The Obsidian Collection

by Rebel Adams

  Zane cleared his throat, still staring at my hair, and started speaking in Russian. Quick Russian from the sound of it as I found my hair tie. I was not even surprised, really, that he was doing that. I was a reporter, and he would not have come to my room when he knew what Daniil and I were doing without a damn good reason.

  I yanked my hair back the best I could. It really was ugly up because it was not long, but it was better than the alternative. Once I had it fixed, I turned to face them. I stopped in my tracks. Daniil had frozen on the bed and was listening to Zane avidly. Something big had happened. Really big by the way Daniil said something, also in Russian, and when Zane replied, he jumped off the mattress, grabbed his wallet and went directly to the bathroom and got the rest of his clothes. He sat back on the bed and continued to speak to Zane, their conversation picking up in speed as he quickly put his socks and shoes on.

  He jumped up again, pulled his shirt on over his head, his gorgeous muscles rippling with the movement. He stalked in my direction, quickly stating in English, “I’ve got to go.”

  I was holding my tongue so badly, but I could not help it. Being a reporter was too deeply imbedded. “What’s happened?” I was practically bouncing on the balls on my feet.

  He shook his head. “I can’t say, but I promise to tell you tomorrow if it’s true.”

  My lips thinned, but I could tell he was not going to say more. I nodded. “All right.” I would just have to sneak out after he left and try to figure it out by myself.

  His lips twitched, and then he leaned down and gave my lips a quick caress. “Don’t forget about your deadline.”

  My eyes snapped to the clock. “Dammit!” I did not have time to sneak out. I would probably be late as it was with my article. I scowled, and he looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. I pointed at the tip of his nose. “You better tell me tomorrow.”

  He took my finger and kissed the tip of it, chuckling. “Only if it’s the truth. That’s all you talk about, anyway.”

  Grumpily, I took my finger back and crossed my arms. “You better go. Zane’s looking exasperated.” And a little amused. At me. Asshole.

  My door burst open, and Daniil and Zane instantly had a gun each pointed at the entry.

  It was only Stash who stopped right inside the door with a keycard in his hand.

  His hair…well…it could have given mine a run for its money in inhumanness right now.

  Daniil and Zane casually lowered their weapons.

  I smacked Daniil’s arm, seriously getting irritated with the constant gun show. “How many times a day do you bring that thing out? You’re going to end up shooting someone!”

  Stash’s mouth was opened to say something, but they all stopped. Stared at me.

  “What?” It was true. The statistics were undeniable about people accidently firing a weapon that it was bound to happen with how many times he brought the damn thing out.

  Daniil’s lips were twitching again.

  Zane murmured dryly, “Elizabeth, that’s kind of the point.” He raised his gun to the wall behind the bed. “You lift.” He peered down the gun. “You aim.” He jerked his hand. “You fire.” He lowered his gun. “Hopefully, shooting them before they shoot you.”

  I put a finger to my temple since it was starting to throb, and shooed them with my other hand, muttering, “I’ve had enough of Lion Security today. Go away.”

  Daniil chuckled, bending and kissing over my bandage at my temple. “Sleep well, Beth.”

  I nodded, followed behind them with Stash yapping away in Russian. I started to lock the door once they were gone, but there was a gentle knock. I opened it back up and Least Ugly was standing there with his hand extended, which held ibuprofen and a couple of icepacks. He stated, “Mr. Kozar wanted you to have this for your throat.”

  I took them gratefully, and closed and locked my door, sighing as I grabbed my laptop. I proceeded to write one hell of a fluff piece. By the time I lay down for bed, my eyes would scarcely stay open. Even if I had wanted to go out and investigate what was going on, I would not have been able to do it efficiently. I fell asleep on a pillow that was still damp from Daniil’s and my hair. I smelled roses even in my dreams.

  Waking up to my ringing phone, I groaned and then winced. My throat hurt worse this morning. I slapped a hand down blindingly on the nightstand and fumbled until I felt my cellphone. Answering it, I mumbled, “Hello?”

