Crooks & Kings: A Wild Bunch Novel Page 14

  His gaze skirting to her, Invictus gave a rather proper nod of his head. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I was starting to think his self-imposed exile was why he was staying away,” Thanatos said thoughtfully, “but I guess I was wrong.”

  “Familiar territory, at least.”

  As the two bantered, Mariya stood watching the pair, and as she did, she noticed the brands on their necks.

  Both were of the same lotus flower Christophe had, but instead of in a covert spot that could be hidden, theirs were done on the sides of their necks—right for Thanatos, left for Invictus. Seeing them, she was reminded of the ‘X’ on the side of Christophe’s throat, and what he’d told her of it.

  “I was hoping you two were asleep,” Christophe said as he came back down, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

  And whether she wanted to focus on him or not, her gaze was drawn to the man trailing behind him.

  He was … she couldn’t think of an adequate word to describe him.

  Menacing, maybe, but that didn’t feel quite right. It wasn’t fear she felt when his gaze cut to her and stayed there.

  He was intense in a way that made her very aware of his presence in the room and glad that she had come with Christophe and hadn’t crossed paths with him in a dark alley.

  If these two were Thanatos and Invictus, this one must have been the other brother.

  Tăcut.

  Of all them, his name was the most confusing.

  “And miss this?” Thanatos asked.

  Christophe’s glare held a warning, one that Thanatos would be wise to heed, but instead, his grin remained firmly in place.

  “Not tonight, Than.”

  Glancing at her, Christophe switched to Romanian, and whatever he said had each of them standing a little straighter.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, and to that, each of them nodded.

  This time, when Thanatos turned to her, his smile wasn’t as playful. Before she could ask what Christophe had said, both Thanatos and Invictus disappeared around the corner, heading into another room together.

  Christophe said something else, the words going right over her head, but Tăcut nodded along, though he didn’t say a word.

  “You know it’s rude to have a conversation in front of someone who can’t understand it.”

  She was sure Tăcut had never smiled a day in his life with the blank expression on his face, but when she spoke, she thought she saw a crack in the veneer.

  “This is Tăcut,” Christophe said, not bothering to translate whatever he’d been telling the man, “but you can get better acquainted tomorrow. Right now, I think you and I need to talk.”

  That was about the last thing she wanted to do.

  In her surprise at meeting his brothers, she had almost forgotten about the state of her apartment and the implications behind its destruction.

  She would have much rather disappeared than having to tell him about who had destroyed her apartment and why.

  But she had promised to tell him the truth, all of it, and she couldn’t go back on that now. Not when he was risking himself just by bringing her here.

  He said something else to Tăcut before clapping him on the shoulder and grabbing her small bag. Touching a hand to the small of her back, he urged her forward.

  She followed him up the same set of stairs he’d gone up before then down a hallway where what used to be offices had been converted into various rooms. One, she saw in passing, looked filled with exercise equipment and mats made up the floor.

  Once they finally reached the last room at the end of the hall, he pushed the door open and felt around on the wall before a light flickered to life.

  Seeing it, she felt disappointed.

  Much like his apartment back in Brooklyn, the room was near empty with just a bed—this one not on the floor—and a small nightstand to the right of it.

  “Is this your room?” she asked, looking around. If it was, it would explain the sparse details of his old place. Maybe he liked the minimalism.

  “Uh, guest room,” he said, stumbling over the answer.

  Maybe she had been naïve in thinking she would be staying in his room as opposed to this one, but it didn’t matter where she was staying. This place was still safer than her apartment.

  But it was hard not feeling disappointment.

  “It’s not much,” Christophe said, scratching at his jaw. “But no one’s going to bother you in here.”

  That was what she needed to focus on, and not something as trivial as sharing a bed with him. “Thank you,” she said and meant it.

  For now, at least, she could think about what her next move would be—where she could go from here. Tomorrow morning, for sure, she would call Klara to figure out what had changed.

  Dropping her bag on the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed, Mariya dropped her face into her hands. Not for the first time, she wished her life could have been different, that she was born into an everyday family outside a life of crime.

