HER RUSSIAN SURRENDER Page 9

  But then, Nikolai had never planned to have children himself and look at him now. Making arrangements to clean up this mess before he went home to his nephew… and his nephew’s current guardian, the girlfriend of a police officer.

  In this case, though, whether Nakamura was still willing to kill was neither here nor there.

  “That is not problem. The party was already thrown,” Nikolai answered. “But it was very messy. I need your maid service.”

  “How long did this party last?”

  Nikolai surveyed the basement room, a less than classy affair, with carpet on both the floors and the walls. Not like his own home, which he had designed as one big fuck you to Sergei, who’d been from one of the richest crime families in Russia but had forced his girlfriend and child to live in a small, grey two-bedroom apartment.

  That small apartment was luxury accommodations compared to this room, located below a strip club called Jiggles. Every piece of furniture looked to have been either hauled from a sidewalk or bought at a discount store’s clearance sale. So cheap, it was no wonder it had only taken Nikolai fifteen minutes of “questioning” the guy who’d been sent to take out Pavel before he’d sung like a bird and gave him an address.

  The drug outfit that had killed his brother was fairly new with a boss who’d come to Indiana with just a few East Coast connections and a family of thick-necked brothers and cousins. According to the hit man Nikolai had interrogated, they only had the one strip club and apparently not enough money or taste to redecorate.

  Either way, it wasn’t something they’d have to worry about now. The man who’d attempted to kill a defenseless woman and child earlier that evening was dead on the carpeted floor, along with his boss and other family members, after having been used as a human shield when Nikolai had kicked in the door and come into the room shooting. The only thing the hideout had to recommend it was that, thanks to all the tacky carpeting and music blasting from the club above, the short gunfight went completely unnoticed.

  But there was still the not-so-small matter of clean up. Nikolai counted eight bodies in all, and in this case, he had admittedly been a little sloppy. All of the men had been killed quietly and efficiently, but there was a strip club full of people upstairs and no way for him to sneak out fully undetected.

  “Eight hours,” he answered his cousin.

  “The party went on for eight hours,” Alexei repeated. “You are not serious.”

  “Eight hours,” Nikolai repeated, “And there are many people here who weren’t invited. This is not my house, so I need the maid service as a courtesy to the owner.”

  Nikolai could almost hear his cousin frowning as he said, “I will now ask you why you did not invite me to help you with set up. I would have flown back if I had known you were planning a party.”

  “There wasn’t time,” Nikolai answered. “Someone tried to invite my nephew to this party on the same night, so I had to throw the party myself. Quickly.”

  They’d only texted briefly about Fedya’s newly discovered son after Nikolai left the police station, but Alexei cursed upon hearing the coded news of the attempt on Pavel’s life.

  “I understand. Hold on…”

  Some shuffling and then Nikolai could hear Alexei having a muffled conversation with someone else—probably on another phone reserved for the messier aspects of his business dealings. The conversation was conducted with rapid efficiency on Alexei’s part, until he broke off to ask Nikolai for an address.

  Nikolai coded his answer as best he could given he lived in a city Alexei had only visited occasionally, most recently just a few days ago to assist Nikolai with some business dealings. But Nikolai’s vague description clearly got the job done because after a few more rapid exchanges, Alexei came back with, “The maid service says they can clean up your party. Lock the door behind you when you leave. The service will take care of the rest.”

  “Thank you,” Nikolai said, meaning it. There were few people he trusted in this world and his cousin was among that very small number.

  “Do not thank me. We are family. Of course I will do this for you,” Alexei answered. “And I would have thrown the same party if it had been either of my children.”

  Of course he would have.

  To everyone’s surprise, Alexei, who’d garnered a reputation as a ruthless businessman prior to his marriage to a spitfire from Texas, had turned out to be a dedicated and loving father. He truly seemed to enjoy his role as a parent, even more so than his role as an international oligarch. The few times Nikolai had observed him with his family, he’d been doting with just enough firmness to command his son’s respect. As of late, though, he seemed be going even further into softy territory now that his wife had given birth to a little girl they’d named Layla. Nikolai had yet to meet the newest member of Alexei’s family in person, but he’d been forced to listen to Alexei refer to her by the most syrupy Russian pet names, and it was obvious the baby already had Alexei completely wrapped around her finger.

  His love for his family didn’t make him any less commanding, though. Nikolai did as his cousin said, locking the basement door and piling the cheap furniture in front of it in order to barricade the room from the inside, so no employees with keys could stumble in on the grisly scene. Luckily there was a basement window, one he could crawl out of with the aid of a plywood chair.

  He thought of his own nephew being forced to crawl at out of a small window earlier that night and felt no remorse for what he’d done to his would be killers. But he also felt no sense of relief after he made it back to his car. Because now it was time to go home and face what he could already tell would be a much bigger challenge than killing eight men.

  He’d never had any interactions with children. Had never wanted them—how could he after the way he’d grown up? But now he had a ward, one he’d have to raise in Fedya’s stead. And his ward had brought a woman into his house. The same one he’d been thinking about near obsessively ever since the first party he’d thrown as owner of the Polar. But she belonged to another.

