by Maggie Ryan
Hadi chuckled and crossed his arms against his chest. “My friends, I could not do this without you being here, for you deserve to see this as much as anyone. However, I do hope you don’t mind that I took matters into my own hands. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, and I am ashamed at how many lives I have taken. But today… today I take the lives of all those on that yacht with pride and satisfaction. In just a few minutes, revenge will be mine.”
No one spoke as they watched the yacht slowly fading from view as the sun sank below the horizon. When the pilot lifted the bag, passing it to Hadi, Stryder knew he’d been wrong. He wasn’t sure what was in the duffel, but he knew it didn’t contain the guns he’d believed to be inside. Though he didn’t hear the engine, he felt the boat begin to move. Hadi opened the bag and removed several pairs of binoculars, handing them out.
Stryder was about to lift his pair to his eyes when his attention was captured by the next item Hadi pulled from the bag. A black box.
“You have more of those?” Maddox asked, obviously identifying the box as a detonator just as Stryder had.
“No, and whatever you do, do not engage the night vision on your binoculars,” Hadi said and then returned his focus to the yacht. Suddenly his instruction became clear as the darkness turned into day as a strong spotlight shone across the water from another boat, bringing the yacht into clear focus. The Steeles watched as men rose from where they’d been sitting around a table, the binoculars allowing them to see glasses and plates as the group were obviously in the middle of dinner. A sharp squelching sound had Stryder glancing at Hadi to see that he had a megaphone at his lips.
“Vasily Poplov.” The words were loud and said with a tone that sent chills down Stryder’s back. He looked back to see the Russian whip around, obviously confused as to why the call had come from a different direction than the light. When he actually pulled a gun, Stryder chuckled. There wasn’t a chance in hell any shot fired would reach them, especially as their own boat was shrouded in darkness.
“Shall we show the bastard who will be sending him straight to hell?” Hadi asked, not waiting for a response as he nodded to his man who flipped a switch to light their own deck. Stryder watched as Vasily’s mouth opened, his eyes going wide, obviously recognizing not only Hadi but the Steeles. God, Stryder wished he could have just one shot at closing it for good. He might not be able to punch the guy, but he did have a hand. Lifting it, he gave the asshole the universal “fuck you” salute.
“For my family,” Hadi said, and a second later, an explosion of epic proportions rocked the sea.
The white yacht with the three flags was nothing but a huge ball of fire. Flames, so bright they dimmed the spotlight, shot into the air. Stryder watched as glass shattered, shards glittering for an instant before falling like rain into the ocean. What parts of the boat didn’t burn in the inferno were blasted out to sea. Nothing, and definitely no one, survived. The moment the spotlight was shut off, so was the light on their deck, the only illumination left was from the fire which was quickly growing smaller as the sea began to extinguish the flames, just as it had done months ago when the Adira had exploded.
Stryder didn’t have to see to know that Hadi Nazar had fought fire with fire. Or better yet, explosion for explosion. Total annihilation. Some people might have called Hadi’s actions vigilantism, others revenge. Stryder and his family knew it for what it was… justice. Vasily Poplov was dead.
Chapter 18
“Zoya, you’ve got fifteen minutes. We’ll be on the back porch.”
Though Zoya had moved from the door to the window, standing to the side and watching the Steeles climb into the truck, she didn’t have trouble hearing Jennie’s voice. The woman might be older, but she had a way of speaking that commanded attention even when she wasn’t on an intercom system. Giving the driveway one last look, she turned and stepped to the closed door.
“No thank you, Jennie, I’m tired…”
“It wasn’t a request; it was an order. Fifteen minutes.”
An order? Who was this woman to give her an order? Remembering something Maddox had said, she was about to respond that Jennie wasn’t the boss of her, but instantly felt ashamed of that thought. The woman had been nothing but kind to her… a stranger, a foreigner her boys had brought home like a stray dog. And not a dog who could pay for her keep by guarding her family but a cur who had absolutely nothing to offer and who had caused nothing but trouble. Her eyes slid to the window again. Because of her, every Steele on the ranch had just left. Stryder had left. He was gone, so locking herself into her room was no longer required. Sighing, she went into the bathroom.