  Maybe then she would have been able to go to a university and conquer her dream of becoming a teacher. It was a dream she had never shared with anyone because of how unlikely it was.

  It had been hard enough to maintain normalcy when she was in high school, but as her family had grown more aggressive in trying to take over the city, that just wasn’t possible anymore.

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a part of that life—she had grown to be feared as much as the men in her family.

  There was no way anyone would have allowed her a job around children.

  “Hey,” Christophe called softly, crossing the room to crouch in front of her and gently pull her hands away. “You’re safe with me—you know that.”

  But he wasn’t safe with her. “Thanks,” she said half-heartedly, not sure if she’d said this to him already.

  He was quiet for a second too long before he said, “Now might be a choice time to tell me the rest of the story.”

  No one knew the full story, not even Klara. Her sister hadn’t cared about her reasons for running from Feliks—she’d just been happy to help in any way she could.

  Mariya’s intention had always been to keep it all to herself until she could share it with Alexey. She hadn’t wanted to take a chance and have what she knew fall onto ears that were loyal to Feliks.

  She couldn’t risk him finding out.

  But this was Christophe—the man she had grown to care for, and one who seemed intent on protecting her despite all the warnings she gave.

  Glancing down at her hands and the tattoo that marred her wrist, she considered how and where to start. “I … I guess it was the night I found out he killed my father.”

  ***

  Feb. 26th

  Five days of smiles were all it had taken before Mariya convinced Feliks she didn't need guards following her around everywhere.

  On the fifth day, she had run as far as she could before she was found and dragged back.

  On the sixth, Feliks forced her kicking and screaming down onto the basement level of his mansion where a man was waiting with all the tools he’d need to make a tattoo.

  Two weeks had passed before she tried again.

  She hadn’t said a word to anyone, merely grabbed what little money Feliks gave her and left everything else behind.

  The plan had been foolproof, especially since he was out of the state at the time on Bratva business. Not only had she managed to duck the security he’d left for her—new ones he’d informed her would never leave her alone—but she was also able to put more than a hundred miles between her and the prison he liked to call a home.

  Yet even that time, he managed to send men for her, and once he arrived home, he hadn’t been nearly as pleasant.

  Until that point, he had never put his hands on her, but that night …

  The pain she felt that day still radiated through her in intervals, a reminder of what he could do to her at a moment’s notice.

  That was the day she had
gone to Alexey, hoping to show the evidence of what his favorite soldier had done to her. Surely, this would mean something to him. Surely, he would care.

  But if she thought she would find a kind ear with her grandfather, she was mistaken.

  “You obey your husband,” he had said with a disappointed shake of his head. “You follow his rules, and he will not need to do this, yes?”

  She had wanted to give up and give in, but failure wasn’t an option, and she refused to bend to the will of a man like Feliks.

  From that moment on, she let silence be her weapon. Feliks might have thought he’d finally broken her, that she was trapped with him until one of them died since he had successfully isolated her from Klara as well, but she didn’t stop planning.

  And if everything went as she hoped, it would be a reminder of her past and not of her future.

  Setting plates of food onto the table, she kept her attention focused on her task instead of the sound of the door opening and the soft click of Feliks’ shoes against the hardwood floors as he entered the mansion.

  Even when she heard him come to a stop behind her then felt his arm slip around her waist to draw her back against him, she didn’t deviate from what she was doing. But when she felt his lips against her neck, she eased out of his hold.

  Even she wasn’t that good of an actress to pretend she could stomach him for more than a few seconds at a time—that was reserved for the nights she was forced to be with him.

  “On time for once,” he said, the smile clear in his voice.

  Even his voice made her shiver in revulsion. “Yes,” she said and nothing more.

  She no longer complained. She didn’t snap back at him and call him names the way she used to.

  Not anymore.

  After her first attempt at escape had been unsuccessful, she had made it her duty to become the very thing she didn’t want to be. His willful and obedient pet.

  He had been suspicious, of course—he had every reason to be, considering she was plotting against him—but after more than a month of good behavior, he had slowly begun to lower his guard.

