evident by the faint slur in her words. “I had no right. Because we both know I’m—”
My movement is so swift that I catch her by surprise. Her wine sloshes, a bit trickling over the glass’s edge.
My fingers cinch her wrist, and I’m probably staring at her like I’m some crazed addict. But the urgency to stop her from finishing that sentence is more potent than any damn illicit drug could possibly be.
I didn’t think—I just acted—which goes against every goddamn rule in my book.
“Because we both know I’m—” I cut her off before she could finish that sentiment with what I’m sure was either “your patient” or “a stranger.”
It doesn’t matter which one she’d been about to insert there. All I know is I can’t bear for her to denigrate what she is to me.
She’s nothing to you. I clench my teeth so hard my molars ache and tell that inner voice to fuck off.
When startled blue eyes lock with mine, the words escape my lips before I realize it. “Dance with me.”
What. The. Fuck? Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing? I can’t—
“Okay.” Her smile—gradual and so goddamn beautiful—acts like invisible fists clenching my lungs. She sets her wineglass down and reaches for my outstretched hand.
My damn body is betraying my mind. I know better than to do this, but I’m powerless to stop reaching for her. Powerless not to tug her close as The Delfonics’ “La-La Means I Love You” starts playing.
And she fits. This woman fits perfectly in my arms like she’s meant to be here.
But she’s not. Goddamn it all, I know this, but I can’t stop drawing her closer. Her lean body moves with mine in perfect time as we sway.
With one petite hand enfolded in mine and my other hand at her hip, I duck my head slightly and close my eyes. Allowing myself to just…be with her in this moment.
A moment I never foresaw happening. Never thought it was even remotely possible.
Why? I internally curse the damn universe. Why the fuck did this have to happen to me?
When the song ends, I release her and ease away. The sense of loss is so tangible my fingers automatically curl tight in a useless attempt to hold on to the warmth she possesses so naturally.
“I should call it a night.”
She forces a smile, but it’s not nearly as bright as when I asked her to dance. Christ. The evidence that she’s disappointed at not having more time with me gives me the sensation of someone hacking away at my chest with a pickax.
“I should try to get some sleep. Thanks for this”—she raises her glass—“and tonight.” Then she turns and slips through the sliding screen door, closing it quietly behind her.
Silence so thick it threatens to smother me, I’m left with her previous words still playing in my head. “Because we both know I’m—”
Regardless of how fucking stupid it is—and knowing I have no business entertaining the idea—my mind twists her words around and I imagine her finishing it far differently.
In a way I shouldn’t want as badly as I do.
“Because we both know I’m yours.”
Chapter 33
Sergei Vinogradov
Leader of the Bolsevska Bratva
“It’s been too fucking long.” I spit the words out angrily as I pace in front of my large desk.
My desk—not my father’s. Mine is bigger and more expensive than his ever was. Humble doesn’t suit a leader in this position. A true leader shows it in everything he does. How he rules. How he punishes.
How he deals with bastards who try to challenge his say.
“No one dares to disrespect me like this and gets away with it.” I level a hard stare at my second-in-command. My most trusted.
Bugrov simply stands with his hands clasped in front of him and awaits my command. This man understands how it all works.
“You take one of our best there with you.” My hand cuts through the air. “Finish it.”
“With all due respect, sir…” Bugrov hesitates, and doubt crosses his face. “It is The Boogeyman.” I know what he’s implying, but I don’t fucking care.
My temper snaps. “He poses no threat to me or anyone else any longer.” Fury ripples through my veins. “It’s his insubordination that pisses me off, and that cannot stand.”
“Yes, sir.” Bugrov’s response comes quick and with an affirmative nod. “I’ll command the men.”
I turn, and he takes that as his dismissal, exiting my office quietly.
As I stare out the window at the expansive lawn before me, my thoughts shift in a more positive direction. Death will be doled out accordingly, and that assists me in moving further toward my goal.
A slow, satisfied smile forms on my lips as I think of what’s to come.
I will rule with more authority and strength—like my father never did.
No one will ever dare cross the Vinogradov family again.
Not only that, but no one will ever dare to escape our Bratva and live to tell about it.
I’ll clean up my father’s mess once and for all.
Chapter 34
ALEXANDRA
Neither of us brings up what I now refer to as “the wine night.”
And it’s fine because I clearly overstepped. The last thing I want is to become a nuisance to the man I’m not only indebted to but admire deeply.
It’s now been over a week, and I’m grateful that any lingering awkwardness has subsided. But I won’t lie to myself and claim that I don’t wish he’d come home one night and ask me to sit with him on the deck again.
A part of me resents that he did that—that he gave me a glimpse of another side of him—because it’s only made me crave more.
“I’m heading out.” Liam’s voice cuts in, dragging my focus from my inner thoughts as I wash dishes.
