Chapter Ten
Ten Years Ago
The middle of January and I didn’t have a freaking coat. Figures.
I used to have a coat.
It had been a nice coat. Long and puffy and so warm. Now, in the middle of winter, in the middle of a job, I didn’t have one.
I wanted to punch something.
“Where’s your coat?” Gus asked as he hopped up on the retaining wall next to me.
My jaw quivered as I tried to fight the biting wind in a battle of wills. “Whichever whore my dad brought home last night ran off with it.”
“His taste in women has definitely declined over the years,” Atticus consoled in that way of his that was not at all consoling. “Which is saying something since I thought your mom was about the dirtiest piece of trash he could have drummed up.” Atticus smiled at Gus. “I mean, talk about bottom of the barrel.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Francesca growled. She was shivering too, but only because she barely weighed a hundred pounds. It didn’t matter how bundled up she was, she needed more meat on her bones. “That’s an ugly fucking thing to say.” She sashayed by him, reminding him that her ass was about the only non-boney part of her body. “Besides,” she taunted, “if we want to talk about slutty mothers, yours is always top of the list.”
“Geez, Frankie,” Gus groaned. Atticus and Gus’s mother was still very much married to their father. Much to all of our surprise, since she hadn’t been faithful to her very dangerous husband in a long time. I assumed every time Gus and Atticus went home they were surprised to see their mother still there, still breathing.
It wasn’t that Ozzie was faithful in return. In fact, it was probably his lifetime of infidelity that had pushed her into the arms of other men. But Oz was derzhatel obschaka to the most powerful Russian syndicate in DC. And she was just arm candy.
Aging arm candy.
Atticus’s expression flattened, turning into that cold serial killer psycho we all knew and loved. And then he turned that cruel glare on Frankie. “It’s not a good idea to talk about my mother.”
She didn’t flinch. “So talk some shit about my mother. Get me back. I dare you.”
Atticus turned away, knowing he couldn’t say a damn thing to Frankie. Let alone, her deceased mother, the favorite sister of our bosses. “I don’t know why you’re here anyway, princess. You don’t belong with us.”
“Who’s us?” Gus asked. “The working class?”
Atticus pushed off the retaining wall and walked away. Throwing an, “Exactly,” over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong with him today?” I asked needlessly.
Neither Gus nor Frankie answered. Something was always wrong with him. He was always pissed about something. Or everything.
Lately, though, I had an idea of what it was. He had it bad for the pretty, untouchable, angry-at-the-world princess. And she’d just insulted his mother.
Sayer crossed the street, headed in our direction. His long legs ate up the distance with purpose and speed, making the rest of the world appear in slow motion. He had his hands thrust into his pockets and a plaid scarf tucked around his neck.
I lost my breath watching him move toward us. I had never seen anyone more breathtaking than Sayer. He couldn’t be human. I refused to believe he was a mere mortal.
And in the five years I had known him, he had done nothing but prove me right.
Fallen angel. That was my current theory.
He walked right up to me, stepping between my legs and rubbing his hands over my biceps. I sank into his warmth, needing as much of it as I could get. “Where’s your coat?” he demanded in a much firmer, more possessive way than Gus had.
With him this close, smelling like cigarette smoke and spearmint and this new soap he’d started using, I lost the ability to form coherent sentences. That or my brain had gotten frostbite. “Uh…”
“Her dad’s lucky lady of the night ran off with it,” Gus explained for me.
Sayer frowned, his freakishly blue eyes darkening with concern. His hands moved over my neck and up to cradle my face. I loved the way his callouses scratched against my jawline and the way his fingertips disappeared into my hair. “You going to buy a new one?”
“O-of course.” I licked dry lips and wished I had the courage to tell him to get on with it. Despite how much I loved his attention, I really was freezing.
“Tell him the truth, Caro,” Frankie demanded.
I bit back a growl, hating how much I’d told her on the subway. “There’s nothing to tell him, Frankie. I got it covered.”
Frankie rolled her eyes at me. “Her old man ran off with her savings.”
“Frankie!”
She gave Sayer a look. “All of it.”
I dropped my face into my frozen fingers. “It’s not a big deal. We have a job right now, don’t we? I can wait until we get paid.”
“How much did he take?” Sayer demanded.
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to tell him that. The amount was sickening. I felt like puking every time I thought about it.
Sayer dipped his head and held my gaze. I wanted to look away so badly. I really did. But I couldn’t. He had this frustrating way of hypnotizing me. And getting the stupid truth out of me.
It would be easier to lie if I could look somewhere else. Anywhere else.
But I couldn’t.
