Resurrection

by Wendy Million

  “Shame.” He looks away. “I can think of lots of unreasonable things.” With the other earbud in his ear, he settles deeper into his seat.

  I make a beeline for my chair, my heart pounding. Jay grins when I flop beside him.

  “Not so bad?” he says.

  “You know when you’re out somewhere and there’s a fruit tray and a brownie tray? Why do we always want the brownie?”

  Jay gives me a look of disbelief. “Because brownies are fucking delicious.”

  “Yeah, but they’re bad for you.”

  “When you bite into one and the chocolate goodness hits your tongue, do you care? You don’t. No one does. Sometimes the bigger sin is not digging in.”

  “What if you’re allergic to brownies, and they could kill you?”

  His smile fades. “He ever lay a hand on you?”

  I frown. “Never. No. I—he’s a lot of things, but he’s not that.”

  “And this whole affair was when?”

  “Seventeen years ago.”

  “You’re not even the same people. Maybe you eat the brownie and you find out you don’t have a sweet tooth anymore.”

  I give him a long look. He doesn’t need to realize I’ve sampled the brownie recently and the sweet tooth might just eat me. “Your wife is lucky.”

  He gives me a rueful smile. “Next time we get in a fight, I’m putting you on speakerphone. You’ will have to yell it really loud though, maybe several times. Sofia’s got a temper.”

  I laugh. “That’s a deal.”

  Over the speaker, the pilot tells us to prepare for landing. “As soon as we’re on the ground, I need you to find out where we can meet Valeriya,” I say.

  “You got it,” Jay replies. “Car should be waiting on the tarmac when we touch down.”

  “Customs? Passport control?”

  “Valeriya took care of it.”

  “Perfect.”

  One less worry. People criticize countries where money can buy things, powerful things, such as entry into the country without passing through customs. The truth is—people don’t care about right and wrong. They just wish they had enough money so they didn’t have to care either.

  Volgograd isn’t a major city, which is also helpful.

  “You worried about what we’re gonna find?” Jays says.

  I seek the back of Finn’s head, almost on instinct. “Not anymore.”

  Chapter Nine

  Finn

  The warehouse is huge. It’s also empty. Carys’s heels tap dance on the concrete floor as she searches the few offices off to the right. Jay stands beside me, fiddling with his phone.

  “I don’t understand what I’m looking at here.” I put my hands on my hips, and the coat Carys gave me in the car stretches across my shoulders. When she handed it to me, annoyance and gratitude fought for dominance. Just like every single thing she’s done for me since I woke.

  “An empty warehouse.” Jay tucks his phone into his pocket.

  “Gee, thanks. I got that part. But how full was it? Quarter? Half?”

  “Try loaded to the gills.”

  I rock on my heels. “Fuck off.”

  “I’m not kidding, man. Eric wasn’t wrong to be raging over this loss. It’s huge. A smaller company would have folded for sure. I’m surprised Charles isn’t here reaming her out for incompetence.”

  Of course her father could be the reason the warehouse is empty. Would he do that to his daughter? I can’t decide. Their relationship has always been tense. She and I were drawn together by our complicated family structures. She both loved and hated her father. At the time, I understood her conflicted feelings. For me, the hate won out.

  “Jesus Christ.” I leave him standing near the main entrance, and I head toward the clicking of her shoes. In the last office, Carys is in the center of the room, her arms crossed, disbelief on her face.

  “The robbery is worse than they told me. There’s nothing left. Not a single weapon. We were completely cleaned out.”

  I run my hand through my hair and sigh. “Eric is a dick. But if this was my organization, heads would be literally rolling. This took serious resources and massive planning. It stinks of an inside job.”

  “The theft happened at the same time you were in trouble.” She leans against the wide desk in the middle of the room. “I delegated. I would have normally handled this myself.” She squeezes the messy bun at the nape of her neck. “I should have done more. The inventory has been gone for weeks now. Tracing it will be tough. And Eric’s correct—our fingerprints are on everything. Depending on who has our products, it could appear we’re making deals we aren’t doing.” Her smile is fleeting. “We do questionable things for profit, and if I got caught on those—well, fair enough—I made my choice. But if we get prosecuted over this...”

