Torrid

by Nikki Sloane

  Luka sobered into his serious expression. “Be careful.”

  “Yeah, I will be.” Vasilije glanced at me, and his face gave nothing away. He didn’t look nervous at all, and I wished I had his same sense of confidence.

  Luka and Addison left soon after, and as the clock ticked closer to dinnertime, my stomach bottomed out. I didn’t eat anything, but Vasilije stayed quiet about that. He gazed at me across the kitchen table, his plate empty and mine untouched.

  “You want me to go down on you?” he asked casually, between two sips of his beer.

  I couldn’t process his question. “What?”

  “You’re so tense.”

  Of course I was tense. “Everything we’ve been planning is happening tonight.”

  “Don’t worry, baby.” He faked bravado. “I’m going to make all our dreams come true.”

  I was so high-strung, the ridiculous laugh tumbled from my mouth. “Except our dreams are other people’s nightmares.”

  He grinned ear to ear.

  ♪

  Rock salt crunched under my shoes as I climbed the front steps of Goran’s house. It seemed so different than it had yesterday. The large portico awning with columns was like a mouth stretching open, waiting to devour me.

  Filip looked at me as if needing my approval, and when I nodded, he opened the door and ushered me inside.

  The only light in the main room came from the gaudy, gold Christmas tree, and a fire that crackled in the fireplace. It took me a moment to adjust my eyesight to the dim lighting, and I didn’t notice Goran until he got up off the couch.

  “Oksana,” he said. “Please, come in. Let Filip take your coat.”

  I hated him for a lot of reasons, but in this moment, I hated how he’d made my name a weapon, picking and choosing when to use it. He sauntered toward me, wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back and a pair of dress slacks, and I wondered if this was as casual as he got. Like last night, he had a glass in hand. Bourbon? Scotch? It’d be some adult-tasting liquor I’d hate.

  As I slid off my coat and passed it to Filip, I kept my eyes glued on Goran. “Merry Christmas.”

  Something like victory flared in his eyes. “Did Vasilije give you any trouble?”

  I shook my head slowly. I didn’t want to speak unless I absolutely had to, worried my nerves would seep into my voice.

  “Good. Do you mind holding out your arms for me?”

  My breath caught. “What?”

  He set his drink down on a side table. “It’s just a precaution.”

  “I already searched her,” Filip said.

  It drew an annoyed look from his boss. “No harm in being thorough,” Goran said. He just wanted an excuse to put his hands on me, and as he waited impatiently for me to move, my stomach flipped upside-down. I wasn’t going to be able to avoid it.

  I trembled as I lifted my arms and shut my eyes, but otherwise I stood as still as possible. I didn’t even breathe.

  I wore a long-sleeved wraparound dress made of wool, and thin leggings beneath, so nearly every inch of my body was covered, but it didn’t matter. Goran’s hands started at my shoulders, and I could feel them through the fabric as if his palms were made of sandpaper. They dragged and scraped over my body, lingering in all the same places Ilia’s had, and I was only a hair’s breadth from a nervous breakdown.

  It’s almost over. Just hang on.

  I stepped back at the same moment he seemed to finish, and air poured back into my lungs. Goran looked at me with curiosity, not sure what to make of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said between hurried breaths. “Strangers make me nervous. Could we . . . be alone?”

  He acted like it was the greatest idea ever. “Have a good night, Filip.”

  “Should I tell Clive he can go, too?” Filip asked. “It’s Christmas.”

  Once more, he earned a dirty look from his boss. Goran didn’t want me knowing there was someone else in the house. But he gave me a discerning pass, and must have decided he was safe with me. He withdrew his phone from his back pocket, and thumbed out a message. “I’ve let him know.”

  I didn’t wait for Filip to leave before I blurted it out. “Vasilije said your library has a map painted on the ceiling. Can we start there?”

  Goran’s black eyes lit with amusement, like I was a silly girl he’d humor. “Why not? It’s this way.”

