Our baby sister just shrugged, muttering, “I’m okay.”
“She isn’t,” I ratted on her. “I think you should get her in the shower, then tuck her into bed. She needs to get some sleep.”
“I’m not a baby,” Vicky retorted, but it was half-hearted, like she wanted to argue just for the sake of it but knew we were speaking wisely.
“I know you’re not, malyshka, but I’m going to do exactly that when I get home, and I’m not a baby either.” I leaned forward, squeezing Vicky’s arm, telling her, “You did good today.”
She scowled at me from under a floppy piece of gold fringe. “How can you say that? I just huddled in the corner. You’re the one who—” She gasped. “She—” Her eyes watered. “You put yourself in danger for me.”
“Of course I did,” I told her simply, smiling at her. “That’s my duty as the eldest.”
“But...” Her head tossed from side to side, seemingly of its own volition, not hers. “I don’t understand how you could have...” She swallowed. “...done that. Bite him like that—”
“I had to stop him from hurting you. Not just today, but every other day too. What I did was something he might have survived were it not for Brennan, but he’d never be able to use it the same way again.” I jerked my chin up. “I made sure of that.”
She gulped. “I think I might be sick.”
When she darted out of Inessa’s arms, running down the hall, Inessa frowned at me. “Cammie?” Her voice wobbled just as her eyes widened. “You didn’t.”
My mouth tightened. “I did.”
“Jesus.”
“He had nothing to do with it,” I said flatly, but I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll call you later after I get some rest. My head got knocked around a few times today. I could do with a good night’s sleep.”
She frowned but nodded, moving into me to hug me again. “How did you do that?” she whispered. “Didn’t you gag?”
“I annihilated a threat.” I tipped my head to the side. “That’s what O’Donnellys do.”
Brennan’s nostrils flared as our eyes clashed and held over Innie’s shoulder as we embraced.
“I’m so glad you got away,” I told her gruffly.
“Only because of you,” she whispered. “If you hadn’t helped me—”
I pulled back and reached for her hands. Squeezing them, I repeated, “It’s my job to protect you. I failed you—”
Brennan protested gruffly, “Hardly.”
I just shrugged. “I’m glad you got away, I just wish Victoria had too. I wish she hadn’t gone through that.”
“You went through worse,” Brennan rasped, and I shot him a smile, amused and touched that he was defending me. “Come on, Camille, it’s time we got you home.”
Damn, that sounded good.
Some of my energy had flagged by the time I hugged Innie goodbye, and when we made it back into the SUV, I sagged into the bucket seat, uncaring that I might get car sick, just needing to catch my breath.
“I want to tell you that you should have waited, Camille, that you didn’t have to do what you did,” he rasped, breaking into the silence and prompting me to let my eyes drift open, “but I’m oddly proud of you for attacking first.”
With his gaze straight ahead, his face expressionless, I wasn’t sure if he meant that or not. Was unsure if he was disgusted by me and was just trying to make me feel better, but I decided that I didn’t care.
I was proud of me too.
It might have been unnecessary as there couldn’t have been two minutes between Brennan storming the compound and me attacking Abramovicz but I hadn’t known that, had I?
I’d acted. I’d saved Victoria. I’d saved myself.
“Thank you, Brennan,” I told him softly. “You didn’t have to say that.”
His attention darted off the road for a split second, but his scowl was very much in appearance. “I don’t have to say that? I let you down today, Camille. I broke—” He swallowed thickly. “I broke my promise to your mother, to you. Fuck.” When he rolled to a halt at a stop sign, he leaned over, resting his forehead on his hands which were at the twelve o’clock position on the wheel.
Surprised, I just looked at him a second, unsure of what to do, but I decided to let my instincts reign. They’d helped me out today, after all.
I leaned over, and even though my hands were dirty and speckled with blood, I smoothed my fingers over his hair, cupping the back of his neck as I murmured, “You came for me, Brennan. You could have left us. I’m a wife you didn’t really want—”
“‘Didn’t’ being the operative word,” he grated out, his head pivoting so he could look at me. “I—I thought I lost you today, Camille. When I burst into that room, you were sprawled out flat. You were covered in blood. I didn’t see you breathing. It felt like you weren’t. Maybe I was projecting; I don’t know. But I just...” He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want you. You were a promise I had to fulfil, however I can’t let you carry on thinking that.”
“We’ve only known each other...” Damn, why was I arguing? This was everything I wanted, and nothing I’d ever expected. Blinking back the tears that had started to prickle my eyes, I whispered, “Brennan?”
“Yeah?”
“We have to move. The horns.”
It was an orchestra of pissed-off New Yorkers that serenaded me as, wordlessly, Brennan let me know he had deeper feelings for me. As I let him know the same.
“Fuck them.”
My throat felt thick, my eyes still stung, but I whispered, “We don’t have to put a name to it. We don’t have to even describe it. Just know that I feel the same.”
He clenched his teeth, but his words were simple as he said, “I’m glad,” and like that, he started up the car and drove us to the apartment.