  “Valeriya. She’s in charge here?” I say.

  “Yeah.” Carys pushes off the desk. “Next stop is to her. I just—I can’t believe this.”

  “You can’t tell me no one’s ever stole from you before.”

  “I mean, of course, but never like this. Never this big. And none of us have a clue who did it. Not my father, not Eric, and I sure as hell don’t have any ideas.”

  “Valeriya’s fingers are in the pie.”

  Carys laughs. “You haven’t even met her.”

  “Don’t need to.”

  “Well, unlike you, I’m reserving judgment until I speak to her. That’s what a good employer does.”

  “My employees never complained.”

  She leaves the office. “When the result of a complaint is a bullet between the eyes, not too many people want to stir the pot.”

  “Exactly. Make ’em sorry they even thought about fucking you over,” I grumble.

  “Right—again with the murdering.”

  “Sound as if that’s a problem for you, and I know it’s not.” Her heels clack on the floor ahead of me, but I’ve got my head down. “You understand better than most how I was raised.”

  When she stops, I have to throw my weight in reverse to avoid ramming into her. When I glance up, her amber eyes are soft with understanding. Stupid. Why’d I bring up the past? We used to confess so many things to each other under the cover of darkness. I’ve worked hard to coat my underbelly with a steely resolve. Sometimes I think she might be the only person who ever realized it existed.

  “What happened with Lorcan—it gives you a fresh start, Finn. You don’t have to be the man you were. Your father is dead. You can’t return to your organization.”

  I keep my hands in the pockets of my jeans to prevent myself from reaching for her. So easy to loop my arm around her waist, tug her to me, lose myself. “People don’t change. We are who we are.”

  She makes a frustrated noise and glares at the wall behind me. Her hand strays to her hair. She crosses her arms and then focuses on me, searching for something. “A long time ago, you told me—”

  “Too many years ago.”

  “But if people don’t change...”

  “There was a moment, I’ll give you that. Two roads diverged in a wood.” I smirk. “I chose the bloodier one.”

  “Don’t have to be flippant about this. I’m being serious.”

  “Me too. I’m a lost fucking cause. You can’t reform me, remake me, change me. There are two things I do really well. You’ve already experienced one of them.” I lean in so my lips are close to grazing her ear. “And the other one is killing.” Then I brush past her and make my way to Jay at the front of the building. After a minute, her heels sound behind me.

  ~ * ~

  Valeriya is a skinny-ass blonde Russian with eyes a similar shade of piercing blue to mine. She’s also a fucking liar.

  “You’ve had three weeks.” Carys crosses her legs on the oversize recliner. “Three weeks and you’ve discovered nothing?”

  We’re in Valeriya’s apartment in an upscale neighborhood, and the place is much nicer than it should be on her salary. Her necklace and earrings catch the
light when she turns her head. They’re too real for her pay grade.

  “No, I’m sorry. Nothing.” She shrugs as though Van De Berg Ammunitions didn’t lose a shit-ton of money.

  I run a hand down my face and glare. One good threat and this woman would spread her knowledge like butter on bread. There’s not a doubt she knows something. Whoever took the weapons and ammo must have more clout than Carys and is therefore worth Valeriya’s loyalty. The realization pisses me off.

  “Can I?” I growl.

  “No,” she says, tight-lipped. “You may not.”

  “Who is he? And what can he do?” Valeriya re-crosses her long legs and examines her chipped nails.

  “Kill you,” Carys deadpans.

  Valeriya’s startled gaze flies to mine. A sly smile crosses her face. “You would not do that in this country. My father—”

  “I don’t give a shit who your father is. Someone stole a warehouse full of material. You think I wouldn’t put a bullet in your head? I’ve killed for less. Google Finn Donaghey and thank your fucking stars she’s got me on a collar...and leash.”