  He didn’t know what bothered him more at this point. That he now had a child to raise, or that Sam, the woman in the green dress, would be sleeping under his roof and he wouldn’t be able to touch her.

  14

  It was very late by the time Nikolai made it home and he didn’t expect anyone to be waiting for him when he walked in the front door. But soon after stepping across the threshold and flipping on the lights in the foyer, the useless dog came trotting up to him, tongue hanging out.

  Despite having just met him a few hours ago, the dog seemed happy to see him.

  Nikolai glared at his unwelcome guest and tried to step around her, but the dog got in front of him again. And when he tried to dodge, the dog only followed him, nudging him with her square face before dropping to the floor and showing him her belly.

  Nikolai didn’t have much experience with dogs, but even he could understand the message this one was trying to convey. The price for getting by unimpeded by her large body was a belly rub.

  Maybe because he was tired and weary to his very bones, Nikolai bent down and gave her two short slapping pats on her pink belly. But perhaps the dog wasn’t as dumb and useless as he’d previously thought, because she once again flipped over as he stood back up, negotiating her head into his palm so he was forced to pet her again. Then came more head nudges, the greedy dog all but placing the back of her ears underneath his fingertips.

  Nikolai scratched her behind the ears because—well, he didn’t know why exactly. At first he did it to get her out of the way, but then a calmness stole over him. The more he scratched, the more the events of tonight loosened their angry hold over him. And the more the dog rubbed her large head against his palms, the more human he felt. Not like a ruthless killer, but like a man who’d done what he’d had to do to keep his nephew safe. The only thing he had left of his brother.

  A strange pain settled in his chest at the thought of Fedya, and he saw his b
rother, once again lying on that slab. Those Russian drug dealers had disposed of him like a piece of trash, and they would have done the same to Pavel, if he hadn’t—

  Don’t think about it, he told himself.

  “Go to bed, dog,” he said to the dark grey canine, who he had half a mind to rename Useless. “No more petting. Get out of my way.”

  The dog must have understood he was no longer in the mood to indulge her, because she slunk away into the dark living room as if she knew she’d gotten all the petting from Nikolai she was going to receive that night.

  The dog’s unexpected greeting had lightened his mood, but only for a little bit. He was completely numb again by the time he stepped into his glass and marble shower. And as he watched the blood of the Russians slide off his body and down the tub’s drain, he could sense his father’s ghost like a heavy cloud hanging over the bathroom. Nikolai’s inability to feel any emotion but grim satisfaction regarding what he’d done that night called forth his ghost as sure as if Sergei were still alive. Alive and still showing up at his mother’s apartment commanding Nikolai to come with him, as he had often throughout Nikolai’s teen years. The last time he’d come had been only a couple of nights before his mother’s death, for what Nikolai had known would be a very messy business if he needed more than one gun to handle it.

  To Sergei’s credit, he’d never come back after his mother died.

  As Nikolai got out of the shower and dried himself off, he could also feel his dead mother’s eyes on him. Scared for him. But too scared to say anything to his father.

  Nikolai’s bones ached with both the memories and exertion of killing eight men with only a silenced gun, a wire string, and his bare hands—which wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies. Sergei had kept himself in excellent shape all the way up until his sudden death, and the reason for his dedication to staying fit was evident in the soreness Nikolai felt now despite his superior size and muscles.

  After his shower, Nikolai threw on a pair of briefs—the only thing he ever wore to bed, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. It was late. Very late. And he had to work the next morning.

  But he couldn’t make himself get into bed. There was a specific need tugging on him, as sure as a finger pulling on a toy’s drawstring. Instead of going to the bed, he threw on a heavy cotton robe with the Polar’s angry bear mascot emblazoned across the back of it.

  He needed to see the boy and the woman now sleeping under his roof. Make sure they were safe. It was a stupid compulsion. Stupid and unnecessary. There were no Russians left alive to get past his security system. Every threat against the boy was now dead in the basement of a strip club, awaiting the arrival of Tetsuro Nakamura.

  But nonetheless…

  Only two of the top floor bedroom doors were closed and he walked down the hall to the larger room on the left, as quietly as he could.

  His thought had been to check on the woman first, and then the boy, but to his surprise, he found the boy in the larger room, looking like a Russian prince in all the red, gold, and ivory opulence as he snored softly. He didn’t appear to have a care in the world, and for a moment the numbness inside Nikolai’s chest was pierced by a strange ache.

  He would protect this boy, he vowed as his heart iced back over. No matter what it took. He wouldn’t let him turn out like Fedya.

  With irritation he thought of the woman who’d insisted on coming here with Pavel, The judgmental look she had given him when he’d told Pavel not to cry. Fedya had been weak like that, coddled by his mother and mostly ignored by Sergei—which was close to a kindness on the enforcer’s part. Nikolai could remember Fedya sniveling into Natasha’s side much the same way. So Nikolai had corrected him. And Samantha McKinley had reacted to his words like he hit the boy, like he was worse than the men those women came to her shelter to escape. Like he was the exact opposite of her cop boyfriend.

