The man that is full cannot understand the man that is hungry.—Russian Proverb
THE DRIVE TO THE PIER WAS tense. I blamed myself. My thoughts were scattered all over the place. Petrov had sent me a text earlier that morning with the words RIP over a picture of Andi.
I almost lost my shit, drove over to his house with a bomb in my car and just… ended things, not caring if there were women, children, cats, dogs, or parakeets within the vicinity, but needing to prove a point. I would not, could not, stand him disrespecting family or friends.
And to disrespect or mock her memory?
My blood ran cold.
Guilt and anger, my constant companions, choked the life from me. Andi was the only reason I had a conscience. After I brainwashed my first victim, we went out to get ice cream with her father as if nothing had happened. At sixteen I was already better than most of the men he’d used, and I was desperate, so desperate for money to go to college.
I would have done anything for him.
Anything to be able to afford the textbooks because regardless of the schools I went to, I still needed money to live, and I was an orphan.
He’d sought me out.
At twelve.
My father had been his Kassir, basically helping him cook the books. When, Petrov, in a fit of rage killed him and my mother, it was me who was left to fix the books, pick up the pieces, and walk away.
Only, Petrov gave me no option in the matter, and Jac had been oblivious to what was going on, had no idea that my father was so deeply involved. Maybe it had been his own sick way of trying to establish himself outside of our dark family legacy. I didn’t blame him, anything was better than where I came from—anything. Even Petrov.
“Eat!” Andi had instructed, her eyes darting between me and her father. Already she was in deep with the FBI having been “adopted” by one of the directors after he and his wife couldn’t have children. What a joke.
I’d picked vanilla ice cream because it was white and a reminder that things would not always be stained with blood. One day, blood would resemble salvation instead of death.
She’d picked butterscotch.
Stupid, that at the time, it made complete and total sense to use those two flavors as trigger words.
Maya sighed loudly and tried to switch the music, I lightly slapped her hand away as I pulled into my usual parking spot.
Where Andi was light, Maya was dark, the outline of her eyes was hypnotic, captivating, making the green of her irises look so huge it almost looked animated, fake.
Her long dark hair was pulled into a low bun.
Spending time with her was like purposefully cutting myself only to watch the blood pool at my feet in wonder. I had to protect her but by doing so, I was allowing her to be with the only person more dangerous than her father.
Myself.
The click-clack of Maya’s heels was a welcome distraction from my thoughts as we made our way into the office.
Jac was waiting inside, her leather bomber jacket fitting tightly around her body. Her trademark cowboy books shimmered in the light.
Her mood was greatly improved from the last I’d seen her, meaning things must have been going well. And if they were going well, it meant she wouldn’t be pestering me about taking up the family business. Blood on both sides, wasn’t I lucky?
“Jac!” I held out my hands to her “It’s good to see you.”
“And you.” She kissed my cheek then patted my other with her hand as her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?
“I sleep.” Clearly a lie. One of my best friends was dead, Petrov was waiting for me to fail so he could kill his only remaining daughter, whom I had to keep my hands off, not only because of the damn contract, but because anything could trigger her past, and the last thing I needed was for her to remember.
For her sake, not mine.
Jac bit out a curse. “These nights are getting to you, I know they are. Your grandpa would—”
“—be pleased,” I interrupted, irritated she was bringing up my grandfather in front of Maya. “Wouldn’t he?”
“Yes.” She nodded and patted my cheek again, this time tapping her finger against my jaw meaning she wanted to speak to me later. “He’d be proud to call you his grandson, rest his soul.”
I glared.
While Jac simply shrugged.
“You have two new ones this evening, Nikolai.” Jac said, changing the subject. “They aren’t well.”
“And their symptoms?” They aren’t well meant that they were getting close to the time when they were no longer necessary to Petrov.
“The same as the last few weeks… it seems to be spreading.” Shit.
“Hmm.” I said, pretending to think out loud, buying some time while I figured out what to do with them. “Continue to train Maya with the schedule and I’ll see what I can do, if it’s a red line I’ll let you know.”
“It’s day two.” Jac said in a tight voice. “A red line would—”
“I’ll let you know,” I snapped, slamming the door behind me, a red line meant I would eliminate the threat before Petrov did. He didn’t allow women of their trade to die with dignity. I did.