Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC

by Claire St. Rose

  Maybe that was Boris’s calm, bleeding over to her. Maybe it was the unshakable faith that had blossomed when it came to him. Because after all of this, he was the only one she did trust anymore. He was the only one who knew how to navigate all the tricky paths and defend them against the unknown attacks. Boris was her protector. And her savior.

  The highway grew clogged the closer they got to the city. By dusk, they were winding through an unfamiliar neighborhood, probably far from the well-manicured cobblestone streets and wrought iron balconies of the touristic neighborhoods. Here the homes were tightly packed, boasting a long-gone elegance. Shrubs and trees weren’t maintained with the same precision, but yet it was still breathtaking. A new side of Dubrovnik; even more off the beaten path.

  Filitov finally pulled into a narrow drive, stopping at a black gate. A moment later it swung open and he pulled inside, shutting the car of in front of a squat stone building. Shrubs and wild grass lined the short driveway. To her right, a tall, narrow house loomed, completely dark.

  “We’re here,” Filitov said, pushing open the driver’s side door. He came around back to help Slava out. Boris opened her door and offered a hand.

  She took it, smiling up at him. “Well looky here. A surprise evening in Dubrovnik.”

  “What can I say? I’m a romantic.” His dimpled grin tore her heart in two.

  “You better have something good planned before I head back home,” she murmured, smoothing her hands over his chest.

  “This hasn’t been enough? A getaway, nursing an FSB hitman, and now this?” He gestured around them. “I’m shocked you want anything more.”

  She giggled, burying her face in his chest. “I think all I want now is some food. That’ll suffice.”

  “I can make that happen,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go inside.”

  Filitov and Slava shuffled toward a small side door. Claudia and Boris followed, entering a dark hallway of the house. Boris led the way, following the sound of Filitov’s voice as they ventured deeper. A glow of light shone at the end of the hallway. When they turned the corner, they found a brightly lit kitchen, unknown faces greeting her.

  “Whoa,” Claudia said, squinting at the brightness. Four strange men filled the kitchen—cooking, based on the smells. Something with oregano, and onion. “This place looked totally abandoned from outside.”

  “We make it that way,” Filitov said, helping Slava sit in a chair at a round dinner table. One of the guys hovered over Slava, moving the rag, inspecting the wound. “This is a safe house, so it’s best to be inconspicuous.”

  “So no parties,” Boris cracked.

  Claudia’s stomach growled at the smells. “Can I taste whatever is cooking?”

  “In a minute,” a heavy Croatian accent interjected. One of the burlier guys, standing over the stove, cast a stern look in her direction. “It’s not ready.”

  “We’ll wait out here,” Boris said, pushing her through a doorway into a living room. It was sparse and functional—not a single painting on the walls, but overstuffed couches lined the walls. He sat gently on the couch, pulling her next to him.

  “I’m afraid to touch you,” she murmured, smoothing her hand over his arm. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

  “It’s your last chance to touch me,” he said, leaning back, dragging his fingertips through her hair. “So you better do it, even if it hurts. I command it.”

  She cracked a grin but it faded fast. “You won’t come back with me?”

  His dark eyes clouded over. A knot appeared in her gut. “I can’t.”

  “Not even to hand me over, receive the accolades of my father?” She meant it as a joke, but then the truth of the situation crashed over her. Worst idea ever—lead him directly to his target. Furthermore, it reiterated the sad blockade between them. Like you could ever be with him. Like he could ever meet your dad, or hang out for a barbecue someday.

  “Don’t answer that,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t see you in the US at all. If I do, it means you’ve come to finish your mission.”

  “You won’t see me in the US,” Boris said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Will you finish your mission?”

  “That’s being worked out.” He cleared his throat, sitting up a little. “Trust me.”

  Something in his gaze calmed her, despite the worries echoing in her skull. “I do trust you. Where will you go from here?”

  He shrugged, his gaze skating over her face, down her neck. “I’m not sure yet. I have some things to figure out.”

  “Like what?”

  He cracked a grin. “Like how I’m gonna survive without those lap dances you give.”

  She swatted at his arm, feeling heat creep into her neck. “Don’t say that.” Her heart twisted. “It makes it sound like I’ll never see you again.”

  The smile fell from his face, his gaze turning cloudy. “But this has to be it.”

  She swallowed a knot in her throat. He was right—they both knew it. Acting like there was some semblance of chance between them wasn’t only stupid, it was dangerous.

  Tears pricked her eyes and she lied down on the couch, putting her head in his lap. “Well if this is the last night, just let me rest here. So I don’t forget what you feel like.”

  A small sigh escaped him. “I could never forget what you feel like, Claudia.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll remember it until the day I die.”

  She rolled onto her back, looking up at him, the tender honesty of his words burrowing all the way to the deepest part of her heart.