Once inside, we went straight to his, no, our room, and after stripping off, he pulled out his phone and did the most astonishing thing—he turned it off and left it on the bathroom vanity.
We climbed into the shower together, and he tended to me as if I was something precious. Something to cherish. It was unexpected and delicious, and I appreciated him cleaning me as much as I appreciated the show when it was his turn to wash up.
I was exhausted, too drained to do anything but watch, but damn, he was better than Magic Mike.
After, he dried me, taking care to smooth the towel over my skin, making sure no part of me was damp, then he even put toothpaste on the toothbrush for me, watching as I spat out a few gross remnants of blood, and then handed me the bottle of Listerine.
When I was cleaned to his satisfaction, he moved us over to his bed. He held my hand as he lowered me between the sheets, then said, “Wait there.”
Like I was going to go anywhere.
I closed my eyes a second, and then the next, opened them to find him there, sitting beside me with a bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
Sadly, he’d put on a pair of boxer briefs, I noticed, as I reached for both.
“Take two. It’s only Ibuprofen,” he directed.
I complied, asking, “Are you coming to bed?”
“I’ll lie with you until you sleep.”
That was a massive concession.
Huge.
I knew it, so did he.
He wasn’t going to call in, get the details on what had happened once he’d left. He wasn’t diving straight into business. He was giving me his time, and that was the most precious commodity he had. Which, in turn, made me feel precious.
When I’d taken the pills, I laid back once more, wincing as the parts of my head where that bastard had pulled out my hair stung, but watching as he rounded the bed to reach his side. After he’d climbed in, he maneuvered me so I was tucked into him and then he whispered, “This is unexpected.”
I smiled because I knew, inwardly, he was thinking that it was unwanted too. But I could forgive that. I thought I could forgive him anything when he held me like this, his mou
th drifting over my temple like he couldn’t believe I was here and needed to reassure himself, when he’d come to save me, when he’d done as I knew he would—ridden in like the protector he was, to slay my enemies. Now he knew though, I could slay them too.
Rather than say that, I mumbled drowsily, “The best things are, aren’t they?”
“I suppose.”
Silence fell between us, but my brain was still whirring.
“Abramovicz said my father handled Mama.” My eyelids fluttered closed to stop the prickling tears from falling.
“He confirmed it? Shit.”
“Poor Mama,” I whispered sadly.
He bowed his head and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Mariska, you can rest easy now. I’ve got your girls and I’ll keep them safe. No one will ever touch them again. I promise.”
I knew neither of us were religious, so his words warmed me, enough that I tucked my face against his chest and pressed a kiss just above his heart.
“Thank you, Bren. I’m sure she heard that.” And with that promise of his, a vow that meant so much to him, I rested.
Knowing I was safe.
Knowing he’d hold me.
Knowing that he’d been right that first day we’d met—I was no longer in flight mode, but fight.
Knowing that I’d never been prouder of myself and that I deserved it.
Two enemies I’d taken down now. Two. It wasn’t a fluke, if anything, a pattern was forming. Luckily for the Bratva, no one else had earned my hatred.
Maxim had better watch himself, though, or he’d become my third...
And then there was Father’s Obschak, Lukov...
But for the moment, I felt safe, which was enough to make me sigh with relief and sag into him.
Forty-Seven
Brennan
“Please come,” Ma pleaded.
“She’s still resting, Ma. She needs to sleep.”
“She needs to be around family.”
I sighed. “Da wasn’t very welcoming before, was he? Why the fuck would I take her into another situation like that when she needs calm and peace?”
I wasn’t sure if she did need that, to be honest—Camille kept on surprising me—but I wasn’t about to throw her to the rabid dog that was my father just because she hadn’t cried once.
During the night, when I’d held her, my eyes wide open, my brain ticking, thoughts blurring as I tried to reconcile how right she felt in my arms with how insane it all was, she hadn’t stirred once either. Not a single damn time.
No nightmares, no tears, no recriminations.
Who was this woman?
Her strength bewildered me, even as, inside, it made me want to protect her more. Made me want to do stupid shit like coddle her. I’d never coddled a woman in my life except Ma and that was only because of what she’d been through. That I wanted to do the same with Camille...
I gritted my teeth at the thought.
I’d always been the kind of guy my brothers’ women had turned to. They knew they were safe with me, knew I was honorable—I had no idea why they thought that, but apparently they had some kind of fucking radar—but it wasn’t in my nature to be soft, just protective.
Ever since Da had told me to treat the women in my life like queens, I’d listened. The difference here was, with Camille, I wanted to be both. I wanted to be softer around her, to protect her, but did she want that?
And was it weird that, at the same time, I wanted her dark and dirty, filthy with my cum? I wanted to fuck her hard, make her scream and cream at the same time. Wanted to drag her to the outer edges of her control.
Could that be done with a queen?
Mistresses, sure. But Camille was my wife. My woman. The future mother of my kids.
My palms grew sweaty as I thought about her in the limo the other day. I had two pictures in my head, that one and then of her on the ground on the compound. The two didn’t correlate, but one blew my brains and one made me want to blow my load.
She’d been regal in the limo, and somehow, drenched in blood and unconscious, she’d been powerful too.
