Hell, maybe we will, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting it.
His chest heaves as I arch into him, and when I think he’s about to break, chaos erupts. Muffled shouts and familiar clipped voices filter in from outside the door, but I don’t react. It’s another police raid. They’ll get their handout, give Dmitry an obligatory slap on the wrist, and be on their way.
Like Niko said, greed will fuck an open wallet every time.
It only takes seconds for the commotion to die down, but that’s all Niko needs. As if pulled from a nightmare, he snaps his head up and pushes me away. My back slams against the wall, and the heat disappears between us as he storms toward the door. I’m so pissed, overwhelmed, and confused by what happened, I blurt out the only thing I can think of to say.
“You paid a thousand dollars for a whole hour. You still have forty-five minutes left.”
“Keep the change,” he growls, unlocking the door. Just before swinging it open, he glances over his shoulder and trails his glazed eyes down my body. “One more thing. I said I didn’t want your pussy. I don’t. Today. But eventually, you’ll give that to me too, pchelka. After all, a promise is a promise.”
The door slams behind him, and I sink to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. I was drifting into the perfect storm before, but Niko hit the throttle and tossed us both right in the middle of the eye.
Niko
That was dumb as shit.
I tear out the back door of Seven ready to rip someone’s head off. Too bad Sergei’s not around. I’d gladly watch his roll across the floor then drop kick it across Biscayne Boulevard.
All I wanted to do was rile her up a little—crank her paranoia level up to eleven and make her question everything. Make her look over her shoulder for once.
Instead, I fucking lost control again, and I’m the one who walked away a mass of confusion—a conflicted machine unprepared on how to handle this rush of feeling.
I haven’t felt in eight years.
I sure as hell don’t want to start now.
“Taxi!” I turn around to see a strawberry blonde woman standing on the corner in a purple latex bodysuit cut so low in the back, I have no idea why it’s even there. She’s frantically waving her small hand, but cars speed by without giving her a second glance.
I walk toward her, stop a few feet away, and clear my throat to get her attention. It works, and she spins around, her thin hair swinging around behind her. I keep my hands by my side where she can see them and tilt my head back toward the club. “I don’t mean to pry, but there are a few of Miami-Dade’s not-so-finest still hanging around. Are you sure the street corner is where you want to be right now?”
“No, but Dmitry was my ride,” she huffs, flinging a wiry arm in front of her. “And who knows where he went.”
“Wish I could say I’m surprised.” But I’m not.
She lowers her wide eyes, scuffing the toe of her wobbly high heel against the curb. “Maybe you could give me one?”
Annoyed, I ask, “One what?”
“A ride.”
“Hard pass.”
“Why?”
“You shouldn’t take rides from strangers.” Especially me, but I’ll leave that part implied.
“Wait, are you Ava’s friend?” There’s a long pause. One I’m not comfortable with. I’ve found long pauses either mean I’m about to get hit with bad news or just fucking hit. Either way, this shit isn’t good. “You are!” she squeals, shattering glass from here to New Orleans. “You’re the orange blossom guy!”
My throat tightens. “The what?”
“Earlier, I saw her with this wilted white flower. I asked her about it, and she had this really funny look on her face. Said it was from someone she lost a long time ago who’d come back for her.”
“She said that, huh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I thought it was so romantic like in the movies. It sounded like destiny or something.”
The ironic thing is that she’s right. Regardless of the twisted and broken road it took to get here, mine and Ava’s paths have always been destined to collide again. Ten, twenty, or fifty years, it never mattered how long it took. Whether we walked in the scorching sun or fell in a blazing fire, I knew we’d eventually burn together.
“So you got all that from a dead flower?”
Her cheeks burn. “I also saw you coming out of room four tonight.” Normally, embarrassment shuts women up, but this one doesn’t seem to have an off switch. “What’s your name?”
I think about it for a moment. I could tell her the truth, but if she repeats it, she’s as good as dead. I could risk using my birth name, but that might do the job twice as fast. So, I settle on a half-lie.
“Nick.”
She smiles. “Well, Nick, I’m Rose. Now we’re not strangers anymore, are we?”
“No, I guess not.”
“And since I’m crashing on Ava’s couch, maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride.”
I’ll pass. Being locked up for that once was enough, thanks.
Her cheeks redden even more as she hugs her arms across her thin body. It’s not cold. It’s Miami for Christ’s sake, but to be fair, she’s wearing a condom held together by dental floss. I honestly don’t give a shit about this girl, but she just provided a vital piece of information I didn’t have until now.
Plus, she rolled out the red carpet. I’d be an idiot not to walk on it.
Taking off my jacket, I drape it over her shoulders. “Here, wear this.”
“Wow, romantic and chivalrous. Ava really is a lucky girl.”
“I’m lucky to have found her again. I can’t tell you how much pain losing her caused me.” I fake a smile, hoping it doesn’t look like I’m baring a set of fangs.
“You two are adorable.” She sighs, working her arms through the sleeves of my jacket.