  “You’re supposed to be reporting the news, not starring in it,” my editor shouted.

  My eyes snapped open, and I glared at the alarm clock seeing it was 6:04 in the morning. “How many articles are running about Chrissy and me?”

  He continued yelling, “Every single fucking reporter who’s down there wrote about it. With photos.” He growled. “All but one reporter that is. Can you explain that to me?”

  “It was personal,” I muttered. I did not want Chrissy and my history flashed all over the place. It was embarrassing enough just knowing that I had been deceived so badly before.

  “Dammit, Elizabeth, we should have been the ones reporting it!” I heard him breathing hard over the line. “Do I need to pull you from there? Are you going to start breaking everyone’s noses?”

  I snorted, still feeling satisfied. “No. No more fighting for me.”

  He stated gruffly, “If you pull another stunt like that…first, you had better give me a damn article on it…and second, I’ll have to pull you from there. We write about blood, not cause the blood. Hear me, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. I hear you. It won’t happen again,” I muttered, but I was talking to a dead air because he had already hung up on me.

  I dropped my phone next to me and rolled back over. I needed more sleep to deal with this shit today, and my parents were sure to call soon. Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore how badly my throat hurt, and fall back asleep.

  My eyes opened when my phone started ringing again. I glared at the alarm clock when I saw that it was only 6:24. Dammit. My parents had always been early risers.

  I grabbed my cell and put it to my ear, and since it had not been my dad’s ringtone, I immediately answered, “Yes, Mom. I know what you’re going to say. Fighting is the gateway to true chaos.” I yawned and stretched.

  A masculine chuckle sounded in my ear, and I froze. Daniil purred over the line, “True chaos is made by the weak.” He paused, and said darkly, “I’m not weak, Beth.”

  I blinked, and asked, “How did you get this number?” It was a private cell number.

  “Childs play, my sweet.” He chuckled when I huffed. “I called to let you know that if you want the breaking news about last evening, you need to be down in the Sands Restaurant by 7:00 for breakfast.”

  “You’re going to tell me?” I asked, sitting up in bed wide-awake.

  “I could. Or you could just happen to be in the restaurant before we all go down there, and hear it for yourself from them. What would you prefer? Hearsay or a first person angle?”

  First person, of course. I paused. “Why are you doing this?”

  He hummed. “Let’s just say this story is conducive to the plan.”

  I paused, thinking it through. “Are you using me?” He had better not be.

  He chuckled. “No more than you’re using me. I told you last evening I would let you know, and I keep my word.” He paused. “I’ve got to go. See you at breakfast, Beth.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, hanging up. I stared at my phone. A grin slowly lifted my lips.

  It really just might work between him and me.

  November 14, 2014—The last day of the charity event…

  Standing inside Daniil’s posh hotel living room, I stared at the memory chip and tape recorder I held. Not moving, I thought hard about each and every time the Donovans had stopped me from printing an article, or making me write a retraction the next day. Painfully…and sadly…I realized each time it had been about protecting their son. None of the stories had ever been anything to cause them jail time or show
them as some type of crook. Never. The stories had all been matters of the heart, something that would have only hurt them—and others—if the information had been known. My head started to spin, and I rubbed my temples, feeling the stitches that were going to need to come out soon.

  Least Ugly peered down at me.

  I sucked in a breath and asked, “Do you know the real reason why I came here?”

  He answered, “No. I had wondered. This charity event is small potatoes for you.”

  I nodded. “I asked specifically to come. I took another report’s place.” Licking my lips, I stated for the first time in my life, “I came to find a story on the Donovans that could hurt them deeply. Obtain justice for all the times they held me back from telling the truth.”

  His head cocked. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  I stayed silent for a full minute, reviewing again in my head that this was the right decision. And again, I came up with yes. “I found it.” I wiggled the equipment in my hands. “I have it all here ready to write and send. It could be in the papers by the morning.”

  “Is it criminal activity?”