  No matter how little sense it made, she wanted Boris to be hers. For now, for later, and forever.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Boris rolled down the backseat window, needing a gust of fresh air. Something to cool his nerves; to placate the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm his stomach.

  He’d been counting the minutes to letting Claudia out of his sight. Could feel each passing second like a jagged hand of a renegade clock, tearing through his flesh at every tick.

  He could barely look at her. Reminded him of the way she’d be gone soon. A mere memory.

  “This traffic,” Filitov muttered, tutting. He wore a floppy Parisian hat and dark glasses; the same way Boris had donned a ballcap and Aviator glasses. Small precautions against identification. A special touch for their stop by the Embassy.

  “It’s the 8th arrondisement,” Boris said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you expect?”

  Claudia squeezed his knee. She’d been nibbling at her lip all morning, reflecting the same anxiety that roiled around inside him. He’d never done this before. Never fallen for someone; never had to let them go. His job description didn’t include this type of shit. Working without guidelines was scary, because who knew if he was doing it right?

  When he got an assignment, the black-and-white expectations were reassuring. Go here. Shoot this. Disappear. With Claudia, it felt more like: Go here. Jump in. Get lost. Amputate heart. Spend eternity wondering.

  “Tourists could learn how to fucking cross the street,” Filitov said, slamming on the brakes. A smiling family lollygagged on the crosswalk, pointing at a building, blissfully unaware of Filitov’s scowl.

  “Oh, shit.” Filitov furrowed his brow, turning up the radio a bit. Long strings of talk radio in suave Croatian, which translated to background noise for Boris unless he really made himself think about what was being said. In this state, though, it all registered as squawks and vowels.

  “What is it?”

  “News about the kidnapped Princess,” he said, glancing back at Claudia. “Good thing we’re dropping you off today. Shit is hitting the fan.”

  Boris snatched up Claudia’s hand, covering it in his own, and brought it to his lips. Their morning had been a whirlwind: he’d barely slept due to nerves, choosing instead to cherish the feel of her in his arms for as long as he could. When she’d finally roused, before the sun ro
se, they’d spent some time in languorous lovemaking—hushed, intimate, slow movements, so as to not awake the others. A final parting gift in the sleepy hues of early morning.

  Filitov swore. The drop-off point was nearing. He recognized the neighborhood, and he could feel the way his stomach churned even harder.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she said, eyes watering.

  He wrapped an arm around her, bringing her into his lap. She clutched at him, arms around his neck, face nuzzled against his.

  “Me too,” he said, not trusting his voice to say more. It might betray the emotion there; in the backseat of Filitov’s car wasn’t the time or place for tears.

  “But I want to see you again,” she whispered into his ear, nuzzling her nose against his ear.

  “I don’t know if we can do that.” His throat tightened. It was a puzzle he’d been poring over for days now, except none of the pieces fit together. The FSB would never allow him to lead a normal life, and he couldn’t complete his mission without losing Claudia. There was no compromise; no center point where the two circles met.

  “We have to at least stay in touch.” Her voice came out small, pleading.

  “I don’t know how to do that either,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “It might be too dangerous for you. For me, too. If I get caught with links to the King, or if the Princess gets caught contacting an FSB agent.” He tutted, drawing a shaky breath. “Think about what would happen. I couldn’t put you into more danger.”

  Her eyes were watery, green pools, deep and imploring. “Why do you have to be so bad? Huh? Why couldn’t you just go join a marketing firm like a normal guy?”

  He hefted with a laugh, grabbing a handful of her hips. “Think of it this way. If I weren’t bad, we’d never have met.”

  She nuzzled into his neck. “It’s not fair.”

  A few tense moments of silence stretched between them. Filitov swore again, and then the car jerked to a stop. “We’re here.”

  Boris’s stomach tightened. Across the street, the gates to the Embassy loomed, a wrought-iron cage around immaculately trimmed grass. The American flag moved gently in the breeze; his home territory. Though he frequented the States for assignments, he hadn’t been home in years. Sending Claudia back to her dad reminded him of his own father.

  “God, I don’t wanna go,” Claudia moaned.

  “Don’t say that,” Boris tutted. “You deserve to go back home, go back where it’s safe. You don’t want to stay with me.” His throat tightened at the unfortunate truth. He could never offer anyone a normal life, or be a normal partner. And maybe before, it never mattered to him. Back when he was a half-cocked hellion in his early 20’s, looking for adventure and revenge wherever he could find it.

  But time at least settled all wounds; he might not be healed, but he was beaten down enough to know that there were some benefits to the softer parts of the heart. That, at least, had been her gift to him.