And I couldn’t lie to him. Which seriously rubbed me the wrong way.
Frankie said it was because he was always touching me. She claimed it was way harder to lie when you were turned on.
Obviously she was an idiot.
It wasn’t even like his touches were sexual. He just… I didn’t even know what it was about him. But when we were together, his hands were on me. His arm was around me or he was holding my hand or he’d pull me into his lap in front of his entire crew and just expect me to sit there like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And maybe it would have been if I was his girlfriend or if he’d admit he liked me or something. But I wasn’t and he hadn’t.
He’d kissed me once, five years ago, when I was ten and he was thirteen. But that had been the last time.
Now that I was fifteen and he was eighteen and we were both official employees of the Volkov, he’d kept everything between us completely platonic.
Except for the affectionate touching.
And sometimes intense looks that made my knees buckle.
“A lot,” I finally admitted to Sayer.
“Her college money,” Frankie added.
I was going to punch her later. She was always complaining about being treated differently and how everyone was scared of her. Well, not me. I was definitely going to throat punch her.
“Fuck, Caro,” Sayer growled, jumping back from me.
The urge to cry pricked at the backs of my eyeballs, but I refused to let the tears fall. It was a hell of a lot of money, but I should have put it in the stupid bank. I should have hidden it better. I should have had it better protected.
Instead, I’d left it where anyone could find it. Yeah, fine, it was in my apartment, in my room, hidden away in a spot that I thought only I knew about, but my dad was in trouble. I knew that he was. He acted like everything was fine, but I knew he’d started gambling again.
Which was a dangerous thing to do for a bookie and an addict.
“I’m going to get it back,” I announced to Frankie and Sayer and Gus for good measure. “He’s going to pay me back.”
Sayer unzipped his coat and pulled it off his body, wrapping it around me. I closed my eyes against the sensation of warmth and his scent still lingering in the lining. “Here, at least take mine for now.”
“Then you’ll freeze,” I pointed out weakly.
He shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.”
He always said that and we all believed him. Whatever Sayer had gone through before he joined the syndicate had been hell. He never talked about his life before Fat Jack had found him on the streets. He’d wormed his way into the syndicate by helping the bratva steal an entire container of Irish guns. But it was something you could tell about him just by looking at him, by watching him climb the ranks of the brotherhood faster than any Six had in the history of organized crime.
He was our brigadier, our avtoritet. And we were his boyeviks, his soldiers. And we knew in another few years he would make vor. Sayer’s eyes were on the top. It was only a matter of time before he got there.
It was why Atticus hated him so much. Sayer had stolen Atticus’s fame and glory, making it his own and leaving Atticus in the back with the rest of us that didn’t want to be here.
“We’ll talk about the money later,” Sayer promised. I nodded, praying he would forget all about it. I could handle my dad without him. I didn’t need the help nor did I want it. To the group he said, “They’re ready for the hurrah. We need to hit tonight.”
Frankie leaned forward. “They want us to break into the mayor’s house?”
Unfazed, Sayer added, “And rob him.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“They want it cleaned out. Nothing trashed. No signs that we’ve been there. They just want it all gone.” He rubbed the side of his jaw. “Also, there’s a dog.”
We all shared a look. I hated dogs. Especially stealing them.
“And what do we get out of it?” Gus asked.
“Your usual cut.”
We all winced. We were paid well, but not enough to risk breaking into the mayor of DC’s house and stealing everything of value.
Besides Sayer and Atticus, the rest of us were here against our will. Gus was forced into the life by his father. Frankie demanded to be given jobs, but only so she could escape the pretty prison her uncles had designed for her. And I had been sucked in when I’d stolen something for Sayer.
Sometimes I hated him for that day as much as I loved him.
And I did love him.
I had loved him since he kissed me that same day. Hate and love always at war within me for this boy that could talk me into anything.
It was messed up. I knew that it was. But I also knew I couldn’t do anything about it. I had been trying for five years. And yet here I was, secretly smelling the warm coat wrapped around me.
“We’ll meet at the usual spot at nine tonight,” Sayer continued to order. “Gus and Frankie, you’ll stick with Atticus. Caro, you’re with me.”
I ignored the I-told-you-so-look on Frankie’s face. She was convinced he loved me too.
But what she didn’t understand was that boys like Sayer and Atticus and Gus didn’t fall in love. They screwed around. A lot. Maybe they married eventually, but only to get a pair of sons. Nothing changed for them though. They never stopped screwing around. And they really didn’t fall in love.
Just ask any of our fathers.
Gus jumped to the sidewalk. He shoved his hands into his pocket and tugged on his knit beanie. “I got work to do then. I’m assuming there’s security?”