  I shook my head. “No, but it does involve their son Cole. Matters of the heart.” The news that I had gained in Sands Restaurant was nice. Ember had broken off her relationship with Brent and Cole. However, it had not been the golden story. What I held in my hands was. “It would hurt him; and with him, his parents in the process.”

  We were both silent. I stared at the equipment while he watched me.

  Finally, I asked quietly, “Do you have a lighter on you?” I now knew that he smoked.

  A few ticks went by, and he asked dryly, “Need a cig?”

  “No. I need to burn this information. It’s too tempting.”

  He dug into his pocket, handing me a black lighter. “You’re going to burn the truth?”

  “Yes. This doesn’t need to get out. He’s hurt enough.” I picked up a glass and set it on the coffee table. Tearing of a few sheets of stationery, I wadded up a piece and put it in the bottom of the cup, and pulled the tape from the recorder. I placed it and the memory card in the cup, and then another wadded sheet on top of that. Sucking in a deep breath, I lit it. “I shouldn’t have even seen it.”

  Least Ugly stayed by my side, watching as the paper burned, taking a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and bending to light one by the flames. He inhaled; his eyes were on the melting memory card and tape. “It must have been some pretty deep shit for you to react this way.”

  I chuckled. It did not sound nice. “Don’t even ask. I’m not telling.”

  He shrugged, saying in a high voice, a definite lie, “I wasn’t going to ask.” Puffing on his cigarette, he muttered, “I have a feeling that was good reading though.”

  I chuckled. It definitely would have been. Until my eyes widened. “Oh, shit!”

  The fire was getting out of hand, spilling and flicking over onto a sheet of paper.

  Ugly Duckling raced across the room, dowsing the ever-growing blaze with his bottle of water he had been sipping on. He gave us both glowering glances, and plucked the cigarette from Least Ugly’s mouth and dropped it into the charred cup; it sunk into the standing black water. He stared down his nose at us, coughed once, and then walked stiffly back to the wall he had been standing against, next to the other guard.

  Then Daniil’s bedroom door banged open and down the hallway stormed a breathless Daniil, sniffing the air heavily. It was bedtime, so he only wore only a pair of black, Calvin Klein lounge pajama bottoms that were loose on the leg and long, hanging halfway over the tops of his bare feet. I noticed that he had a better pedicure than I did. He sucked in air; his large bare pecs rising with the motion and abs constricting, his gaze darted all around the room; each guard suddenly frozen. And, oddly or maybe not for him, the first thing he zeroed in on was the cigarette butt in the blackened cup. His gaze flew to me, hardening, and he took two steps, grabbing my chin and smelling at my mouth.

  “I didn’t smoke,” I explained calmly, since he looked ready to tear someone’s head off.

  He sniffed in Least Ugly’s general direction, where he stood next to me. Least Ugly ground his teeth together when Daniil’s hands immediately went to his pockets, stealing his cigarettes—all without taking his eyes off me. He crushed the box in his hands, and turned his attention on him for a second, stating, “Smoking’s bad for you, and others.”

  His mouth flapped until he sputtered, “So I’ve been told.”

  Daniil had already turned away, his muscles tight as he chucked the broken box of cigarettes into a trashcan. He glanced down at the charred mess on the coffee table. “Who did this?”

  I yawned. “I did.” I was getting sleepy.

  Zoning in immediately on the glass, the obvious origination point of the fire, he reached out, and with two fingers, he pulled the memory card and tape out. He stared at them for all of a heartbeat before flicking their curled blackened husks on the coffee table, making a little splash in the water. “What was on there?”

  “A story; one that I didn’t want to be tempted with.”

  His black brows rose, instantly curious. “What was it?”

  “I’m not telling.” And I would not.

  He assessed me for a long moment before he asked, “How did you obtain the story?”

  My lips twitched.

  He glowered, turning his sharp regard on Least Ugly. “She snuck away from you again?”