The simple routine we’ve settled into over the past eight weeks feels so natural—as if we’ve done this before.
I tip my head to the side. “More house calls?”
He nods. “I need to check on Martina, Iselda, and Joseph.” Those are his more elderly patients who have trouble getting around.
Martina lost her foot after a venomous snake bite didn’t get treated in time, while Iselda suffers immobility from rheumatoid arthritis. Joseph took a fall a while ago, and his hip hasn’t been the same since, making walking difficult.
I place the rinsed plate in the dish drainer and wipe my hands on the small towel. “Do you need me to do anything while you’re gone?”
“No, it shouldn’t take too long.”
With a glance around the house, I offer, “If there’s something else you need done, just let me know.” A person can only do so much physical therapy. Although I feel stronger and more capable, an antsy sensation plagues me, growing more incessant by the day.
Liam slings the long strap of his bag over his shoulder, the fabric of his short-sleeve shirt straining over his biceps. His features crease with concentration. “You could help me organize the supply cabinets in the patient rooms, if you like.”
“I can do that.” I know my eyes probably shine like a kid’s at Christmas, but I don’t care. As long as I get to feel useful. “Whatever might help.”
“Okay.” His eyes regard me for a beat before he slides the key to the locked supply cabinets off the key ring and offers it to me. I swear I detect a trace of suspicion flicker in his gaze, but it’s gone in a blink.
Accepting the key from him, I mash my lips together to stifle my sharp intake of breath when our fingers lightly brush. The tingling sensation that ripples through me at the simple contact is one I attribute to being starved for touch that isn’t given in a professional manner.
That’s all it is, I’m sure.
What I think is longing flares in his gaze before he abruptly snaps into doctor mode. “I’ll see you later.”
My throat grows tight with the yearning for him to continue looking at me like he had a moment ago. For that tender quality in his features to remain, but only for me.
Abruptly, I return my focus to the remainder of the dishes I have left to wash. “See you later.”
The screen door creaks in protest as Liam steps outside, while the inner front door remains propped open. It’s only when he returns home at the end of each day that he secures both doors for the night.
As soon as the screen door falls closed behind him, a strange foreboding washes over me. It’s as though the universe is trying to tell me something. Trying to warn me to be careful while Liam’s away.
But of what, I’m not sure.
My answer comes a few hours later as I’m finishing up the task Liam gave me. The knock sounds at the door, and I freeze as I reach for the last of the finger splints to place them in their assigned spot.
Body tensing with nerves, I warily venture from the patient room toward the front door.
Hovering at the threshold of the room, I drop my gaze to the shadow cast on the floor. A man. Tall. Slim. Not a local because locals would knock and call out a greeting to Liam.
Swallowing past the hard lump in my throat, I step from the room and approach the door.
Sunglasses cover the man’s eyes, but I sense him watching me venture closer. His appraisal isn’t one of sexual interest but something different. I get the impression he’s gauging me somehow.
He’s dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a button-down shirt, his hands casually tucked in his pockets. On his feet are sturdy-looking boots, yet they don’t appear well-worn. They’re brand new, his clothing appearing similarly.
He’s out of place here, but then again, Liam has mentioned how certain individuals venture near here searching for something—anything from a complete life change to a spiritual awakening.
Pasting a smile on my face, I draw to a stop at the door, and he returns my smile before speaking in Spanish.
“Hello, ma’am. Is Dr. King available?”
“I’m afraid he’s doing house calls at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?”
He cocks his head to the side and slowly slides off his sunglasses, baring the palest blue eyes. They assess me in a way that leaves me feeling as though I’m not privy to some key information.
I stiffen in response, my polite smile turning brittle at the edges.
“Are you…Mrs. King?”
“No, sir.” I pause before carefully posing the question, my Spanish fluent and smooth. “Do you need to see the doctor?”
He studies me for a moment, then nods before asking slowly, this time in English, “No. I was just passing through and have heard so many speak of the famed Dr. King that I wanted to meet the man himself.”
A prickle of unease tiptoes along my spine at the sinister thread in his words before I revert to English as well. “I’m sure if you stop back another time, you’ll be able to meet him.” My gut screams at me to remain cautious around this man.
His gaze rests on me for a lengthy moment before a hint of a smirk graces his lips. Something flickers in the back of my mind, telling me it’s familiar, but I can’t place it. “Perhaps I will.”
Then he raises his sunglasses to put them on but abruptly stops. He tips his head to the side, pure arrogance bleeding from his tone as he murmurs, “Ты меня совсем не знаешь, да?”
I stare back at him blankly before furrowing my brows in confusion. He chuckles darkly in response and gives a dismissive wave of his hand before turning and walking away.
I move from the doorway to the front window, nudging the curtain aside the barest fraction to watch the man retreat. My stomach churns, my heart lurching violently with every beat, and it isn’t solely because the interaction with the man was unsettling.