“Ready?” For a split second, I stare at her and hesitate. All I see are a thin set of gangly legs and an innocent face wrapped in blood-soaked leather. There’s nothing sexual about her. In fact, she reminds me of Ava when I first met her—all knees and elbows. It’s her face that holds my attention. It’s trusting. She’ll buy whatever bullshit I sell her as long as I cap it off with a smile. Sometimes sincerity is the most dangerous weapon.
“You have to surprise her when we get there,” she announces, clapping her hands together in excitement. “She’s going to die!”
Pressing my hand against her lower back, I lead her across the parking lot toward the Audi.
“Rose, you have no idea.”
But unfortunately, you will.
I never leave witnesses.
Ava
Special Agent Ethan Schaeffer is wound tighter than a two-dollar watch with a perpetual hard-on for punctuality. That’s why I have no regrets over banging on his door at one thirty in the morning. Other than suffering a horrific death, I can’t think of an acceptable reason for him to have bailed on me tonight.
It takes less than thirty seconds for him to fling the door open until it bounces off the wall. The clean-cut professional is gone. In his place stands a disheveled mess of a man. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I cautiously step inside, keeping an eye on the still open exit. “And a pleasant evening to you too.”
“Stop deflecting.” He slams the door, taking time to lock it and engage the chain. His broad shoulders tense, and as he slowly turns to face me, whatever pair of gigantic lady balls I mustered instantly deflate under his intimidating stare. We may not like each other very much, but Ethan is the closest thing I have to an ally in this fucked-up game, and his silence is deafening.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about Niko’s threats, but the confession gets stuck in my throat. Niko promised to own my fear. He’s always been a man of few words, so I have no doubt the ones he spoke were lethal.
Plus, being at the mercy of the FBI, I need at least one piece of leverage.
“Where were you?” I counter. �
��I was in room four at midnight waiting on you like you said. You’re the one who never showed.”
“I said room five.”
“No, you said four.”
“Really?” he asks, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. “Is that why I have four hours of footage of middle-aged assholes fucking underage girls in school uniforms?”
Oh God. Oh no.
“I need something on Sergei now, Ava, or the deal is off.”
“I need more time!” I fling my arm wildly, and my purse slips off my shoulder. Pulling it back up, I hold the strap tightly against me, hoping like hell he doesn’t get suspicious. “You want me to get sloppy and raise suspicion?”
“I want you to get me what you promised.” He sounds angry. Honestly, I can’t blame him. I’d be pissed at me too. “Do I have to remind you what’s at stake?” he asks, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Or who.”
I take a step back and clench my purse tighter. “No. I know what I have to do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is he’s too good at covering his tracks.” I take another step back, and Ethan nods toward a set of empty bar chairs across from me. I’m in no mood to socialize, but I need to pick my battles. Begrudgingly, I take a seat beside him. “I don’t have the access you seem to think I do. He doesn’t trust me.”
He leans forward and runs his fingertip along my jawline. “Everyone has a weakness to exploit, Ava.”
It takes everything I have to keep my voice steady. “You’d know all about exploiting weaknesses, wouldn’t you?”
I study Ethan’s face as his brown eyes narrow, and his thin lips purse so tightly they’re almost invisible. He’s not hard to read. The Miami office is the minor league of the FBI, and I’m his golden ticket to the majors in Quantico. Our worlds may be at constant odds, but justice and crime aren’t all that different. At the end of the day, we both kill to protect our own and uphold an oath we’ve sworn to defend.
“Cheap shot. Have you considered that maybe we’re trying to help you? That maybe we’re trying to save you from destroying yourself for that monster? That maybe for your sanity and the safety of the citizens of Florida we were destined to meet?”
I pull away and roll my eyes, surprised he had the nerve to ask me that, but more annoyed he thought I’d believe it. I don’t believe in destiny. Things happen in life for a reason, and that reason is a person with a motive. That doesn’t make me a conspiracy theorist—it makes me smart.
“Ava…”
“You want to help me?” I ask, holding his stare. “Walk away. Forget my name. Pretend you never walked into Seven and blackmailed me into being your stepping stone. You’re playing with fire, but I’m the one who’s going to get burned.”
His eyebrows draw together. “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but my hands are tied in bureaucratic tape.”
Standing slowly, I tug on the end of my T-shirt until it’s stick straight and patch every bleeding wound I just opened. “Fuck your tape.”
I head toward the door when a strong hand grabs my arm from behind and flips me around. Shivers ripple down my body, but I don’t scream. I’m too shocked at being pinned against the closed door.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Raising an eyebrow, I glance down to where his hands are gripping my shoulders. “Are you in any position to be asking me that question?”
Ethan’s gaze follows mine, the fury in his eyes fading as he releases me. Running his hand through his hair, he paces in front of me. “Don’t do something stupid, Ava.”
Stupid? Everything I’m doing is stupid; it’s the equivalent of bathing in blood then wading in shark infested waters. “I can take care of myself. Been doing it my whole life, thank you very much.”
Ethan stops pacing and shakes his head. “That kind of thinking will get you killed.”
I turn away from his unrelenting stare.
