Chapter Ten
Sayer
Ten Years Ago
“Kid!” Dymetrus hollered from across the room. He was talking to me. I was eighteen, had a place of my own and they still called me kid.
Most everybody in the brotherhood had a nickname. I supposed Kid was mine. They’d tried other ones of course, I’d just beat the shit out of whoever had come up with them.
I didn’t want to be known as anything but my name. Yeah, I used aliases when I had to, but for the most part I wanted everybody to know who they were dealing with. They needed to know my name. They needed to remember who they were speaking to.
The bosses didn’t have nicknames. Nobody called them by catchy pet names or referred to them as anything but who they were. Roman Volkov. Aleksander Volkov. Dymetrus Volkov.
And that’s how they could speak to me. Sayer Wesley.
Although that left room for everyone to call me Kid—at least everyone I couldn’t beat up. Specifically, the bosses.
I stalked over to Dymetrus, ignoring the girl he had on his lap and the one giving him a shoulder rub. I had just dropped something off at his house not four hours ago and his wife had insisted I eat lunch before I left. I liked Tatiana. She was the kind of woman I respected, the kind that didn’t take any shit, the kind that would tie her husband’s ball sack into a knot if she saw how he was behaving now.
Maybe I’d even help her.
What kind of man couldn’t be faithful to his wife? They’d said vows. They’d made lifelong promises. They had children together. Did that mean nothing?
That’s how I knew I would be a better leader. I could keep a fucking promise. And I wouldn’t trade in something as meaningful as marriage for a quick lay by a girl I could care less about. These women meant nothing to this asshole. He’d toss them away when he was done with them and grab for others.
During my years with the syndicate, I’d learned two very important lessons. First, men in power lost the ability to think clearly. Money corrupted. Power poisoned. They became slaves to their base desires. And when they’d been without consequences for long enough, those desires turned them into monsters.
The second thing I’d learned, when a man was at the top of a world like this, when he’d accumulated enough power and money and influence to rule his kingdom, he had to put into place certain boundaries for himself to stay in check. He couldn’t give into his sordid passions and selfish whims constantly or he would lose that kingdom to lesser men. The wife he chose was the single most important partner he had in the entire game.
When you had power like that, marriage wasn’t just a box to check off. It wasn’t just a means to make heirs, it was the partnership required to stay at the top.
Dymetrus had a good wife. If he’d pay attention to her for three seconds, he’d see that she was loyal to him, she took care of their children and she would keep him aligned with his goals if he’d let her. Instead, he was drunk from feeling untouchable.
Only one day someone would touch him. Someday, they would bring him to his lowest and he would look up from the ground and realize he’d pissed his money and power away on cheap tricks and cheaper girls.
“Yeah?” I asked, my insides curdled by the sight in front of me.
I wasn’t sure if he heard the disgust in my tone or if he realized what a spectacle he was making, but his jovial demeanor sobered, and he pushed the girl off his lap. “We’re tattooing her tonight. Roman wants it done before the other families start to notice her.”
A humorless laugh fell out of my mouth, unchecked. “She’s not going to defect to another family. She’s bratva. I made sure of it.”
Dymetrus looked around, dropping his head and his voice. This was somewhat of a sensitive subject because of the nature Caroline Valero had become bratva. “Not until she has the tattoo.”
The brothers didn’t want the information to become public based on her father. Leon was a gambling-addicted loser, but that hadn’t stopped him from making it clear he didn’t want his little girl in the Russian mafia. His choice and her choice had been taken away when she lied to the pakhan one night five years ago.
Both Caro and her dad were willing to accept the consequences for her actions based on the events of the night. But if they ever found out that her clandestine mistake with Roman had been expertly arranged by me, there would be problems.
Caro had never wanted to be bratva. She’d never wanted this life. And if she found out she’d been tricked into it, she would leave.
The brothers would never let her go. They treasured her value as an expert thief and unfathomable con. Not only that, they would never risk letting one of the other families have her.
That brought us to tonight and the tattoo that proved her loyalty. We all had one. I’d gotten mine when I was thirteen.