It’s because he was right. I don’t know him.
But I do know what he said in Russian.
You have no idea who I am, do you?
Chapter 35
LIAM
Another message arrived yesterday.
Perhaps you’ve been retired for so long that you don’t realize courtesies have an expiration.
The tone of this one has had me on edge, and it fucking pisses me off. I’ve never felt like this—never allowed anyone to make me feel this way. But it’s my own goddamn fault.
I put myself in this situation. I have no one else to blame. And now I need to prepare for the shitstorm that’s about to take place.
I’ve never had issues before with follow-through. It’s how I’ve made it as far as I have.
But the truth is, the whispers that one can never truly escape that kind of life are valid. And now, out of the two hells I dragged myself away from years ago, one of them has sucked me back in.
With my own goddamn help, no less.
I stop my vehicle at the secluded entrance leading to my steep, rocky driveway, and my hand goes for the gun mount beneath my seat. Wrapping my fingers around the grip, I withdraw it slowly, casually. Once I slide the safety off, I rest it on my knee and offer a casual glance around.
Something’s off. I sense it.
Slowly pressing my foot on the gas pedal, I ease the vehicle up the drive a few more yards before drawing to a stop.
This is when I see the proof.
The quick but harsh rain that fell only minutes ago softened the earth, granting molds of tracks of wildlife. And tracks of non-wildlife. Specifically, boot prints from a man, approximately size eleven. Narrow. New tread. Someone who’s not familiar with this sort of terrain or area.
This certainly isn’t from one of my patients. None of those who venture up here trek through the heavy brush of jungle. Not when they can either drive or walk up the driveway to see me.
With my windows down, the hum of my engine can’t overpower the sound of the wildlife. Cicadas and the variety of birds communicating in their usual ways indicate that the individual has come and gone, so I carefully flick the safety back on and place the gun back in its mount beneath my seat.
But there’s also an indication of where he exited from part of the jungle to get to the driveway. Tree limbs and branches are bent at odd angles while large palm fronds hang listlessly. Bastard didn’t even take enough care to ensure this area was left undisturbed.
It leads me to believe this is either someone new who has shit for brains or someone who’s forgotten how to be stealthy after spending too much time giving orders.
Regardless of who was lurking, casing my property, it means I don’t have much time left.
And the war will soon be delivered to my doorstep.
But this motherfucker likely overlooked some key points. They don’t know this place like I do. They can’t navigate it easily and without a trace. They haven’t made a plan for the moment shit hits the fan.
I’d made that plan assuming I’d be solo.
My fingers curl into tight fists at the idea of leaving Alex to fend for herself while her memory still evades her.
I hadn’t planned for a plus-one, and I certainly hadn’t planned for her.
It seems that all my plans thus far need to be revised.
Sixteen Years Old
We’re in the Philippines now, and I’m taking private lessons from a Pekiti-Tirsia Kali instructor. PTK is a combat-oriented martial art, and I really enjoy it.
I’ve never been super athletic and always gravitated to running because it’s more of a solo activity, but PTK is something I feel like I could be pretty competent at eventually.
Even though it focuses on using sharp weapons like knives, it’s about being able to think on your feet and improvise when needed. Papa helps me practice most days after I’ve finished my schoolwork.
I wish I had known PTK when I was younger. Maybe I could’ve saved people that day. Especially my mom.
Anyway, my instructor said I’m advancing faster than his usual students. Papa was very proud to hear this, and he even pulled me in for a h
ug first for it.
It might sound weird, but I love his hugs even more when he takes the initiative and hugs me first. Sometimes, I get the feeling he’s almost timid about it, like he expects me to refuse his hugs.
Maybe he thinks I’ll be like the bratty teenagers I overheard at the outdoor market one day. I’d never be like that to him, though. Not to the man who’s taught me so much and shown me so much of the world.
I think his talk with Keido changed Papa’s mind about some things because he said we’re going to find a place to settle and stop moving around for a while.
He said we can get a ton of land that’s isolated from anyone else and build on it and even have a greenhouse. I’ve always wanted to have one, so Papa’s making another wish of mine come true.
I have the best papa ever. I hope that someday I’ll be as smart and kind as him.
Chapter 36
ALEXANDRA
The following day
It rained in the early hours of the morning, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air. Now, as I look at the bright blue sky free of any clouds, it’s as though the rain never happened.
Outside on the deck, accompanied by the soothing sound of the crashing ocean waves, I soak in the peacefulness surrounding me. It does ease my nerves considerably, but a sense of foreboding still lingers after my encounter with the man yesterday.
I wrestled with whether to tell Liam about it, but he had seemed aloof and distracted once he returned from his home visits. My decision not to mention it was more to avoid being an increasing burden to him. That and I had nothing to really go on. Nothing I could explain.