Queens didn’t bite cocks off.
They waited to be rescued.
Camille hadn’t waited for anyone.
My voice was hoarse as I told my mother, “She bit his dick off, Ma.”
“I know what she did, son.”
I closed my eyes, then reached up to rub them. “When I went into that building, all I could think of was you. That she’d gone through what you had.”
She swallowed. “I know.”
“But it wasn’t her blood.”
“Camille was incredibly brave.”
“She was. She hasn’t cried, Ma. Hasn’t gotten upset. If anything, she just slept the whole night through.” This, from the woman who self-harmed. Whose palms were a ragged mess of scars… each one a cry for help. “She only woke up about a half-hour ago, and she’s singing in the fucking kitchen.” I could hear her all the way down in my office.
On my desk, I had the catalogue of coins from the Yakuza, but even they weren’t giving me any comfort.
“You should be with her. I only wanted to call because I knew you wouldn’t come to the house otherwise, but I’d like you to.”
“I’ll ask her—”
“No, son. Please. I’ve spoken with your father. He knows that I’ll put arsenic in his meat pie tomorrow if he treats her badly, but I don’t think he will. I think she impressed him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
“Well, it’s not every day that a woman will do that to save herself, is it?”
“Surprised he doesn’t think she’s dirty now.”
“Take that back, Brennan,” Ma snapped. “Did you think he tossed me out of his bed because I was a slut in his mind after those bastards—” She sucked in a breath. “—did what they did to me?”
Bowing my head, I rumbled, “Sorry, Ma.”
“So you damn well should be. If anyone understands what you’re going through, Brennan, it’s your father. And if anyone understands what she went through, it’s me. God help me, I never thought what we endured would be visited upon our sons.” A noise drifted from her lips, something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “It really is like they say—the sins of the fathers...”
“Don’t get into that Bible shit, Ma. It had nothing to do with you or Da. If anything, it had to do with her father, her family.” I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. “She’s not like you. What you went through, she didn’t. She’s fine.”
“I want her to know, today of all days, that she’s with family. I never put my foot down with you, Brennan—”
“Don’t you?” I interrupted glumly.
“But I have to insist that you bring her here.”
I scowled at the coins, wanting to argue, but knowing as well that this was important to her. That she wanted to see Camille for herself, make sure she was okay.
From one victim to another. But Camille didn’t feel like a victim. At least, she wasn’t acting that way, which was only confusing me more.
I blew out a breath and said, “I’ll talk to Camille. I make no promises.”
“Thank you, son,” was her immediate reply.
She cut the call before I could say another word, and I just rocked in my chair after I placed my cell down on the desk and picked up a Krugerrand.
Running it between my fingers, I raised it to my eye to squint at the marks etched on it.
Krugerrands started being produced in South Africa in 1967, and this one was minted from that year. They weren’t precious, but they were worth a hefty amount of change, which was why the oyabun from the Yakuza had gifted them to me.
A bribe...
I hadn’t exactly lied to my brothers, but Yamamoto had asked me to keep quiet about a certain someone in my phone list. A certain someone who was his son.
Frederica.
The old bastard was ashamed of his kid, refused to accept what she was, and had bribed me
to keep quiet about it. I liked Freddie. I’d run across her over the years, and had paid her to get close to Coullson. Yamamoto’s issue was that I’d known Frederica back when she’d been Akio. We’d gone to school together.
Pursing my lips, I placed the coin down on the desk and got to my feet.
My office was a simple space, just a desk, a chair, a computer and a painting that, unoriginally, hid a safe.
There was still a blood stain over on the carpet by the window where I’d had Callum tied up for the night, and that was on Tink’s to-do list to deal with. I’d already instructed him to get rid of Camille’s dress from the night she’d murdered her father. I’d had that stored in my safe too, just in case, but when he came over to sort out the stains, he was under orders to get rid of that as well.
She’d never know that, but it was a true testament to how fucked in the head I was over her that I was willing to destroy evidence—and my leverage—on her behalf.
The painting was of Central Park. I’d picked it up from one of the painters who sold tourists the same images over and over, but I’d liked how this one kid had picked up the light as the sun peeked through the trees at dawn.
Even though I’d bought it years ago, it reminded me of Camille now.
Which was way too fucking sentimental for this early in the morning.
Opening the safe, I pulled out a velvet pouch and retrieved one of my favorites and one of the rarest in my collection. A $4 Stella. There’d only been ten minted at the time in 1880, and this one was from the first strike—it was frosted, a museum-quality piece. In truth, the Smithsonian owned one of the ten, and so did I.
I’d snagged it at auction back in 2013, and I’d been hoarding it ever since.
As I lifted it and treated it to the same gimlet look as the Krugerrand, I pursed my lips before I tucked it into a single velvet pouch that I kept in a desk drawer.
Holding that in my hand, I locked the safe back up, then headed out of my office.
Camille was still singing about paradise being a thousand miles away, and I shook my head as I wended my way to the kitchen where her voice came intermittently with the sound of the blender.
She didn’t just sound normal, she looked it.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 45
