Bearing His Sins

by Eve Langlais

  “Shoot him,” stated the man whom she’d refused to see since he started contacting her months ago.

  “Don’t you dare harm a single hair on his head,” she threatened, narrowing her gaze.

  “This common ruffian is not a proper consort for a princess.”

  “I’m a farmer.”

  “Only because you refuse to take your rightful place here.” The patriarch of the Tygrov family, a family that had abandoned her, glared at her from under bushy white brows. Not much of a change from pictures she’d seen of him when he was younger. The males in the Tygrov line tended toward platinum locks. She knew this from all her online stalking. What they didn’t mention was how hard it would be to contain her curiosity now that she was face-to-face with her grandfather.

  “Maybe I would have taken my rightful place if your son hadn’t dumped my mother.”

  “He didn’t have a choice. Your father was betrothed to another and chose to honor that promise out of respect for our family name. But had he known of your existence, we would have taken steps.”

  “To what? Kill me?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then what would you have done?” Her lip curled. “Torn me from my mother? Ripped me from my grandmother?”

  “You are a Tygrov. You belong with us.”

  “That will never happen. As far as I am concerned, my grandmother is my only family.”

  “She can’t protect you.”

  “I can.” Cole finally tossed in his two cents. It earned him a dual stare. “What? I am just saying I can.”

  “Says the man taken unawares.” Her grandfather sneered.

  “Is that what you think?” Cole’s lips pulled into a smile, and he appeared utterly at ease. “Sometimes the spider has to leave the web wide open to trap a fly.”

  “And sometimes a lighter sets the strands on fire and they all die.” Two sets of eyes turned on Anja. She shrugged. “I can’t stand spiders, and my grandmother won’t waste money on bug spray.”

  “Your grandmother is a meddlesome hag,” grumbled her grandfather. No, he’d not earned that title. He was nobody.

  “You’re a kidnapper.”

  “It’s not the worst thing I’ve done in my life. Not even close.” The old man couldn’t help a note of pride.

  “The worst I ever did involved cheese, a goat, and some pictures. There is still a bounty on my head in Utah because of that stunt. Speaking of stunts, you never did say where you were taking us.”

  “I am taking my granddaughter home.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “My home is an ocean away.”

  “Only because you were stolen from me. Now be quiet while I speak to the assassin.”

  “Why? Are you going to try and hire him to kill me? Afraid to get your hands dirty?”

  “I don’t kill family,” growled the senior Tygrov.

  “No, you just cast them off when they don’t mesh with your plans.”

  “For the last time, it’s not my fault your father chose to abandon your mother.”

  “Did you threaten to cut him off from the money tit?” Cole fixed the old man with a stare. “Did Daddy Dear tell the little teat sucker to dump the peasant girl?”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

  “And he obviously never loved my mother enough to find out what happened to her.” Anja’s stark observation sat in the air and killed all conversation.

  It lasted a fair moment. It resumed eventually with Cole baiting the older man and tossing out impossible antics. If Anja had been less annoyed, she might have enjoyed it more. As it was, the closer the car drew to the airport and the next flight out, the more she tensed.

  Why was she nervous? It made no sense. She’d known she’d have to confront the Tygrovs at one point. She couldn’t move forward unless she dealt with her family name. Perhaps she could ditch it. Have herself disowned.

  Maybe I can finally have a future. One that didn’t involve hiding—both herself and bodies.

  The attempts to see the positive didn’t ease the tension. Neither did the private jet with its luxurious interior. Although her stomach did stop grumbling, as her grandfather had a meal served as soon as the plane left the ground.

  “My babulya’s is better,” she confided to Cole as she took a bite of the lox provided with the cold cuts.

  “Don’t speak of that old crone,” her grandfather grumbled. “It’s her fault I didn’t know about you for so long.”

  “No, it’s your fault for being a stuck-up ass who wouldn’t let my mom and dad marry.”