“Fine.” Flinging the door wide open, Ethan avoids any further eye contact as he turns his back and walks away from me. “Keep dancing for the devil. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
“Rose, are you here?” My voice echoes throughout the tiny apartment. Dropping my purse on the table, I open it and run my finger along the gun tucked inside. I took a risk having it at Ethan’s tonight. If he got suspicious, he could’ve arrested me.
Or worse.
“Rose?” I call out again. The place is deathly quiet at two o’clock in the morning, which is strange. I know for a fact her shift ended the same time as mine. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but this is innocent, straight off the tallgrass Iowa prairie Rose.
I really shouldn’t care. I learned long ago not to get emotionally attached to the other girls. It only deepens the guilt when they don’t show up for work one day. Or the next. Or the one after that. Eventually, they’re forgotten and never spoken of again. Keeping my distance is the only way to keep my sanity.
However, with her big brown eyes and sob story, Rose stabbed at what was left of my heart until I gave in and let her crash on my couch. Now look at me, stressing out like some big sister worrying that her wholesome younger sibling has wandered off and gotten herself tangled up with the wrong crowd.
I toss my bag on the table and dig my palms into my burning eyes. “You’re on your own, Rose. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I don’t bother turning on the light as I stumble down the hallway toward my bedroom. Just as I reach the doorway, I trip over something on the floor and let out a string of curses as I hit the floor.
This fucking day.
Swinging an arm behind me, I swat the floor in the darkness until my fingers land on whatever lay in my path. I grab what feels like a strap and drag it toward me. It’s canvas, with a zipper and a pouch. That sick feeling sinks in the pit of my stomach again.
Something’s very wrong.
Holding it against me, I scramble to my feet and run my hands along the wall until I find the light switch. Brightness floods the room and my suspicions are confirmed.
It’s hers.
“Rose?” I sweep a glance around the room, and the minute my eyes land on her limp body, I don’t know whether to sink to the floor in relief or swing her bag and beat the shit out of her.
Seven’s newest ingenue is passed out drunk on my bed, one leg hanging off the side, her long hair covering half her face, and an open bottle of wine on my nightstand.
My wine.
“Rose!” I yell, trying to wake her ass up. She doesn’t budge, sleeping as still as the dead. Stomping over to the closet, I jerk a blanket off the top shelf and fling it on top of her. “No offense, but I hope you have one hell of a hangover in the morning.” Retrieving a second blanket and a pillow, I shift them under one arm and grab the wine bottle. “You won’t be needing this.”
Closing the bedroom door, I make my way back to living room. The clock on the cable box flashes 2:17 a.m., and I realize why I’ve been on edge all night.
It’s officially Saturday.
My father is home from Texas, which means I’ll have one more day before I have to look him in the face. One more day to find whatever the hell it is Ethan needs me to find. Saturday is always “game night” at his compound in Sunny Isles, so, fortunately, I never see him until sometime on Sunday.
Of course, game night for Sergei Chernov doesn’t involve chips and cards as much as it does chains and whips, and the players don’t walk away with their winnings at the end of the night. They don’t walk away at all.
I shudder and make my way to the shitty beige second-hand couch, that I both love and detest. It’s ugly as hell, but I bought it myself. One of the only things that don’t belong to him.
At first, my father put his foot down, demanding I live at the compound like all his other possessions, but after almost a week of refusing to shower, he finally caved. I literally became a dirty whore, affecting his bottom line. It’s the one victory I’ve ever gai
ned over the man.
Of course, I’m not sure how much of a victory I’d call low-rent housing with bare minimum furnishings and surveillance cameras feeding into his guard dog’s monitors. But I don’t dare ask for more. Being out of that house is enough.
I love my little sanctuary. It reminds me of the attic where I spent most of my childhood. After my mother died, it became my only place of refuge. The one place I’d run to escape the parade of evil and other horrors hiding in the shadows. The faces burned into my memory. The fear that lingered long after the screams in the basement stopped.
The night those screams belonged to me.
Stripping off my jeans and bra, I push the memories away and settle onto the couch with my blanket and a Friends rerun. Too wound up to sleep, I dive into the wine, and before I know it, I’ve plowed through the rest of the bottle in less than an hour. I tell myself it’s Ethan who drove me to drink, but if I’m honest with myself, I know what triggered me.
Or who.
Niko’s presence complicates an already impossible situation. I told Ethan I could take care of myself, but I’m not so sure. We’re all playing a very dangerous game, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m in over my head. I can handle Ethan alone, but this darkened version of Niko brings me to my knees in an unholy trinity of fear, insanity, and lust.
“Fuck ’em.” I shift on the couch, and the heavy wine bottle clatters to the floor. I don’t bother picking it up because rolling toward the edge of the couch cushion seems too much like teetering on the ledge to hell.
The dark, cold hell three floors down wrapped in plastic and secrets.
As my eyes become heavy, I drag myself from a distant haunting memory into a fresh one that shakes me to my core.
“One more thing. I said I didn’t want your pussy. I don’t. Today. But eventually, you’ll give that to me too, pchelka. After all, a promise is a promise.”
Darkest Deeds: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 6