“He’s on the Italian payroll,” Sayer explained. “The bosses aren’t happy that he won’t play ball.”
“That’s why he wouldn’t take the girls last weekend? The congratulatory gift?” Atticus asked from the outskirts of our circle.
Sayer nodded. “He’s been in office for two weeks. Long enough to figure out how things work.”
Atticus shrugged, agreeing with Sayer. Meanwhile, acid reflux burned in my throat. I reasoned that if the mayor was already working with the Italians, he knew what he was getting into. If he’d picked a side in the ongoing war for the underbelly of DC, then he knew there would be repercussions. He knew nothing in his life was safe or protected.
Maybe he didn’t expect Russians to hit his house two weeks into his term. But he should have.
These people didn’t play fair.
And they sure as hell didn’t play nice.
We’d been working on this job for a lot longer than his term. We’d known who was going to win the election long before it had actually taken place. Last summer, we’d all been given our roles. Gus had gotten a job at his landscapers and mowed the yard every week. Atticus had volunteered at his campaign office. Frankie and I had gotten to know his daughter by hanging out at the pool where her and her friends always went. And Sayer had run point. We knew the ins and outs of his life. We knew when he’d be home and when he’d be gone. And we knew the layout of his house.
It would be a clean hit. We’d get in. We’d get out. We’d take everything from him, even his dog, sending a clear message to reconsider his allegiances. From there, his circumstances would get progressively worse until he complied.
I felt sorry for him. Yeah, he’d sided with the Italians, but what choice did he have? DC was thick with crime, infested with it. You couldn’t enter a public office at any level without having to deal with some crime syndicate or gang intimidation tactic—it went on and on. At least the Italians were significantly subtler than say… the Irish. Or us. The Ukrainians were trying hard to get a foothold here and they were brutal savages. Mexicans, Rastas, Yakuza… everybody was here. Everybody wanted a piece of the pie.
It was true that most everyone was smart enough to lay low, to let gang violence and rising crime cover up the organized activity, but that didn’t mean DC didn’t have its fair share. And why wouldn’t we?
DC was the most corrupt city in the country. Politicians came here already half twisted toward evil. Then there was the “donor crowd.” The top one percent. Already so perverted by money that they didn’t care where it went as long as their agenda was accomplished. The lobbyists. The police. The fucking mayor. DC was a cesspool.
So yeah, we laid low because we didn’t want to piss off the FBI, but we ran this city.
Gus mimicked typing on the computer. “I’ll see what I can do about the security system then.”
“That would be great,” Sayer answered. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Frankie, you going back to your house?” Atticus asked. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“I think I’ll just hang with Caro,” she answered.
We hadn’t had plans, but I knew she didn’t want to be alone with Atticus. He freaked her out.
He freaked all of us out.
“Whatever,” Atticus mumbled, turning around and heading in the opposite direction of Gus.
“Nine,” Sayer called after him.
Atticus replied with his middle finger in the air.
Sayer rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s such an asshole.” Looking at Frankie he asked, “Has he always been an asshole? Or is it something that’s getting worse with age?”
“He’s always been an asshole,” Frankie answered. “But what do you expect being the first son of Ozwald Usenko? Like father, like son.”
Sayer shrugged. “Ozzie’s not so bad.”
Frankie and I stared at him. Oz regularly beat the shit out of Gus and Atticus until they were old enough to fight back. He forced both of his sons into this life. Maybe Atticus had gone willingly, but Gus had never wanted this, never wanted to be a part of any of this. And he was a cruel bastard to his wife.
The only decent thing Oz had ever done was take Sayer in when he had nowhere else to go. But everybody knew that was because Roman had ordered it. Gus and Sayer were close to the same age. It made sense to everyone but Oz.
Another clue to Sayer’s messed up life before the syndicate.
“All right, see you ladies later tonight. You going to be okay?” Sayer’s question was directed at me.
“Fine,” I answered quickly. “Here, let me give you your coat back.”
“We’ll go shopping for a new one,” Frankie suggested. Then with a sly smile she added, “Maybe we’ll run into those guys at the mall again. This time you have to give that one your number though. He was so hot, Caro.”
Sayer’s blue eyes flared. “What guy?”
Oh my God. I was going to kill Frankie. Kill her. This was so embarrassing. And it was only going to get worse. My bright red cheeks were about to catch fire any second, then I would start Sayer’s coat on fire and then I would just die. I would just burn up and die from humiliation.
“What guy, Six?” Sayer demanded using the nickname he’d had for me ever since we were ten.
“Oh, just these prep school guys we met at the mall last weekend,” Frankie prattled on. “One of them was so into her. He was like obsessed with her.”