  I varied the length of my stride as we went like I’d done years ago, making it difficult for the predator beside me to get too close. I knew from experience that if he caught me, we might not make it to the library. Goran didn’t seem to be in a rush to move on me, though. He likely thought he’d have all night to fuck me.

  Too bad, I was about to fuck him.

  He pushed open a door and flipped on the light. Bookcases lined the walls and were full of picture-perfect books, spines in a variety of colors and heights. The room was classic, like a library set from a movie. My gaze went up to the large antique map on the ceiling, painted in earthy gold colors. It was beautiful, and my eyes flitted over Russia, finding the place where I’d grown up, before I knew anything about Sergey Petrov or the Markovics.

  While I found the room comforting, Goran did not. He pulled up short as he discovered a young man half-sitting, half-leaning against the desk, a gun in hand and an eyebrow arched upward into a sharp point.

  38

  Vasilije

  I’d worn my favorite black suit for the occasion, but my uncle didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was locked onto my gun.

  “Sit,” I said, flicking the barrel to the brown leather wingback chair.

  He didn’t move. “Be careful, Vasilije. I can take everything away from you. She isn’t worth this.”

  The dumb fuck thought I was throwing a tantrum about her being stolen from me. He was wrong on so many levels. I stood and my expression hardened. “Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”

  He rolled his eyes, and lowered into the chair like he was humoring me.

  I motioned to the gold colored couch for Oksana to sit, and I plopped my ass down beside her. I wanted her close. If things went sideways, I could protect her better this way.

  The lighting in the room was soft and everything was designed to make you feel comfortable. It was a space where you wouldn’t mind to stay and read. But the air in the library was warm. Too warm for me. It pressed down on my skin, making me feel sluggish when I wanted to be on my motherfucking toes.

  “When we’re done here,” he said, “I’m going to kill your whore. Or maybe I’ll just cut up that pretty face she has.”

  “You aren’t going to do shit, and don’t call her that again. This isn’t about her.”

  “Oh? Then why’s she here?”

  “Because we don’t keep secrets from each other.” He looked at me critically, but I didn’t let him get in a word. It was my show now. “Not like the way you and I work. Lots of skeletons in both our closets.”

  “Fuck,” he said in Serbian. “Stop being so dramatic.”

  I stayed in English. “You used to have a bodyguard named David. What happened to him?”

  He stiffened. Then he had the balls to act resigned. “I don’t know if your father told you boys the story. He always tried to protect you from the negative stuff, especially when it came to your mother.”

  Was he fucking joking? My dad had done nothing to hide his shit.

  “When I found out your mother was fucking David on the side, I had him killed.”

  The grin began slowly, and then raced across my face. He was a good liar, I had to give him that. “Wow. That’s a really great story.”

  He didn’t like what I’d implied, and beneath his fake outrage, I could see the flicker of worry. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means cut the fucking bullshit. All of it. The stuff about family, and loyalty, and anything else you pretend to care about, but don’t. You didn’t have David killed, because I went to his shitty condo a few weeks ago,” I grew louder and more
bitter with each word, “and I fucking did it myself.”

  He cracked, just a little. Wrinkles puckered around his eyes and made him look old and weak. “Then . . . I guess you’re not a pussy like your brother.”

  I balled my free hand into a fist, fighting the urge to pull the trigger. Not yet. Be patient. “You had David lie. Tear my mother’s name down. And when that was done, you sent him to kill her.”

  “She couldn’t be trusted.” He leaned forward and rubbed the crease on his forehead. “When you run the family, safety is everything, and sometimes you have to . . . make hard choices.”

  I choked out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ll find out about that soon enough.”

  The phone in his pocket chirped. As I pushed up off the couch and came to my feet, rather than look threatened, my uncle was amused. “Am I going somewhere?”

  “First your memory fails you, and now it’s your eyesight, old man. I’ve got my Glock pointed right at you.”