  Carys sucks in a deep breath. “Don’t Google him.” On her feet, she stares at Valeriya. “I’m coming here tomorrow. You need to reconsider where your loyalty lies. I want something concrete—a direction—a name.”

  Valeriya rises to her full height. Without her heels, Carys would be dwarfed by her. “I tell you. I know nothing. Tomorrow will not change that.”

  “There are other ways to make someone’s life difficult other than murder.” Carys runs her hand along the back of the leather recliner she just vacated. “Money is a powerful motivator. If you want to keep your money, and I don’t just mean what I’ve paid you, reconsider your attitude.”

  “You can’t touch my bank accounts.”

  Carys narrows her eyes and opens the purse she has clutched in her hand. She removes a slip of paper and passes it to her. “Those account numbers? They’re yours, sweetie. I’ve got lots of friends in lots of places. You want to be broke? Fine by me.”

  Valeriya stares at the page for a moment, her mouth a tight line. “I know nothing.”

  “That necklace.” Carys points her index finger at Valeriya’s neck and then her earlobes. “And those earrings say otherwise. Maybe you don’t understand enough, but you do know something. Get me enough by tomorrow.”

  “What time?” Her voice has lost the insolent confidence of earlier.

  “First thing in the morning.” Carys walks to the front vestibule and opens the door to Jay who has been standing watch. “I’m recovering weapons or I’m recovering cash. Your choice.”

  Christ. She is so fucking hot right now I have to keep my hands deep in my pockets to stop myself from grabbing her around the waist as we exit the apartment. I’ve never seen her do business before. Her playful sense of humor, her softness, the way she sees me in ways no one else does, lure me in. But this—her cool control—almost puts me on my knees.

  “How’d it go?” Jay asks as I close the door behind me.

  “Snakes in the grass,” I mutter.

  She laughs. “Valeriya will come around. No one wants to be poor in Russia.”

  He leads us out of the building. She trails him, and I bring up the rear. When we get to the bank of elevators, she turns to me. “Still hungry?”

  “Do bears shit in the woods?”

  “That’s a yes, then.” The elevator pings. “I have a place,” she says.

  “You want me along?” Jay asks as we step into the metal box.

  “You’d better.” She’s focused on the closing doors. “If Valeriya calls her father to tell him I threatened her, there might be trouble.”

  “Who is he?” I say.

  Her eyes twinkle in amusement, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. “Russian mafia. Your favorite.”

  “Think they could have taken your product?” I suggest.

  “Doubtful. They use my business in Russia to clean their money. But it’s good to be sure.” As the elevator doors open, she exits.

  “So if Valeriya doesn’t tell Daddy you threatened her...” I slot the pieces together.

  “Exactly.” Carys glances over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want him to realize what she’s been doing behind both our backs.”

  “Impressive.”

  She mocks a tiny curtsey. “Why thank you, kind sir.” Her southern accent peeks out, reminding me of the other times she’s let me hear it. My chest aches at the memories.

  Jay holds the door of the car as we both climb into the rear seats. With the middle space between us, we head to dinner. I stare at the scenery outside as we glide through the streets, determined to keep these old feelings for Carys from rising too far.

  Chapter Ten

  Carys

  I’m on my third glass of vodka in the quaint restaurant down the street from the hotel my family frequents in Volgograd. The place is a bit of a dive bar, grungy even, but I love the Russian food. Their kebabs are exceptional. If the man across the table from me wasn’t so distracting, I’d be in heaven.

  We’ve barely said two words to each other since we were seated and ordered. I’m praying for our meals to come faster even as I gulp more vodka. Drinking this much is a mistake, but I can’t stop myself. Liquid courage.

  “What are you thinking about?” As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I curse the alcohol. The stupidest, most girly ask in the world.

  The vinyl on the chair squeaks when Finn leans back and crosses his arms. “Trying to puzzle out your employee.”