Make that a mangy cur, she thought, catching her reflection. Her hair hadn’t been dry when she’d pulled it into a loose ponytail and it was now tangled from slipping free of the rubber band and having her fingers shoving through it to keep it off her face. Her face was puffy, her eyes swollen and itchy, her normally pale complexion was blotchy and her nose was red. Turning from the sink where she’d planned on just washing her face, she opened the taps in the large shower and stripped out of her clothes. Stepping into the stream, she simply stood, her face lifted, allowing the hot water to flow over her. It was only the fact that she didn’t have much time that kept her from slipping down the tiles to sit on the floor… that and the knowledge that there would be no one to pull her to her feet, no one to wrap their arms around her, no one to simply be there with no motive other than to comfort. In other words, no Stryder. When fresh tears began to fall, Zoya shook her head. The shower wasn’t helping, and thinking of Stryder was definitely not good. In fact, the very fact that she had isolated herself wasn’t calming her… it was giving her mind nothing to consider except for the last conversation she’d had on the same porch where Jennie was expecting her.
She dried herself, including her hair this time, and pulled on a sundress before remembering that her sandals were still in Jennie’s garden. Reaching for her running shoes and socks brought back the memory of the last time she’d worn them: the run, with Stryder pounding behind her, his breathing growing labored, and yet he never asked her to slow or stop, knowing she had to run. When she’d reached the lake and stripped off her clothes to walk nude into the water, again he’d not said a single word and yet had known exactly what she was praying for. The way he’d lifted her, held her as they made love… Fuck! Throwing the sneaker in her hand across the room, she watched it bounce off the wall. She had to stop thinking about Stryder! Barefoot, she unlocked the door and went to obey Jennie’s order.
Zoya wasn’t surprised to find Adira with Jennie as she stepped out onto the back porch. What did surprise her was that both women were holding glasses filled with a burgundy liquid that looked suspiciously like wine. The moment Jennie saw her, she set her glass down.
“Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out,” Zoya said, the words instantly reminding her of making the same promise to Stryder. Shit, would everything she said, did, or thought remind her of that man for the rest of her life?
Jennie just smiled and reached for a bottle, pouring some into a third glass as she said, “Child, I’m not the least bit concerned about you ratting us out. Wine is made from grapes and grapes are full of sunshine and nature’s goodness.”
Not much of a wine connoisseur and preferring the favorite beverage of her native country, Zoya still accepted the glass.
“Sit by me,” Adira said, patting the wooden slats of the swing. Zoya forcibly pushed the memory of Stryder sitting there earlier aside and sat. Once she was settled, Adira pushed against the porch to set them in motion. It took a few sips of the wine and the continual gentle sway of the swing before Zoya truly began to relax and yet her mind refused to cooperate. With a sigh, she looked at Jennie.
“I’m sorry about hacking your onions,” she said.
“Is that really what you want to discuss? Gardening?” Jennie asked.
The question threw Zoya and when she didn’t immediately respond, Jennie shrugged.
“Well, we’ve already discussed the benefits of grapes, and I planted an abundance of onions, so shall we consider that subject closed?”
“Um… I guess,” Zoya said. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
“How about we discuss what happened between you and Stryder?” Jennie suggested.
“I’m trying not to think about him.”
“And how is that going?” Jennie asked, taking another sip from her glass.
Adira’s hand moved to Zoya’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “What she means is that we want you to know that we are here for you—”
“If you’re going to translate for me, do it correctly,” Jennie said, cutting Adira off. “I might be older, but I’m not the least bit senile, missy. I’m not one to say things I don’t mean. Though I admit, the question was rhetorical, as I can tell just by looking at Zoya that it isn’t going well. So the real question is, are we going to sit around like casual social acquaintances and share a bottle or two of wine and pretend everything is just spiffy, or are we going to remember we are a family willing to get down and dirty and be honest with each other?”