  “You’re a stupid, impulsive little boy, Vasilije. I sent an alert to Filip before I sat down, and all this time you’ve been going on, it’s given him time to get back to the house.” He raised his voice. “You can come in.”

  Filip’s shadow darkened the doorway, and then he stepped into the room. His gun was in his holster, not drawn. My uncle stared at him, concerned at the lack of defense. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Oh,” I said, “he doesn’t work for you anymore.” Who was impulsive now? “It’s because you’re fucking broke.”

  Goran jerked back in his seat. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve got more money than God.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My cheeks hurt from how hard I smiled. “Who helps you manage it?”

  The frozen expression on his face was fucking priceless.

  “Luka told me,” I continued, “you don’t always need a gun to destroy a man. Sometimes all you need is an idiot who doesn’t read the shit he signs, and patience.” It’d been fourteen months since Luka had started transferring investments and titles, burying the language in refinancing papers or opening new bank accounts so our uncle could ‘avoid taxes.’

  His face flushed and his breathing picked up. Worry had been far away seconds ago, but now it was right on top, crushing him. As Oksana had distracted him last night, I’d taken the risk of reaching out to Filip. He hadn’t told my uncle any of the shit Aleksandar had said about Oksana.

  I could trust Filip, and showed him he could trust me when I’d laid out all our plans. It hadn’t taken him long to agree. He wanted to be on the winning side of this evening, and thank fuck. Having Filip meant I also had his men, and that’d make the transition easier when I was the most vulnerable.

  I aimed for my uncle’s heart as I spoke to Filip. “Is he armed? Any weapons nearby he can get to?”

  “Nope.”

  Perfect. I stared into Goran’s black eyes and savored the moment. He’d stolen my mother away from me, and I loved watching it dawn on him that everything was being taken away from him. His money. His men. His throne.

  “Oksana,” I said.

  She’d sat so still and silent, my uncle’s gaze went to her with surprise, like he’d forgotten she was there. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen until music played from it. The overture of my symphony. I was being dramatic again, but didn’t care what anyone thought about it.

  “Sergey will eat you alive,” Goran snarled. “Everything I’ve built, he’ll destroy. You won’t last six months.”

  The music was just like me. Seemingly pleasant, but evil beneath. “Sergey won’t be a problem. Konstantine will take the truce I give him.”

  “You’re fucking nuts. The Russians won’t deal with you.”

  I took a step back, realizing I was too close. I didn’t want to get blood on the suit. “They will, because the girl sitting on your couch? She’s Sergey Petrov’s other daughter.”

  The music swelled, revealing the dark nature. Real panic overwhelmed my uncle and transformed his face. Jesus Christ, he looked pathetic. “Vasilije, put it down. I’m family. I’m your blood.” He lifted his hands, half in surrender. “You can’t do this.”

  “You’re going to play the family card? Didn’t stop you from killing my mother, and it didn’t stop me, either.”

  His fear was halted by confusion, and I laughed.

  “Oh, shit, I forgot. You still think it was Ivan who killed my father.”

  His mouth fell open.

  I gave him just enough time for it to soak in, then I pulled the trigger before he said another goddamn thing.

  Three shots popped off, peppering his chest. Even though I wanted to go for his head and wipe his face clean from the goddamn earth, I couldn’t. There was satisfaction in killing him like this, anyway. It probably wasn’t my first bullet that ended him, and maybe not the second one either. It took a full three seconds for him to die. Three seconds of agony before his piss-poor heart stopped pumping.

  As the music raged on, his body slumped in the chair, his face frozen in a horrified expression.

  Unlike with my father, premeditating the death made the moment more fulfilling. I jammed my gun back in the holster, riding an adrenaline high, and admired the picture before me. The front of his shirt was dark and wet with blood. Did he realize how perfect the chair was he’d sat in? It was as close to a modern-day throne as you could get.

  My kingdom now, motherfucker.