  “And apparently you’ve not learned your lesson.” Cole speared a piece of meat and observed it. “Anja tells me she’s supposed to marry some Russian dude she’s never met. Your doing, I assume?”

  “Not entirely. When my son died, without a known heir, it was assumed my brother’s son would succeed me. That changed the day I found out about Anja.”

  “And it’s my fault you found me.” She grimaced. “Turns out my babushka had us well hidden. I messed that up when I decided to go on a school trip to London. Babushka said I couldn’t go. I did anyway, except, while they let me into London easily, getting back to U.S. soil proved more difficult. The person I bought the forgery from was using stolen identification. I got pinged and detained.”

  “Not detained for long.” Spoken with a harrumph from Tygrov. “By the time my men arrived, you’d vanished again.”

  “My babulya pulled some strings. She pulled some for years while reinforcing our home. She told me it was for the day the dead rose. I think she meant you, though.”

  “She is a meddlesome old woman who did a finer job than I would have expected keeping you hidden. And yet you left the safety of your home with her to come back here.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t safe anymore.” Not for her babushka, who might deny it but who was getting older. Her grandmother deserved some peaceful years.

  Her grandfather leaned forward, and Cole finally showed a dark hint of the assassin. “Come no closer.” So softly spoken, yet the threat of it hung in the air.

  “You will not threaten me.”

  “I don’t threaten. I promise.”

  She placed a hand on Cole’s arm. “I’m not afraid of him. Let him speak.”

  “When I announced you as my heir to the clan, I never thought things would escalate.”

  “Escalate seems a little mild for guys parachuting out of helicopters and blowing up my door. They even attacked us in an airport. I could have been killed.”

  “But killing you makes no sense.” Her grandfather frowned as he leaned back in his seat. “Why shoot the main heir to my fortune? It gains my enemies nothing.”

  “Thanks for your concern.”

  Tygrov’s brows beetled. “Don’t fish for false reassurances and platitudes. It’s unbecoming of a princess. And, keep in mind, your very existence is your safety. In order to gain access to my riches, they must marry you.”

  “Do they need her alive?”

  “It tends to work better that way,” was her sarcastic retort.

  “But what if they decided it didn’t?” Cole prodded. “What if, say, this Sergei fellow decided to kill you and keep you on ice while his goons drum up some stuff to make it look as if you were married. Pluck a few hairs and leave them on pillowcases. Rub some DNA on the toothbrush just in case the cops went looking.”

  “You are talking about extreme lengths,” she retorted.

  “People will do almost anything to get their hands on the kind of money your granddaddy over there”—he jerked a thumb—“has amassed. Killing a woman who won’t cooperate and then forging shit is nothing to these guys. Staking a claim works best if Sergei or whoever can build a chain of evidence, which includes planting DNA in the obvious places. Show a few doctored images. Hell, if he’s really good, he’ll even have a sex tape.”

  “I would never have sex with him.”

  “You won’t be able to admit that if you’re d
ead.” He leaned close to murmur, “And if you do have sex with Sergei, or anyone, for that matter, I will kill them. I don’t share.”

  The possessive heat in his eyes shot warmth to the very heart of her.

  So, of course, the old man just had to ruin it for her. Just like he’d ruined her life. “Ahem.”

  She aimed a hot glare at him.

  He didn’t turn into a pile of ash.

  Pity.

  Her grandfather cleared his throat again. “While your theory is sound, there is one major point you didn’t take into consideration. Even if I die, no husband of hers would inherit my fortune. The assets amassed over the decades are tightly bound to the original family. The fortune, the companies, everything can be passed on only to a direct descendent. A spouse doesn’t count. If she should die, without progeny, the riches revert to the next in line.”

  “So who’s next in line?” Cole asked. “The son of your brother that you mentioned before?”

  “Not quite. He had an unfortunate incident. My other brother’s daughter’s son—”

  “Sounds like the start to a hillbilly skit,” she muttered.