“I’m not family…”
“Yes, you are,” Jennie said without hesitating. “I know it, and that stubborn boy of mine knows it.”
Zoya lifted her glass only to find it empty. Adira braced her foot against the plank floor to stop the swing as she leaned forward and grabbed the bottle, filling Zoya’s glass and topping off her own before setting the swing into motion again. “She’s right, you know, and I’ve always wished for a sister, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
A sister. Besides their attraction to the Steele men, the desire for a sister was obviously something else the two women shared. As for Jennie, she was unlike anyone Zoya had ever met, and yet she loved her as much as she loved her own family. Family… a very powerful word.
“Stryder and I had a fight, a big one,” she blurted out. “He’s wrong but now he’s gone and… what if he doesn’t—”
“He’s coming back,” Adira cut in to assure her. “They are all coming back.”
Zoya shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. Even though I don’t know exactly what they are doing… or why they went to Dubai instead of Russia, I’ve seen Stryder in action. I meant what if he doesn’t want me to be here when he gets home?”
“Nonsense. I heard him talking to you before he left. Unless my hearing is gone, which it’s not, I heard him informing you that you’d be having a talk when he got back,” Jennie said.
“If he’s anything like Maddox, I’d be more worried about what position you’re going to be in for that talk if I were you,” Adira said. “You’d better enjoy sitting while you still can.”
Zoya’s head swiveled between the two women, neither of whom looked the least bit concerned about the bluntness of their words. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, she said, “I’d take a hot ass over a cold shoulder any day.”
“Me too,” Adira said with a giggle before she turned serious. “You said Stryder was wrong but did you really give him a chance to explain his point of view?”
“I don’t need to hear it,” Zoya said. “My friend is dead and it’s Sophia’s fault!” She ranted for a few minutes, telling them her version of the conversation and ending with, “How Stryder can even think for a second that Sophia isn’t guilty is beyond me.”
“Let me tell you a story,” Jennie said. Zoya nodded, not truly understanding the reasoning but knowing she needed to calm down. She listened as Jennie wove a tale about love and a wedding and the joy of giving birth to a daughter, all wonderful things that she couldn’t help but accept she’d also dreamed of experiencing. When the tale turned dark to include fear and desperation, betrayal and murder, she felt her stomach clench. But when Jennie spoke softly of deep despair and choices that threatened to rip a woman’s very soul apart, she felt her heart ache.
Jennie continued softly. “No one questions the fact that you’ve gone through something horrid, but you need to ask yourself what would you have done, Zoya? If you knew that the life of your daughter depended on you, if you lived in abject terror every moment of the day, never knowing if something you did, said or shared would be the one thing that had a madman killing the very child he’d held while your husband was murdered, what would you do to save her?”
“Anything,” Zoya said, tears streaming down her face. She turned to Adira. “I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know you had a child…”
“I didn’t,” Adira said. “Jennie is telling you the story Pops told us at the table this morning. That is what Stryder was trying to tell you, to explain why the promise he’d made wasn’t one he could fulfill…”
Zoya was stunned, memories of Stryder’s words, his expression, his plea for her to listen all came flooding back. She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain, so sure he had failed her, so positive he’d broken yet another promise…
“Oh, God, I-I… blamed him for Anya’s death. I accused him of breaking his promise. I said such awful things…”
Jennie moved from her chair to kneel in front of Zoya, plucking the empty wine glass from her fingers and then taking her hands in hers.
“Every one of our men would rather die than to break a promise made. The only one responsible for Anya’s death, for Sophia’s choices, is Vasily Poplov.”