  “You should go,” Filitov said, turning to look at her. “I know it might be rough. But we can’t stay around here for too long. There are cameras everywhere.” He pointed at the gate entrance, where two small black boxes pointed their way. “We took all the right precautions to drop you off, but I don’t want to stir up more scandal because they start digging too deep into who dropped you off.”

  Claudia nodded, wiping away a few tears that had fallen. “I know. I’m going.” Her sad eyes swept to Boris, darting over his face. Leaning close, she whispered into his ear, “At least tell me your real name.”

  His heart wrenched in his chest. He’d tell her, but it wouldn’t help any. “Boris Andreivich Druganov.”

  She blinked a few times, a strange expression crossing her face. “Even your initials are bad.”

  He cracked a grin and took her face into his hands, covering her mouth with his. “I told you. It’s in my bones.”

  They kissed, fast and desperate, until Filitov cleared his throat. Claudia tore herself away, dragging the back of her hand across her eyes.

  “Okay. I’m going.” She sniffed hard, climbing off Boris. She wrapped her arms around Filitov from behind his seat. “I’ll miss you, Filitov. I wish you well, wherever you go. Whatever you do.”

  “Be safe, dear.” Filitov squeezed her wrist.

  Claudia sniffed again, then wrapped her arms around Boris one last time. “I hope I see you again someday. I’ll never stop thinking about you, Boris. My love.”

  He swallowed a knot in his throat, forcing her words into the back of his head, to store away so he could think back on them later. Where people and cameras weren’t a willing audience. God damn, he hated goodbyes. “Go on, Claudia.”

  She sniffed one last time and tore herself away, pushing open the back door. Without finding his gaze, she slammed the door shut and walked away.

  She crossed in front of the car, hands buried in the pockets of her zip-up jacket. Heart wrenching, he fought the urge to call out after her; to get her to look back at him one last time, to coax one last kiss out of her.

  Pedestrians swarmed on the sidewalk and she was quickly swallowed into the mass. He lost sight of her quickly, but he didn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop looking.

  “You want to come up front?” Filitov looked back at him.

  He jerked his head into a nod, pushing open the back door. The large trees lining the sidewalk shaded them where they parked; quiet conversations reached him. Even on such a sad day, the allure of Dubrovnik was in high gear. He slipped into the front seat and settled in, tugging the brim of the ballcap down lower. Still no sight of Claudia. Filitov put the car into gear, pulling away from the curb.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Filitov offered.

  Boris shrugged, scanning the moving mass of people on the sidewalk. “I knew it was coming.”

  “I’d say it’s always better to avoid entanglements like that while on the job, but I’m not so sure that’s true.” Filitov tutted, peering down the street before he hung a left. “Sometimes, it’s the only glimpse we get of what could have been.”

  “Yeah.” Boris squinted, struggling to pick out her messy topknot from the throngs of people crossing the street. He swallowed the urge to roll down the window, to shout her name into the heavy, hot mid-day air. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “I know.” Filitov turned onto a different street, moving them even further away from Claudia. His throat tightened and he sat up, craning to continue scanning, even as they put more distance between them. Claudia. Just one more glimpse. Please.

  “Can we circle the block?” He adjusted his glasses, settling back into his seat. The Embassy grew smaller in the rearview mirror. “Just to make sure she makes it in okay.”

  “Boris, she’s fine. Nothing’s going to happen to her outside of that building.” Filitov sent him a long glance. “We shouldn’t go back.”

  Boris’s belly lurched, like he’d been punched. “I know.”

  A long silence stretched between them. Boris studied the flashes of Dubrovnik as they drove; faceless people, wisps of color, the vibrant green of the bush-and-tree-lined streets.

  “Now where should I take you?” Filitov arched a brow. “You have a decision to make.”

  Boris groaned, resting his head against the seat. “Trust me, I know. It’s been killing me.”

  “You stay with me much longer and they’ll think you’ve defected. You could be a wanted man already.”

  “I think the showdown before we left the warehouse could safely be pegged on the mystery attacker, which they probably won’t associate with you.”

  “But if they somehow do?”

  “Then I’m fucked.”

  “Exactly.” Filitov squeezed the steering wheel. “Which brings me to my next question.”

  “Don’t ask it.”

  “Are you willing to defect?”

  Boris’s gut seized up, like he’d just swallowed a handful of barbed wire. The answer was on his lips—yes—but there was a hesitation lurking. Unresolved as
pects that needed some more time to simmer.

  “I think there’s a better way.”

  Filitov hefted with a laugh. “Is there?”

  “For me, yes.” Boris gnawed at the inside of his lips. “I’ve been thinking about a plan. But it’s not quite solid yet. I need some more time.”

  “Take all the time you need. Just cover your ass, and remember who you’re dealing with.”

  Boris nodded, snagging a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower over the tops of some buildings. “How could I forget?”