What the brothers didn’t realize is that I would never let Caro leave. Tattoo or not, she belonged to me and I wouldn’t let anything change that.
“Give her another year,” I bargained. And after that year, I would plead for another extension. And another. Until she could choose the pain for herself.
“Roman wants it done tonight.”
The girl giving Dymetrus a massage dropped her hands and scurried away. She apparently knew what his tone meant. I wasn’t that smart. “I said no. She’s too young.”
“You think you own her, kid? You think I need to go through you to get this done? This was a courtesy to you and you’ve done nothing but piss me off.”
I held up my hands, a sign of surrender. He was right. And I couldn’t afford to lose his courtesy. Especially when it came to Caro. “I don’t own her. You do.” The lies burned on my tongue, but I hid my disgust. Like hell they owned her. But it was all part of the game, the long con. “If you break her now, she’ll be useless to you later. She’s here because she doesn’t know she has other options… other families. You see what I’m saying? Don’t piss her off. Keep her happy long enough that she never realizes there are other options for her.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, rubbing roughly at the scruff he’d let grow out. “What do the Irish think of her?”
“They don’t know it’s a her yet,” I told him openly. “They know you have someone special, but they’re guessing it’s Atticus.”
Dymetrus spit on the floor of his club. “Fuckin’ Atticus.”
Atticus was a loose cannon. The pakhan could barely contain him now and he was only getting worse. It was good that the Irish, at least the ones in charge, believed our thief was him. Let them come after the crazy one.
The bigger man lifted his head, a decision clear in his eyes. “All the more reason to brand her tonight.”
“She’s not a fucking horse.”
He stood, barely sparing me a glance. “This from the kid who all but bought and paid for her.”
“Careful, old man.”
His assessing glance of my skinny six-foot-two frame was less than favorable. “No, son, you be careful. Don’t forget who you’re speaking to, lest I teach you a lesson and remind you. Despite your place in the brotherhood, you still report to me. You still report to the Volkov. The fox gets tattooed tonight. End of discussion.”
I clenched my jaw together, grinding my teeth in an effort to keep my mouth shut. Finally, I managed to nod.
Dymetrus smiled, enjoying his win. “Now because I’m a nice guy and because I fucking like you, I’m going to let you be there. You can hold her hand or whatever shit you do that makes her happy. But keep your mouth shut or Leon will have both our heads.”
“Yeah, if he can pull himself away from the poker table long enough to care.”
Dymetrus laughed a knowing sound. “I had Fat Jack take him to a fight tonight. He won’t have a fucking clue.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The only reason the pakhan kept Leon Valero around was for his daughter. But it never made sense why they coddled him so much.
Apparently we all bent over backward to keep Caro happy. Everybody but Leon.
“Now, go get her,” Dymetrus ordered.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groaned, glaring at the bastard. “That’s the real reason you’re letting me be there tonight. You’re too chicken shit to tell her yourself.”
His eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth when you’re talking to me.” Then his face split into a grin again and he admitted, “But hell yeah, that’s the only reason you’re here. If I make her mad she’s likely to steal the deed to my house and kick my family out on the streets.”
I rolled my eyes at his insane fear. “I’ll be sure to tell her who sent me then.”
He turned to one of the girls in the room and waved his hands at me. “Asshole kids, am I right?”
She giggled unsurely. She couldn’t tell if he was going to laugh or rip my head off with his bare hands. Honestly, I couldn’t either. So I left.
I found Caroline in the main room of the club. She was sitting in a corner with Frankie, drinking a glass of ginger ale. The bartender would have made her whatever drink she wanted, but Caroline was a strict rule follower.
When she had the choice anyway.
I liked that about her. I liked that she fought so hard to be good and upright, when deep down she was all criminal mastermind and clever thief. I didn’t even mind that she liked laws and rules and doing the right thing, because I knew when given the chance she would always pick my side of the fence, she’d always choose the underworld. It was in her blood, burned into her bones.
And now it would be tattooed on her skin.