  I instantly moved forward, running my hands up his chest. “It wasn’t his fault.” I shrugged. “I’m just good at sneaking away when I want to.”

  Daniil growled, glaring a moment longer at Least Ugly, before glancing down at me. His brows puckered adorably. “I don’t like it when you do that. He’s there for your protection. I have many enemies, Beth.”

  Yes, he did…and his children weren’t exactly thrilled since Daniil had told them about us last night during a private dinner. “I won’t do it again.” Not for a little while. “Why don’t we go to bed? We have a long flight tomorrow.” We were headed back to New York City. He was not going back to Russia any time soon, not with his kids’ lives a mess like they were. I was learning he was one hell of a loving father, even if he showed it in ways than what I was accustomed to.

  He instantly wrapped his arms around my waist. “The bedroom sounds nice.”

  I could not help the grin that spread across my face. “Nothing will be happening tonight, mister.” I stood on tiptoe, whispering against his ear, “I’m on my period.”

  He blinked. Stared…grunted.

  I chuckled quietly. “You can quit paying off the staff here and at every restaurant we go to.” When his expression turned innocent, I laughed louder. “Did you really think I wouldn’t catch on about the alcohol?” My amused gaze lit on his fierce one. “I’m not pregnant. Quit worrying.”

  His chest heaved against my hands. “I’d wondered how long it would take you to figure that out.” He bent, kissing the tip of my nose, whispering, “I do want you in bed now. I sleep much better with you next to me.”

  I warmed inside. “You are a hard man to resist.”

  His brows quirked, teasing, “Does that mean you’re ready to tell your parents?”

  My lips curved, kissing him softly. “You’re not that hard to resist.”

  My parents were never going to find out. I liked Daniil that damn much.

  He chuckled quietly. “Thank God.”

  PART ONE: THE SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR

  February 1997

  “Leave me alone!”

  The plaintive wail got to him. At ten, Trevor Landon knew to mind his own business, but something about the little girl, Shanice, the newest resident at the Baptist children’s home, made him feel protective. Trevor had learned in his short three years in the system to keep his head down. He was only an orphan, after all. Not an idiot. Sometimes orphans had to be selfish in order to survive, but today he couldn’t ignore the cruelty, even though
it wasn’t directed at him.

  Maybe his reaction to Shanice was because she reminded him of his little sister, Natalie, who’d been about her age when their crazy-assed mom decided child-rearing wasn’t for her. A few weeks shy of her fourth birthday, and his seventh, Natalie stepped into an open elevator shaft while dear old mom was taking them on a field trip at three a.m. to score some meth from her local dealer.

  That was the last straw for the Department of Children and Family Services, and they inducted Trevor into the foster care system. When his mother overdosed six months later, he became a “permanent resident of the system.” His mother may not have killed his sister with her own hands, but she might as well have. He didn’t know what the hell had saved his life, and he mixed feelings about it most of the time. That was about to change.

  “Stop it!” Shanice said.

  She had a cute little voice with the slightest lisp. He moved away from the computer, which is where he planted himself most days after his chores were done.

  A couple of older children were picking on her, and he’d had enough. Trevor wasn’t a vigilante, per se, but he’d certainly learned to take care of himself since he’d become a ward of the church-operated facility.

  “Give it back,” Shanice said, now near tears. She reached in vain for the teddy bear the bullies had taken from her. One boy, Darrien and a girl, Shayla, both taller and bigger, were playing keep-away with it.

  “Don’t be such a baby.” Shayla sneered. “There’s no room for teddy bears in a children’s home.” She tossed the bear to her partner as Shanice looked on in terror.

  “Yeah, squirt,” Darrien said. “They only adopt babies from this joint, so you’d better grow up fast.” He tossed the bear back to Shayla.

  Shanice reached for her toy. “I don’t care. Give it. It’s mine.”

  Trevor stepped up to Darrien, who he bested in height by an inch or so. “Give the little girl her toy back. Now,” he said, careful to make his ten-year-old voice sound as ominous as he could.