by Meg Jackson
“I think you do,” Rig said, a chuckle in his voice that would have made a little boy piss his pants.
“I don’t,” Cristov shot back, now fixing him with a glare as the stepped back. He didn’t like where all this was going. He felt like he was being invaded on his own turf.
“Keep on pretendin’,” Rig said, shaking his head and flexing his shoulders, which had to be sore from holding his arm above his head for so long. “But we both know you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Cristov knew he wasn’t getting anywhere keeping up the façade. The man was right about that, at least.
“What’s it to you, friend?” Cristov asked, eyes narrowed to slits. Rig finally turned to him, gaze as cold and menacing as a viper.
“A shitload of money, friend,” he shot back, twisting the word until it spit out of his mouth.
“You trying to buy?” Cristov asked quickly, glancing around the shop even though he knew he was alone. This man didn’t seem like any cop Cristov had ever come across before, but you never could tell with the law. It didn’t pay to be cavalier when you had enough weed to land you in jail for the next thirty years.
“Maybe,” Rig said, now rocking back on his heels, taking his sweet time. Cristov wanted to rush the guy, push him out of the shop, yell at him to spit it out already. What did he want? When Cristov stayed still and silent, the man continued, looking down at his nails now as though they were discussing the weather.
“I’d buy out your stock, boy,” he said. “You could even keep growin’ for me. For us. But we want this town, and we’re gonna take it.”
One of Cristov’s eyebrows shot up. Far from having the issue cleared, he was more confused than ever. Seeing his confusion, Rig offered another less-than-friendly grin.
“What I mean is, my boys and I are gonna be the ones running shit here from now on. We’re gonna deal what we wanna, to whom we wanna. And we don’t need no second-rate gypsy punks trying to cut in on our action. It’s a small town, and like they say in the movies, it ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
Cristov almost burst out laughing. This guy couldn’t be serious. What, did he think that Kingdom was L.A.? There was business here, sure, but not the type of business that wielded enough money worth threatening people over. A part of Cristov wanted to throw his hands up right there and give the bastard what he wanted; let him see just how stupid he was being.
“Man, you’re too much,” Cristov said, shaking his head, a smile of his own spreading across his face. He couldn’t help it, even though Rig was staring poisoned daggers at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, this town is barely big enough for one of us.”
“Sure ‘nuff,” the man agreed with a solemn nod. “Which is why we’re having this conversation right now. ‘Cause people here will be liking what we’re selling, and once you get one town, you can get the whole county. And those fucks over in Hamilton are good money.”
Cristov shrugged, still confused.
“Then start there,” he said. “Leave Kingdom alone. It’s our territory.”
He’d barely said the words when they registered with him fully. He hadn’t meant to offer the man a challenge, but that’s just what he’d done. Even more surprising was the feeling behind the words he’d uttered; he really didn’t want someone coming in and taking over the trade.
He had a feeling this guy, and whoever he associated with, were involved in a lot more than dope. He didn’t exactly feel loyalty to the little town, but he didn’t want to see it run off the rails by heroin or crack or meth. That would hurt his real business, for one. His people lived here, too, and they weren’t exactly immune to the lure of a good time. No, all in all, Cristov much preferred things the way they were.
“Not gonna happen, kid,” the man said, easing himself into his t-shirt. “We want it, and we’re gonna take it. Now, you can play nice and we can be friends. That would be the smart thing to do.”
When Cristov didn’t respond, Rig shook his head.
“Or you can try and put up a fight, and that will end very badly for you and yours.”
“Fuck off, man,” Cristov spat, rage building in his chest. One thing he could never stand was threats against his family or kumpania.
“Think it over, Volanis,” Rig offered, pulling on his leather jacket. “Think it over real good. We’ll be coming by soon to talk it over a bit more. I just wanted to give you a heads up. ‘Cause really, I’m a nice guy, deep down. Treat my friends nice and my business associates even better.”
Cristov was still scrambling for a response that would best fit his growing anger when the man slipped two crisp hundred-dollar bills onto the counter and headed for the door.
“And I mean it,” Rig said over his shoulder, one hand on the doorknob. “This is a damn good tattoo. Hate to think of all that talent going to waste if someone were to chop off your hands.”
The image on the back of Rig’s leather jacket lingered in Cristov’s mind even after the door had swung shut behind him. A dragon with ice blue eyes and a long, twisting, forked tongue. The same words as his tattoo, Steel Dragons, were printed above the image. Cristov stood in the empty parlor, hands clenched into fists, and blinked until he felt he’d washed his eyes clean. Even then, he couldn’t get the smell of bad shit about to happen out of his nose.
5
Cristov was walking so fast, and was so unaware of his surroundings, that he nearly mowed Ricky down as she came down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
“Shit! Cristov!” she yelped as his broad shoulder smacked into her chest and spun her to the side. She’d seen him coming a block away, and had been dreading their passing ever since, doing that shuffle-eyed dance of looking away and then looking back and then looking away again, wondering if she should just breeze past him without comment or if he’d corral her into an awkward greeting.