  Bristling with remembered indignation, Nikolai crossed the hallway to her door and put his hand on the knob. He wished he could tell her just how far he’d gone to ensure his nephew’s protection that night. How he—not her cop boyfriend—had taken care of the threat against both of them—

  “No! Please don’t. Please don’t!”

  Nikolai’s heart stopped beating. The words came from inside the room and we’re followed by a distinct sob.

  15

  Nikolai acted without thinking, busting into the room without hesitation. He must not have solved the problem with his one man hit on the local Russian mob outfit. One of them had somehow gotten past his security forces and was now hurting her—

  He stopped short when he found her thrashing around in the guest room’s canopy bed, the covers completely thrown off, her oversized college t-shirt up around her waist.

  He looked around to be sure, but no, there was no one with her. Just Samantha McKinley, twisting around as if she were both trying to get away and prevent something from happening.

  “Please, don’t do it. Don’t do it! I’ll do anything you want me to, just don’t hurt him—”

  She was having a nightmare, he belatedly realized. He went over to her and turned on the light beside her bed.

  “Samantha.”

  “No, don’t. Please. Oh my God. Don’t!”

  “Samantha,” he said again, trying to shake her awake.

  “I will kill you. I swear I’ll kill you!” she growled. But the menacing affect of the words were diluted by the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Samantha!” This time he pulled her into a sitting position and shook her harder, trying to break through her nightmare panic.

  Samantha came blinking awake with a startled sound, half scream, half cry, and for many moments her wild eyes bounced around, before finally focusing on him. A shocked beat, and then to Nikolai’s astonishment, her head fell into his chest as she broke down sobbing, this time with tears of relief.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. I thought it was real.”

  “What did you think was real?” he asked from his awkward position, one knee dug into the bed and one foot still on the ground, his hands wrapped around her shoulders. “What did you dream?”

  She shook her head frantically against his chest, as if trying to rid her mind of whatever had spooked her so badly. “Nothing,” she answered, still crying. “It was nothing.”

  Nothing had her visibly trembling all over. “Tell me about your dream. Was it about man who came to your house?”

  He wondered then, for much more altruistic reasons, if he shouldn’t tell her about what he’d done that night. If it meant she’d stop crying so piteously into his chest, he found himself prepared to confess anything.

  “No, not him,” she answered, her voice watery. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine…” Another one of those stifled sobs, as if she were desperately trying to keep herself from breaking down even further. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “You are crying… and shaking all over,” he informed her, because clearly she did not know the difference between fine and not fine.

  “I know. I’m being silly, because everything’s fine now. We’re safe. I think it’s a delayed reaction to what happened tonight.” She pulled away from him, and brought her hands up to swipe at her tears. “You can go. I’ll be fine in just a few seconds.”

  She barely got this out before dissolving into more tears.

  Nikolai observed her for a hard second. “I am calling doctor.”

  “No!” she nearly yelled. “No doctors. I just need…” she trailed off.

  “What do you need?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

  He purposefully kept his voice harsh. If she tried to deny him the truth one more time…

  “A-a hug,” she answered. Her teeth were chattering just like the night they’d met. This time he doubted it had anything to do with the cold. “But you don’t seem like the hugging type, so I just n-need something to hold onto.” She looked around the bed. “Muh-maybe a
pillow—”

  He climbed all the way onto the bed and dragged her into his arms, tucking her head into his chest. She was right, he wasn’t the hugging type, but he didn’t think twice about holding her. If this was what she needed, he was going to give it to her. There wasn’t even an inner debate as he settled back against the gold headboard with her wrapped tightly in his arms.

  She continued to cry for a long while, dampening the front of his robe. But at least she stopped trembling. Eventually her sobs began to quiet, no longer wracking her entire body. And when she spoke next, her teeth had stopped chattering.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I know it was probably hard for you, especially given your, uh, intimacy issues. But I want you to know I appreciate it. So really, thank you so much.”

  Her words of gratitude grated through him. What kind of unfeeling person did she think he was? Yes, technically she was right about his feelings about intimacy. He put women into three categories: those he would have sex with, those he did not wish to have sex with, and those who he could not have sex with, and the women he chose to spend time with usually didn’t cry or show much emotion at all. They were like him, efficient and capable lovers who respected his disdain for drama and left without tears as soon as the act was done.

  He’d never held a woman this long, much less comforted her through a crying fit. Nonetheless, he didn’t like the way Samantha categorized his preference for keeping his sex life drama free as—what had she called it? Intimacy issues. The two words set Nikolai’s teeth on edge. She obviously thought he was defective—defective like his father had been defective, and so emotionally deficient, he’d let a woman cry as Samantha had in his presence.

  “You can go now,” Samantha said, her voice awkward, as she started to pull back. “As you can see, I’ve calmed. But seriously, thanks again—”