  “—is next. But he is an imbecile, by choice, I might add, because of alcohol. Given his addiction issues, I’ve left strict orders to kill him before anyone lets him take over.”

  “What if they don’t?” she challenged.

  “Don’t talk me into killing him early. My brother would be most displeased with me.”

  “Why can’t you just rewrite the way the family fortune is set up? Create a trust for direct descendants so that all of them can share? Share.” Cole snickered as he repeated the word. “What am I saying? Greed is the number one reason for bad mistakes. Like the first time you covet that freshly baked pie and you know if you take the whole thing, it’s going to taste so good.” He rolled his eyes heavenward and moaned as he sucked his finger. He sat up straight. “But if you take it, you’ll get into so much trouble. The people I lived with didn’t spare the rod. Do you know how many times I asked myself, as I stared at that still steaming fruit pie, is it worth the price?

  For some reason she wanted to know, were danger and possible pain worth the price of pleasure? “And?”

  “I took the pie every single time. And I’ll tell you, it was the best damned pie.”

  Except stealing pie only ever got him beaten. Being with her could put him six feet under.

  CHAPTER 11

  The flight to Arkhangelsk didn’t take long, and in a few hours, they were driving into the city, the weight of its age visible in the layout and the structures themselves. In other words, old, and also the seat of power for the Tygrov family.

  “You are entering the city of the archangels,” Matvei claimed. “In times past, we used to have the most beautiful churches. Including a fantastic basilica.”

  “What happened to them?” Anja asked, peeking at the passing scenery.

  “What happens to all things that people don’t understand or tolerate: destruction. During Stalin’s reign, he ensured the removal of most of them.”

  “The churches were destroyed. However, he did leave the city intact. He had to, as it serves as a major Russian seaport and has for centuries.” Cole had done his homework once he knew their destination. This would be a first for him. He’d avoided Arkhangelsk in the past. Most shifters without invitation did. Some places even bears did not trespass. Until now.

  And the old man hasn’t killed me for it yet. It made him wary. What game did Tygrov play?

  A disarming one, apparently, as Matvei, with a nod of acknowledgment, complimented him. “The boy knows his history.”

  As if he needed the old man’s approval. Okay, so he did kind of enjoy it. It also roused his suspicion, and he waited for the knife to come out of hiding. Or the drug to hit. Something. What he knew of the Tygrov patriarch didn’t have him affable, and yet the old man sat calmly across from him.

  “In my line of work, it’s best to be prepared. I know history. Cultures. Languages. I’m very good at French.” He didn’t look at Anja but felt her stiffen beside him. About time she was rigid instead of him. His cock knew to behave at the moment. Somehow he didn’t think an erection in front of her grandfather would pass muster, and he preferred not to be neutered.

  “More clichés, assassin,” she murmured softly.

  “It’s not cliché if it makes me good at my job and, even better, keeps me alive. Killing isn’t just about the fun parts where you see your target’s eyes go wide as he reaches for a gun a moment before you pounce him and show him why he shouldn’t fuck with you. You have to be smart if you don’t want someone to shoot your fat ass so they can stuff and mount it. I might have started out small and petty, but a few close calls told me I needed to educate myself. Not just with books and articles, but with people and actual experience. I’ve traveled to every continent. I’ve visited so many places that my air miles get air miles.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing more of the world.” She loved the farm, but sometimes an escape was needed.

  “You should go with someone who can show you the best places to eat and play.” Not exactly a subtle hint. Then again, he wasn’t a man for subtlety.

  “And do you mix work with play?” she queried.

  “Sometimes.”

  “You should always combine the two,” Matvei advised. “Then your accountant can write it off as an expense.”

  More friendly advice? Cole eyed Tygrov, yet it was Anja who spoke. “You called Cole an assassin earlier. You’ve heard of him?”

  “Indeed, your killer has quite the name for himself. One that claims he always gets the job done. Except for recently. I hear he missed his last target.”