She cursed herself for the spark in her stomach when she was reminded of how strong and lithe his body was, how his tousled blonde hair begged for fingers to play in it, how his eyes could tease her one moment and totally capture her the next. She hadn’t seen him since their tryst a week and a half prior, and she’d have been happy never seeing him again.
Of course, all that frantic thinking about what she’d do when he noticed her proved useless. He was clearly noticing nothing at all, and came damn close to shoving her into the street.
“What?” he asked as he turned to her, his expression dazed, as though he’d been sleepwalking. When it registered that he’d just plowed into her, he reached out to steady her even though she had already regained composure. “Oh, damn. Sorry, Ricky. I didn’t even see you…”
“Clearly,” she grunted, shaking herself free from his light grip and determinedly not thinking about how good that hand had felt on her arm. “What’s wrong?”
Why had she asked that? She didn’t care. She wasn’t supposed to care, anyway. It’s because I’m a reporter, she told herself. I can’t help it but ask questions.
His eyes shifted from her to the bare street and back. There was something pressing on his mind. Something that troubled him deeply. He wasn’t good at hiding it; he didn’t seem to be good at hiding anything. He certainly hadn’t been very good at hiding his lust for her any time they’d crossed paths before. She’d known from their first meeting that he wanted her, even through all the jokey come-ons and teasing flirtations.
“Nothing,” he murmured, meeting her furrowed gaze with a false smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Just got stuck in a daydream of you.”
She scoffed and pushed her shoulders back. So that was how it would be. Good. All the easier to walk away from him.
“Alright, buddy,” she said with a roll of her eyes as she stepped away from him. “Hold those daydreams close, you’ll be needing them.”
But he grabbed her arm again, this time to pull her back instead of to steady her. Dual waves of frustration and desire flooded her chest as she relented, turning to face him again despite her best intenti
ons of leaving him and his worried eyes and his stupid pick-up lines behind.
“What?” she spat, wrestling her arm free. She expected him to ask if he could see her again, if they could “talk”, something like that. Boys always wanted to “talk”. They would ask dumb questions like “what are we doing?” and “what is this?”, as though two people enjoying each other’s company – and bodies – required in-depth inspection.
Ricky liked to keep things easy and free, and as soon as a guy introduced the whole “I feel like this could really be something” topic, she shut them down. She and Cristov had spent one night together, that was all. There was even less to “talk” about than usual.
“You’re a reporter,” he said in a flat tone, as though reminding himself of the fact. She waited as his mind seemed to turn the matter over.
“Uh, yeah,” she finally said when the silence drew out past comfort. “What about it?”
“You can find stuff out, right?” he asked. “Like, you’re good at researching, and you have access to a…a…database, or whatever?”
She shrugged, but his line of questioning was, admittedly, becoming more interesting. She nodded.
“Yeah, I mean, finding stuff out is my job,” she said.
“Would it be possible for you to do some research for me?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with a sort of desperate hope.
Nope, no way, she thought at first. She didn’t have the time or the energy to waste doing favors for Cristov. Besides, if she did a favor for him, that would mean she’d have to talk to him, maybe even meet with him. That was low on her list of things she wanted to do.
But the look in his eyes…she softened. This wasn’t about the night they’d spent together, or his not-so-discreet desire for her. This was something serious to him. She could already tell he’d beg her if she asked him to, but she didn’t want to do that. He was, after all, bound to be her extended family at some point when Kim and Kennick got hitched, and she’d liked him enough to sleep with him in the first place.
“What kind of research?” she asked with a resigned sigh. His eyes brightened.
“Steel Dragons. I think it’s a biker gang. I need to know about them,” he said, speaking quickly now. Ricky raised an eyebrow. A biker gang? What did Cristov have to do with a biker gang?
“What about them do you need to know?”
“Anything, everything,” he said, studying the space just above Ricky’s shoulder and nodding. When he looked at her again, his green eyes as clear as the sea, she could feel the intensity of them baking her skin. Her heart clenched tight before beating again. Damn, the guy did have an effect on her, that was for sure. And that was why she needed to keep him at arm’s length. Or more.
“Why?” she demanded, and when Cristov’s jaw moved in a small circle, his lower lip dropping but no words coming out, she knew he didn’t want to tell her. Why would he? Clearly, from the way he’d been racing down the street and the fact that he was desperate for her help, this wasn’t a fun little project for him. Whatever his involvement in the biker gang was, it wasn’t pleasant. But if she was going to do this for him, she wanted to know the whole story. Even if it was only to slake her own natural, destructive curiosity, she felt entitled to know what the hell was going on.
“I just need it,” he said firmly, trapping her in his gaze again. This time, she refused to listen to her body’s response. “That’s all.”
“Not good enough,” she said, narrowing her eyes to meet his. Frustration took the form of a throbbing vein over his eye as he clenched his jaw. “I’ll do it, but I’m gonna need more than that.”
“It’s none of your business,” he murmured, voice low. Still, he was caught, and he knew it. She crossed her arms across her chest and didn’t respond, just held his glare. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” she said with a shrug. “Heard some things about satisfaction too, though.” His hands fisted then released as he sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “You get the info, and I’ll tell you why I need it. Alright?”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll try to get to it today, but it might be a few…”
“Sooner the better,” he interrupted, that dire urgency taking over his eyes again. “Please.”