  “Valeriya?”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  Another stupid question. More vodka makes its way past my lips.

  “Who has more clout than you?” He picks up his drink. His pain must be substantial because he took painkillers and opted for water instead of alcohol. Weirdly responsible.

  “In Russia?” I reply. “Pretty much everyone. I’m a small fish here.”

  The ice in Finn’s water clinks together as he rotates his glass. “Do you suspect your father? Could he be the reason for the theft?”

  “My father?” I rear back, my glass dangling from my fingers. Wasn’t my first idea when I found out. In fact, he would be one of the last people I’d accuse.

  “Charles never liked to play by the rules.” Finn stays focused on the swirling water.

  “He’s retired.”

  He glances up at me. “So he never sticks his nose in? Never once had remorse over giving up control?”

  My glass clatters, almost tumbling from my fingers when I lean across the table. Jay rises from his seat near the door, but I wave him down without diverting my attention from the man in front of me. “My father is a lot of things, but he wouldn’t force me into this position.”

  “He used to enjoy testing you—giving you impossible tasks, seeing how you’d get out.”

  “And your father used to set a gun in your hand and tell you real men kill people who get in their way.”

  Finn grabs my drink from me. He teeters on the legs of his chair and puts my liquid courage on the table behind him. The cheap white tablecloth shifts as he pushes the glass along the top. We’re the only people in here. The waitress, who is coming out of the kitchen with our food, gives me a puzzled look but continues to our table, the food held high on a platter over her head.

  “Give me my drink,” I say.

  “You’re drunk, and you’re bringing up shit that will piss me off. You’re done drinking.”

  The waitress sets Finn’s food in front of him and then passes me mine.

  “Another drink?” She indicates the almost empty glass behind Finn.

  “Yes.”

  “No.” Finn’s voice drowns out mine, and he’s far more intimidating than me.

  She scurries away. She’d better bring my drink.

  We eat in silence for a moment before I throw back my chair, storm around him, grab the glass, and chug the last bit.

  When I pass him, he snakes his arm out
to my waist and tugs me into his lap. Our eyes connect and my breath catches in my throat. The slightest movement forward will reunite our lips, put me out of my misery. He’s hard beneath me, straining to be released. “You need to stop drinking.”

  “Why?” My gaze flicks up to meet his and then I focus on his lips, willing him to close the distance.

  “We agreed months ago we weren’t doing this.” His voice is gruff, and he’s so still beneath me I wonder if, like me, he’s afraid to move.

  “Did we?” The words are whispered between us. My fingertips brush his brow.

  “You’re right. You said we weren’t doing this again.”

  “Maybe I misspoke.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I am.”

  He shakes his head. “You want no strings sex? I’m game.” He slides his hand into my hair, loosening my bun. “But I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk.” Finn brings my forehead to his. “I don’t want to be a regret in the morning when you’re sober. Not again.”

  “What I said to you that morning—”

  “Doesn’t matter if you meant it. You said it. Not again. We do this, you make the choice stone-cold sober and you understand it’s just physical.”

  I climb off his lap and stand, straightening my clothes. His words shouldn’t burn. But they do. A hot iron pressed against my heart. I sink into my chair on the other side of the table and pick up my kebab, pulling it apart with my fork and fingers. The silence between us is all-consuming.

  “You don’t want me, Carys.”

  With an annoyed sound, I drop my fork, letting it clatter onto my plate. “I’m old enough to decide what I want.”

  “Okay,” he says while he chews. “What do you want?”

  An excellent question. One I haven’t let myself consider too closely. On a very immediate level, I want to get laid, by him, and the sooner the better. Beyond that? I can’t say for sure. A long time ago, I wanted so much more, first from Finn, then from Eric, but I couldn’t secure the connection. I would be so close, and happiness would slip away. So, I stopped hoping, stopped wanting.

  “Come on. If you’re old enough to know what you want, spit it out.” Finn sets his fork on his plate and leans closer. “You want me to clear this table? Fuck you on it while Jay watches?”