She’d never had a chance. But neither had I. We were alike that way. Born into a world we didn’t choose, but making the best out of it that we could. It was our tenacity that would take us to the top, make us fucking king and queen of this world.
Frankie noticed me first, Caroline was still oblivious. That meant they were in deep conversation. Caroline was one of the most observant people I’d ever met. She hardly ever let people sneak up on her.
I pressed my finger to my lips and motioned for Frankie to be quiet. She looked down at her drink to hide her smile. Caroline went on with her story, holding her arms out to either side of her.
“I swear they were watching the house,” Caro was saying. “This big guy stands at the corner in front of our apartment day and night like he’s waiting for a phone call on the pay phone. But I know what he’s doing. He’s not nearly as stealthy as he thinks he is.”
That was the security detail the pakhan had put on Caro. He was Russian. I was surprised Frankie hadn’t told her yet.
I placed my hands on her hips quickly and tugged her back against my chest. Dropping my mouth to the side of her face, I brushed my lips over the shell of her ear. “Who do I need to kill?”
She jumped, instinctively pulling away and turning around. I let her. This time. “Oh my God! You scared me!” She swatted my shoulder. I snatched her hand in mine, hating the distance she put between us.
Goddamn, it was good to see her. The last few days had been busy. Every few months the Volkov sent me to spy on the Irish and Italians and I always made sure to keep my distance from her during that time. If someone caught me and followed me home, I didn’t want them to see me anywhere close to her.
Besides, I had my own agenda to carry out too. She was safest here, with our brothers.
I held her gaze and found myself smiling. “Hey, Six.”
She melted at my tone. I watched it happen. She was all rigid from surprise a second ago. Now she was doe-eyed and attentive to only me.
“H-hey, Sayer. Where did you come from?”
I tilted my head toward the back room. “I had a meeting.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Of course you did. Should I start calling you pakhan now? Or did you want to wait until the official ceremony.”
I laughed, setting my hands on either side of her thighs and leaning in. Despite the sour bar smell, I inhaled her perfume and the sweet innocent fragrance of her body. “If you want to call me boss, I’m not going to stop you.”
She struggled to form words and my chest swelled with pride.
“What’s up, Sayer?” Frankie asked loudly from the side. Damn, I’d forgotten about her. “Where have you been lately?”
I glared at her. “Working.”
She leaned in. “Oh, yeah? We didn’t have any jobs. You must have been on a secret mission.”
Fucking Frankie. It was impossible to tell how much she knew. And she wasn’t one to give up anything easily. Just ask Atticus.
“Not secret. Just above your pay grade.”
She snarled at me, not liking the truth in my jab. Too bad.
I turned back to Caroline. “Hey, the bosses need you tonight.”
Her entire face fell. “Oh.”
“It’s not a job,” I rushed to say, desperate to get that defeated look off her face. Then I realized what I was here for and that bad news was bad news. She was going to hate tonight no matter what. “Not exactly anyway.”
“What is it?” She was already nervous.
Smart girl.
“Uh…”
“Tell me, Sayer. I hate facing them when I don’t know what they want. I won’t tell them I know. Just don’t make me go in there clueless.”
“No, it’s not what you think it is.” I stood up, running a frustrated hand through my hair. “It’s just that…” Fuck. “They want… They’ve decided that it’s time for you to get your cross.” Her brows furrowed in confusion. I drew an X over my heart. “They want to make everything official.”
Her hand landed on her chest, just above her breast and she rubbed it protectively. “I didn’t think girls had to get the tattoo?”
I suppressed a smile. “Why did you think that?”
She made a face. “I don’t know. I guess I just hoped girls didn’t have to get the tattoo.” She glanced at Frankie. “Do you have one?”
Frankie shook her head. “My uncles haven’t said anything about it.”
Caroline dropped her face into her hands. “I don’t want to. Don’t make me.”
“Come on, Six, don’t be a wimp.”
She peaked at me from behind her spread fingers. “Is it going to hurt?”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. “Just a bit.”
“Sayer, isn’t there something else I could do? Like wear a special jacket? Or a ring? Or… I don’t know, a t-shirt?”