  The song rolled to a close, and I turned to Oksana. She sat with her usual perfect posture, staring up at me as she turned off the music. She hadn’t shied away from what I’d done. A smile teased her lips, and her eyes swam with admiration. If I was the king, she was definitely my queen.

  Filip cleared his throat, returning me to the present. There was a lot of shit that needed to be taken care of, and he seemed anxious to get started.

  “My uncle was feeling lonely. There’s enough money left in his accounts to buy a plane ticket somewhere. A last-minute getaway for Christmas, or whatever the fuck. He’s going somewhere international. After you buy the ticket, pack a bag and his passport.” I dug my phone out of my pocket. “Oksana and I will clean him up and get him in the back seat. I’ll text you the address of where I want you to drive the car. The guy knows someone’s coming and he’ll take care of it.”

  He nodded and headed for the door, but I stopped him.

  “Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up. We’ve got another stop to make tonight. Oksana wants to wish her father a merry Christmas.”

  “All right.” If he was nervous about that, it didn’t show. He disappeared through the doorway.

  I went to Oksana, pulling her up onto her feet. She put her arms around my shoulders. “How do you feel?”

  Not empty.

  I felt justice, and it was sweet. “So fucking good.”

  She smiled knowingly. “Like all your dreams came true?”

  “One down,” I said. “One to go.”

  39

  Oksana

  A normal person would have been horrified watching Vasilije sink three bullets into his uncle, but I wasn’t normal. All I felt was satisfaction, and envy.

  Vasilije and I sat in the back, and Filip in the front beside John, and we sped through the snowy night toward the south suburbs.

  At the front gate outside my father’s house, I rolled down the car window and blinked against the flurries. I gave the security guard a too-bright smile, but he recognized me anyway.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, trying to peer through the tinted windows. “Who’ve you got with you?”

  “Vasilije Markovic,” I said. “He’d like to speak with Mr. Petrov.”

  The guard went ashen and disappeared into his glassed-in hut, pulling the phone from his belt. After a brief discussion, we were waved through.

  It was the house I’d lived in for the last four years, but it wasn’t home.

  After the flight from Kazan, my father had ordered another paternity test, and wh
en he couldn’t argue the results, Konstantine and Tatiana had welcomed me as their secret sister. My father’s wife had been warm, too, but she was a deceitful, calculating bitch. She claimed moral high ground when Sergey tried to get rid of me, and installed me in the house as staff.

  Punishing him and me.

  Keeping me close meant she could remind me every day what a fucking saint she was for supporting the bastard of her husband’s infidelity. I had clothes, food, a house, and even an education. She was never outright mean to me, but sometimes I wondered if it would have been better if she had been. Her fake smiles turned my stomach, and every biting comment she needled into me was impossible to defend against.

  The exterior house lights were on, but the windows were dark. Two figures stood at the front steps, waiting in the falling snow. Fat snowflakes collected on the shoulders of my father’s two bodyguards.

  John pulled the Lexus to a stop, and I took a breath to fortify myself.

  As we got out, my father’s men didn’t pay attention to me. They watched Vasilije and Filip intently, ready for anything.

  “I need a word with Sergey,” Vasilije said. “It’s urgent.” He opened his outer coat and pushed his jacket to the side, showing them his holstered gun. Then he buttoned the coat closed, signaling he didn’t intend to use it. “I’m only here to talk.”

  “Leave your gun,” one of the men said, “and you can come inside.”

  Vasilije gave them a dubious look. “I’m not going in unarmed. He can come out here and freeze his balls off like the rest of us.”

  Negotiations ensued, and after we’d been searched, we were brought inside. Vasilije and Filip were allowed to carry their guns since security knew where they were, and could watch for them.

  The entryway of the house was grand. My first time here, I’d gotten angry as I looked at the inlaid medallion on the hardwood and the space large enough it had a couch in it. As if someone would need to rest the moment they walked in here. The room was nearly as large as my mother’s apartment in Russia. The massive staircase curved upward, and beneath it, the arched doorway led into the rest of the house.