She didn’t think she’d ever heard the word “please” come out of his mouth before, and it almost shocked her into softening.
“I’ll do my best,” she said, eyes searching his for answers that she knew weren’t there. He would keep his secrets – until she gave him what he needed. Her interest was piqued, and she knew how she’d be spending the night – hopefully with a fifth of bourbon at her side to help dull the ache of sitting in her uncomfortable chair for hours.
“How do I get in touch with you?” he asked. They’d never exchanged numbers. And if he thought he was going to get her number now, he had another think coming. This was going to be a favor between acquaintances – nothing else. She was doing it for Kim, really. And to slake her own curiosity, of course. It had nothing to do with them or what they’d done or what they could do in the future – not that they would, ever again. Nope. Ricky kept telling herself that as she fought to keep herself composed beneath the piercing beauty of his eyes.
“I’ll tell Kim or something,” she said quickly, waving her hand.
“I don’t want her involved,” Cristov said. “She’ll think it’s weird if…”
“Alright,” Ricky sighed, seeing his point. She didn’t want Kim asking questions, either. “Give me your number.”
When she’d put his cell phone number into her phone and tucked it back into her pocket, she began to back away.
“So, I’ll get in touch when I have something,” she said.
“Thank you, Ricky,” Cristov said, watching her go, his face so wide-open and grateful she felt a stabbing pain in her heart. That feeling was worse than the lust that ran through her whenever they met, because didn't expect it. And it hurt. It hurt with a sort of guilt and longing and hope and regret and loss all at once. The only way to stop it was to turn on her heel and walk faster down the block, towards the liquor store, where she’d been heading before running into him.
“Oh, and as for satisfaction,” she heard him say behind her. Against her better judgement, she turned, still walking backwards at a slower pace. “I think we both know it comes in many forms.”
That smile. Goddammit. He was lucky she was too far away to slap it right off his face. How could he be so deadly serious in one moment, then making a joke like that the next? His eyes ran across her body one more time before she turned back, giving him the finger in the process. Even with her back turned, though, she felt his eyes on her ass. Despite herself, she put a little more sway in her step. Let him look, and let him lust. She was done, and that’s what mattered.
Steel Dragons, she thought, rolling the name over in her mind. It didn’t ring any bells, but there’d never been a biker gang in Kingdom before, so why would it? She wondered if they were from somewhere else that Cristov had lived – according to Kim, the Volanis family had been just about everywhere. She’d find out, though. She felt a renewed sense of energy as she left the liquor store, bottle tucked into her purse. She loved a good challenge, and Cristov had just offered her one.
She didn’t bother to think that Cristov had really offered her two good challenges. One was the Steel Dragons, and the other was Cristov himself.
6
Ricky gnawed on her lower lip as she read through headline after headline. These Steel Dragons guys were bad news. A motorcycle club hailing from Baltimore, with chapters all across the mid-Atlantic coast. And they were involved in all sorts of dirty business. Drug trafficking, for one, and even worse, human trafficking. Homicides, prostitution, kidnapping…the list went on and on. They must have had some pretty gnarly lawyers on their side, because the amount of convictions was paltry compared to the amount of trials.
There was no way Cristov was involved in a
crew that nasty, was he? If he was, it almost certainly meant that his brother, who happened to be dating Ricky’s sister, was involved, too. But then why would Cristov have come to her asking about them? If he was a part of their gang, he wouldn’t need her to run a background check on them. So what was the connection?
Were they after him?
Maybe the gypsies owed them some money. For gambling or something. If that was the case, Ricky feared for Cristov and his clan. These were not the kind of people you wanted to be on the wrong side of. The whiskey coke she was sipping was no match for the sinking feeling in her stomach as she read story after blood-curdling story. Remembering the anxiety on Cristov’s face, she had an idea he knew that they were trouble. But he probably had no idea how much trouble. And she was the lucky girl who got to drop that knowledge on him.
Suddenly, she didn’t even want to know why he’d asked her to do the research. She was curious, sure, but she was afraid of what he’d tell her. She was afraid he was in real deep trouble. And then she’d…she’d…
She’d be afraid for him.
Which was ridiculous, because you had no reason to be afraid for someone who meant nothing to you. Nothing but one wild night, that is.
And what a wild night it had been…
She closed her eyes and, feeling the warm welcome of the booze in her veins, let herself remember. She knew she shouldn’t have, that it would only invite trouble, but she didn’t care. Just then, she was willing to remember, and to try for the millionth time to figure out what it was about Cristov that made her go damn loony when he touched her.
It all started with a look. Hell, isn’t that how it always starts? Ricky was out with her coworkers, all men, all telling dirty jokes that she forced herself to laugh along to, even though she didn’t find them very funny.
“…and he pulls out this cock, biggest one she’s ever seen. She takes one look at it, jumps out of her car, and goes back to her pimp. ‘Ronny, Ronny,’ she says, knocking on the window. ‘Lend me seventy bucks!’”