“We don’t make bratva t-shirts, babe.”
She blushed at my pet name. This conversation had turned into something more fun than I thought it would be. While I hated the idea of putting her in an uncomfortable situation or making her feel pain, I enjoyed pushing her out of her comfort zone. Unless we were on a job, Caroline was ridiculously shy and reserved. It took a ton of effort on my part to draw her out.
“I’m scared, Sayer.”
I leaned closer, unable to resist feeling her body heat, watching her squirm nervously from my attention. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”
She relaxed, opened. “You will? You promise?”
Nodding, I let her see the truth in my expression, something I kept hidden from everybody but her. “Yes.”
She stood on shaky legs and held out her hand for me to take. How could I say no to that? I turned around quickly though to hide my victorious smile.
“You’re really going to let her go through with it,” Frankie yelled after us.
I briefly turned around and gave Frankie a different kind of honest expression, one that she knew better than to mess with. “I don’t have a choice.” And that was the goddamn truth.
Caro let me lead her through the main room and toward the back where the tattoo artist had set up in the pakhan’s office. She only resisted once, seeing the sterilized paper sheet over the desk and the giant needle that would ink her loyalty to the bratva permanently onto her skin.
“There she is,” Dymetrus grinned at the sight of her pale face and tiny, shaking body. “It’s your lucky night, Caroline.”
“You’ll finally be one of us,” Roman said from the doorway, making both Caro and I jump. I hadn’t heard him approach. Apparently she was going to be tattooed with an audience.
I understood my obsession with Caroline. But I had never totally understood the pakhan. Surely there were other thieves out there. Surely someone else could be trained to be as good as Caro?
Although I had been working at it for five years now and didn’t come close. So maybe she really was one in a million. The difference was that she was so steady with her talent. I had never seen her nervous on a job. Or flustered. Or stuttering. She threw her entire self into the con and executed every job flawlessly.
She was already a legend around the bratva. It was only a matter of time before the rest of DC figured out who she was.
Maybe the bosses were onto something with the tattoo. Maybe it was better to be safe when it came to her.
“I’m a little afraid,” she admitted as she walked tremulously toward the table. “Is my dad around?”
Dymetrus met her gaze, an apologetic downturn of his lips making him seem sincere. “He’s with Jack tonight. They said something about watching the fight at Percy’s.”
Her expression froze on her face. She knew he was gambling. I had to give it to the pakhan though. Caro didn’t even suspect them. She immediately assumed her deadbeat dad was to blame.
A part of me felt sorry for the guy. How many other times had they arranged something like this? How many other times had they nudged Leon toward the poker table, a horse race, or fight just to occupy him?
Something sharp and hot burned through me and I made a pact with myself right then never to become addicted to something. Not if the bosses could use it against me. Not if it meant giving over more control to them than I wanted.
I looked back to Caro sitting on the desk, her hands gripping the ledge so tightly her knuckles had stretched white.
I was already addicted to something.
Hadn’t they already exploited my weakness?
She patted the spot beside her while trying to hide the slight tremble vibrating her body. My chest pinched and swelled at the same time. I slid onto the desk next to her and took her hand, holding it with both of mine.
Did it even matter to me?
I would stay away from booze and drugs and money to protect myself from them, but it was useless to even try with her.
Yeah, they knew I was addicted to her. And they were definitely going to use it against me, if they hadn’t already. But I didn’t care.
She wasn’t a useless substance that would take and take and take until I was a decayed, wasted shell. She would give into me until I was a stronger, smarter, better version of myself.
And they could try to use her against me. Fuck them, I’d like to see them try. Our bond was eternal. They couldn’t mess with what we had.
They couldn’t even touch it.
The tattoo artist showed her a board of acceptable crosses. “Or I can do a variation of any of these,” he told her, his Russian accent so thick I could barely understand him. He wore gloves though, so at least he seemed concerned with health and safety.
She slowly examined her options before shooting me a nervous look. “Don’t read into this,” she murmured.
“Huh?”
Her small smile was embarrassed. “Can you do what he has? Only smaller?”