“Frankie, enough,” Sayer growled. “I asked Caroline.”
I licked dry lips. Nobody ever used my full name. Ever. Unless it was Sayer. And only occasionally. Like when it was just the two of us. Or right now… when he was obviously pissed off.
“Caroline,” he repeated firmly.
Clearing my throat, I fumbled with the zipper of his coat. “Like she said, just these prep school guys. They were just messing around. We don’t even know their names.”
“You’re into them, though? Or the one guy? The hot guy?”
Could his glare get any more intense? I was surprised it hadn’t sliced me in two by now. “I’m not into him. Geez, I don’t even know him.”
Sayer stepped closer to me and it wasn’t sweet or protective or nice. He was trying to be intimidating. He was trying to be the tough guy our bosses paid him to be. “And that’s what you want?” he pushed. “You want to get to know this prep school kid?”
I glared up at him briefly before I turned back to the zipper, struggling to get it down the frustrating seam. Argh! I was only ever a fumbling idiot around him. And right now it was pissing me off! “Maybe. He seemed nice. And bonus, I’m pretty sure his plans tonight don’t include breaking and entering or grand theft.”
Sayer grabbed my wrist in a tight grip, stalling me from ripping his coat off and throwing it in his face. “Yeah, but yours do. Don’t forget that when you’re playing rich kid in the city.”
I was so mad I could have sworn I was about to breathe fire. He had hit all my insecurities. All of them. I wasn’t even interested in that stupid prep school kid. To be honest, he’d been a pretentious asshole and I didn’t like the way he leered at me. That’s why I hadn’t given him my number. Or even my name. Frankie had only brought him up to get a rise out of Sayer.
Only it had backfired on all of us.
“Don’t worry about me, Sayer. I can handle myself. The job comes first, right? Always?”
His jaw ticked, the silent anger vibrating through him. Everybody knew Sayer was the pakhan’s errand boy. He would do anything for them. This job was his life.
This job was all he cared about.
Not Frankie. Not Gus. And certainly not me.
“You better be there tonight, Six. On time. Or so help me god, I’ll—”
My chin wobbled, betraying me. “What? Tell on me? Report me? Maybe they’ll fire me and I’ll finally be free of this godforsaken place.”
“Don’t fucking talk like that. You know the consequences.”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying something I regretted. I did know the consequences.
Death.
A bullet between the eyes.
“I’ll be there tonight,” I hissed. “You don’t have to be such an asshole about it though.” I finally got the zipper free of the fabric surrounding it and yanked it down. “Here, take your coat.”
Sayer stepped back, the dragon inside him retreating. “Go to the mall. But you better wear that fucking coat.” He took another step back. “Frankie, don’t let her take it off.”
“That’s the dumbest—”
He ignored my outrage. “See you tonight, Six.”
“I hate him,” I told Frankie when he’d walked away. “And I hate his nickname for me.”
She jumped down from the wall and bumped her shoulder with mine. “You’re such a liar.”
I sighed, hating the most that she was right. “Why does he have to make things so difficult though? Why can’t he just be a nice guy and ask me out?”
“Because you would be bored by a nice guy. You’d never waste your time with someone uncomplicated or upright. You can fight it all you want, Caro, but you were born for this life.”
I turned to my friend. She had a baseball cap on over her braided long hair. “Yeah, well that makes two of us.”
Her expression flattened. “Let’s go find those prep school guys. We’ll stash his jacket in a locker. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Smiling at her idea, we headed for the mall. We even stashed the jacket and found some guys to hang out with. They weren’t the same prep school kids, but they might as well have been. Because the outcome was the same.
I didn’t give out my number.
I didn’t find anyone capable of keeping my attention.
And the entire stupid time I kept thinking about the coat and the boy it belonged to and that even though I wasn’t actually wearing his coat, I was so wearing his coat.
And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to take it off.
Not in the way that mattered.
As messed up as Sayer Wesley was, I was as entangled in this game of ours as he was. As long as Sayer was in my life there would never be anyone else.
The next day, I rolled out of bed in the early afternoon, exhausted by our late-night success at the Mayor’s. A new winter coat was waiting for me in the living room with a note from my dad. He felt bad for losing my other one. Oh, and he would replace my college money as soon as he could. I didn’t need to worry about anything.
Only my dad didn’t do shit like that… ever. This had Sayer’s hand written all over it. He’d intervened. He’d stuck up for me to my dad. He’d somehow convinced Leon to do the decent thing.
So yeah, I did have something to worry about. I had Sayer to worry about.
I had my weak, infatuated heart to worry about.