  “Not exactly. I had Fabian Garoux in my sights.” Cole raised his hand and aimed it gun-style at Matvei. “However, the one putting out the hit became unable to provide payment. I wouldn’t want to get a reputation I work for free.”

  She arched a brow. “You don’t always kill for payment. You’ve been claiming you’re going to kill me since we met, and yet no one’s offering to pay you.”

  Actually, he would never kill her, but Cole wasn’t about to admit that in front of the old man. “Killing to protect myself is allowed without payment, but in your case, I’ve decided to hold off. For now.”

  “And how long is for now?”

  Forever? Probably too soon to admit. “I probably won’t end your existence today or tomorrow.”

  “What about the weekend?”

  Her insistence on a time frame made his lips twitch. “I’ll reevaluate.”

  Hers quirked right back. “If I don’t kill you first.”

  “Ahem.” This time the old man received an annoyed look from both of them, but his interruption served to stifle further conversation.

  In silence they weaved through the streets of the town. Daylight had long since faded, and only the yellow glow of streetlamps and windows shuttered by blinds or curtains served to illuminate their path.

  A part of Cole expected they would head to the marina, because surely a family as rich and prestigious as the Tygrovs would live on one of the islands dotting the bay. Yet, instead, they went past the city, past the edges of civilization, following a road that twined and wound around a forested mountain. When they emerged at the top, the headlights illuminated the oddest structure, precariously balanced, a series of additions, layered around and on each other haphazardly. The uppermost part rose like a spire.

  “Was the architect related to Picasso?” because tall and seemingly created of wood, the planks not entirely straight, the entire home appeared slightly off-kilter, as if the slightest push would send it toppling like a domino.

  “It is a replica of the famous Sutyagin House, the tallest wooden house in Russia, with thirteen stories, or at least the tallest home until they tore it down for being unsafe.”

  “And you felt a need to recreate it?” Cole cocked his head, unable to deny the appeal of the precariously balanced structure. “I have
to admit to house envy. It is unique. I could see why someone would want to inherit. Maybe I should kill you.”

  “Even if Anja is my most direct heir, you still wouldn’t get your hands on it.”

  “I would have my hands on her.” He waggled his fingers and smiled. It earned him a jab to the ribs. He glanced over and noted Anja bit her lip, trying not to laugh. So he winked, and she snickered.

  “You speak rather possessively about the girl. Is it your intention to marry my granddaughter?” Matvei fixed Cole with a calculating stare.

  Anja leaned forward. “If you say, ‘I forbid it,’ I will declare him my husband so fast your head will explode.” She eyed her grandfather. “Actually, on second thought, say it. I want to see what happens. Maybe if I’m lucky, you’ll keel over at the thought of an assassin as your grandson-in-law.”

  “He’s more likely to keel at the thought of my white ass pumping as I do debauched things to your body.” That was a touch crass even for him but totally worth the ruddy color in Tygrov’s face.

  “He’s an ignorant killer.”

  “And you’re a pompous jerk,” was her retort.

  “He’s a bear.”

  Anja recoiled. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I am a tiger.”

  “So where’s the lion?” she retorted. “Isn’t that how the rhyme goes?”

  “This is no joke. Marrying him would cause no end of problems. Tigers and bears do not get along.”

  Her chin tilted. “Good thing I’m not a tiger. And, even more to the point, I don’t take orders from you. I’ll do whatever I damned well please whether you like it or not.”

  The old guy’s lips pulled into a flat line. “Rebelling against me is a futile waste of time.”

  “Says the guy handing out rules like candy. Don’t you know they teach us at a young age to never take the candy. And the second lesson is don’t ever follow me home in a white van. It makes Babushka really mad. But I wish she’d at least kept the candy instead of dumping it with the truck.”

  “Once we inherit this house, she should come live with us.” And, yes, Cole spoke as if it were a done deal. Not really. A part of him hyperventilated. The thought of tying himself to one stupendous woman terrified him more than death.