“I… I know but I was so mad, so angry that I refused to listen,” Zoya acknowledged and a thought came to her. “Stryder had to know that I'd be angry. Instead of telling me at the table, Stryder brought me out here… he was trying to spare me…”
“No, child,” Jennie said, squeezing her hands. “Stryder didn’t bring you out here to spare you anything as there was no reason to do so. He knew that hearing Drake relay the information, you’d have not only him but the rest of us to help you through the anger it would bring. Zoya, Stryder brought you out here to share his own story.”
“But he didn’t say anything about himself,” Zoya began, only to feel Jennie squeeze her fingers tighter and see the soft, caring expression fill her eyes. “I didn’t give him a chance, did I?”
“No, but that is something you can fix when he returns.”
“Will you tell me so I can be prepared? So I don’t say something stupid or that will hurt him?”
“No,” Jennie said, “that story is only for Stryder to tell. But I will tell you this, every one of the Steele men have seen things, done things that most people could never imagine. Things that would have broken others have only made them stronger, more determined to right wrongs. They not only accept the fact that they often work outside the boundaries of the law, they embrace it. They answer to no one except each other, and if you ask me, that is the highest level of court. You won’t find better men on this planet.”
Zoya felt tears streaming down her cheeks, knowing that each word Jennie spoke was true and yet she’d thrown that knowledge away when Stryder had needed her. She’d told him not to touch her, not to speak to her…
“Child, don’t,” Jennie said, releasing one of her hands to use her finger to wipe away a tear. “These men are also the most caring, most loving men I’ve ever been blessed to know. Do not waste time wallowing in the guilt you feel, for I promise, Stryder has already forgiven you.”
“Do… do you really think so?”
“I know so,” Jennie said, slowly rising from her kneeling position only to pull Zoya up from the swing and into her arms.
Zoya clung to her, the words and the touch giving her hope that she’d felt was lost the moment she’d slammed the bedroom door. About to thank Jennie, she found herself yelping instead. Pulling back, she gaped at the sight of her sandal in Adira’s hand.
“What the hell was that?”
“This? Oh, I brought your sandals back from the garden.”
“Not that, why did you spa… you know,” Zoya said, her hand rubbing against the back of her dress.
“That was just a little reminder that while our men are all loving and definitely
forgiving, they do have hands of steel…” Adira burst into giggles, gasped and said, “Get it, they are named Steele and their hands…” She lost it again, her arms wrapped across her torso as peals of laughter rang out.
“Good grief,” Jennie said with a laugh. “She gets it and, girl, you’ve really got to work on your tolerance level. First a bit of weed, and now wine? Is there any vice that doesn’t send you for a loop?”
Adira gasped until she got herself under control and then grinned. “Is a good session in the dungeon or a round of the most amazing sex in the world afterwards considered a vice?”
Zoya forgot about the twinge in her ass at Adira’s question. The woman had been perfectly sober a moment ago and yet now, well, she was obviously tipsy. Still, Zoya had to grin as she shot Jennie a look before retaking her place on the swing. “So, complete honesty among us, right?”
Adira gave a nod while Jennie chuckled before speaking. “If this is gonna get really good, I need to visit my special troll friend. I’ll be right back.”
Zoya could only watch as the woman walked away, her patchwork skirt swaying a couple of inches above her bare feet.
“Troll friend?”
“He’s cute,” Adira said and then frowned. “But Pops might not approve, since Jennie didn’t get shot again.”
“What? Jennie was shot?” Zoya said, wondering if Adira was too far gone in her cups to make sense.
“If you pour me another glass of this delicious wine, I’ll tell you another story,” Adira said, now smiling.
Zoya shook her head but picked up the wine bottle. “Are you sure? You seem a little, um…”
“Oh, don’t be a pooper, we’re having a party!”
Zoya wasn’t exactly sure what Adira meant, but she emptied the last of the wine into their glasses. Sipping her wine, she had to admit that while the men in this family might be everything Jennie had said, the women were just as fascinating, and they didn’t spank… well, not really. Slipping her sandals on, it was her foot that set the swing into motion this time.