The tattoo artist jerked his chin up. “Let me see what you got.”
I released her hands to lift my shirt to my neck, revealing the intricate orthodox cross inked over my left pec. When I had first gotten it at thirteen it had seemed huge on my starved chest, but I liked to think I’d grown into it by now.
“Da,” the artist said. “I did that to him. I do that to you. Off with your shirt.”
I slid to the edge of the desk prepared to fight this asshole. “What did you say?”
He didn’t bother looking at me. “I cannot get to skin with shirt in way. I need it gone.”
Obviously that was true. And this was the guy that did all of the bratva tattoos. He was a professional. But the thought of Caro taking her shirt off in this group made me want to punch someone.
“We will give you some privacy,” Roman offered. “But we’ll want to see it when it’s finished.”
I restrained my eye roll. I’d never seen them this interested in someone’s tattoo before. Most of the time it was for our benefit, not theirs. I ground my teeth together wondering what this meant for Caro. Would they always be this involved in her life? Would they always take away her options and force her into their will?
Turning to face her, I forced the question out of my mouth. “Do you want me to leave too?”
“Are you kidding? I think I’ll pass out if you’re not here to hold my hand. If you leave me, Sayer, I will kill you.”
I grinned at her ferociousness. “Easy, killer.”
She laughed, but it was high-pitched and a bit hysterical. “I mean it.”
“All right then, I’m not going anywhere.”
I released her hand long enough so she could tug her t-shirt off. I averted my eyes and tried to be respectful and upright and all that.
But… then she shivered. I felt it in the hand I had reached for and was holding again. Looking at her was an automatic response. “Are you…” The question died on my lips. Holy fuck.
She’d wrapped her free arm around her waist self-consciously and the tattoo artist was leaned over her, marking out lines and deciding exactly where to put the damn thing.
“You’re hurting me,” she told me. “I thought I was the one that was supposed to squeeze your hand?”
“Huh?”
Her head tipped back and she laughed. “Oh, poor, Sayer,” she told the tattoo guy. “He’s never seen a topless girl before.”
The tattoo artist grunted a laugh while I tried to snap out of it. “It’s not that, I mean, I’ve seen plenty of, that’s not what I meant.” I cleared my throat and wrestled my thoughts under control. My voice was low and raspy when I finally managed to say something somewhat coherent. “What I’m trying to say is, damn, Six.”
Her blush moved from her neck down, over her breasts, all the way to her flat stomach. Her pale skin beneath was perfect and smooth. Her tits were flawless. Fucking beautiful.
I hadn’t been expecting sexy underwear, but her bra was enticing… teasing… tempting. I wanted to pull the straps down and taste every inch of exposed skin.
She nudged me with her knee. “You’re ridiculous.”
Shaking my head, I turned to face forward. I needed to divert my attention or bad things were going to happen. First to the tattoo artist as I kicked him out of the room and then to her as I plastered myself to her on the desk and acted out all my dirty thoughts. “I’ll behave,” I promised her.
When she laughed it was softer, sweeter. Only furthering my inability to think straight.
Finally, the needle started buzzing and her hand squeezed mine in genuine pain. Avoiding anything below the neck, I glanced at her to make sure she was okay. Her face was a poised mask of calm and her torso was totally relaxed while the artist branded her just like I had been branded. The only sign that she was at all uncomfortable was the way she clung to my hand like I could shoulder the pain for her.
I would have gladly taken it away from her. In a heartbeat. But I also didn’t mind that she had to go through this. Sometimes pain wasn’t a bad thing. And tonight, it meant that not only would Caro permanently and forever join the bratva with me, but that her tattoo would be identical to mine.
We would have this important thing in common. We would be branded together in the same cause, with the same future.
She bravely endured the entire process and when it was over the pakhan stepped in briefly to make sure the deed was done. They were followed quickly by Frankie and Gus who also wanted to see for themselves.
I held her hand the entire time. For the rest of the night. Except for her putting her shirt back on, I didn’t let go. We were linked now. Through our hands. Through our matching tattoos. Through our souls. Forever.