  As she continued to fix his dinner, spooning portions onto the plate in front of him, Feliks’ phone rang, and his gaze darkened as he took in the caller’s name.

  He didn’t say a word before slipping out of the room. Just as he was hitting the hallway, she heard him answer.

  Slipping off her heels, she headed in that direction, keeping her steps light until she was right outside the door.

  She could just hear his voice through the crack in the door.

  “You should not be calling. Your last payment will come.”

  Payment for what? she wondered.

  Pressing her back against the wall as she heard Feliks moving around his office, she held her breath.

  “It is not done. The old man still lives, and no one will agree to the new position if he’s not at least dead first.”

  Something akin to panic flared to life inside her. She couldn’t know who he meant—he hadn’t even hinted at the name—but considering who he was and the type of position of power he referred to—she had a sinking feeling she knew who he meant.

  “It is too dangerous to try to get to him now. The brigadiers watch over his room carefully.”

  If there had been any doubt in her mind that Feliks was talking about Alexey, they were no more.

  This was all because of him.

  Her papa.

  The party.

  Her mama.

  All this had been for greed, and not because of an enemy as he had tried to make everyone believe.

  He was still talking, still laughing, and she stood there frozen, listening to every word.

  And only once she heard him say goodbye to whoever he spoke to did she shove that door open and make her presence known.

  “You fucking bastard,” she spat at him, tears betraying her as she watched his expression change from shock to blatant amusement.

  He knew she’d overheard his callous conversation—knew she had heard the truth of what he had done to not only get her here but betray her family entirely.

  This was never about her, not really.

  He wanted what so many others coveted—the top spot.

  He wanted the title of Pakhan, but with Temuri as next in line, he would have never gotten it before her father, and in the unlikely possibility, he would have had to wait until Alexey was ready to pass on the reins.

  “You would be wise to forget what you’ve heard.”

  It was his disregard for what he was talking about, as though it wasn’t her papa he spoke of killing.

  As though he wasn’t trying to take over her family’s business.

  She was so angry that she felt she had to wipe that look off his face. She needed him to know he hadn’t won.

  “I have you on a recording,” she said, acute smugness filling her as his smile fell away. “I will ruin you.”

  “You couldn’t have,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

  Backing out of the room, she never took her eyes off him. “I’ll make sure they show you no mercy.”

  If it was the last thing she did.

  This was her chance.

  When she’d been planning her escape, she had never anticipated this moment. She’d thought she would drug him and slip away into the night. Learning from her mistakes, she knew better than to linger.

  Now, now she could get away.

  She was nearly on the other side of the table when Feliks lunged for her, his hands gripping her throat.

  Panic set in instantly as her lungs seized with the need to breathe. Even choking, she fought him, swinging her arms as hard as she could, finding purchase as she slammed the heel of her palm against his nose.

  He cursed but still held her down, only lifting one hand to slap her hard across the face.

  The sting nearly took her breath away, pain flaring to life, but if she gave up, he would kill her.

  Swinging an arm out, she knocked over trays and plates, it all crashing to the floor with a loud thud, but finally she felt the handle of a knife and grabbed it.

  She didn’t hesitate before slashing his face, putting as much force behind the swing as she could.

  Feliks lurched back with a shout as he tried to staunch the blood streaming down his face with his hands.

  Mariya sucked in a much-needed breath, coughing as her eyes watered, but before he could recover, she took one final breath and lurched toward him, shoving the knife as hard as she could into his stomach.

  She watched, panting, as he stumbled back, collapsing to his knees as blood pooled around his wounds, but she felt no sympathy for him.

  None at all.

  Grabbing the large crystal vase from the center of the table with both hands, she swung it as hard as she could, the delicate glass shattering the moment it made contact with his skull.

  Feliks collapsed onto his back, and this time, he didn’t move again.

  She only stood there a second, maybe two, before she ran, grabbing his keys as she went and a bag she’d tucked away for this very moment.

  As she slid into his car, she didn’t even bother to put on a seat belt as she slammed her foot on the gas and took off, not once looking back.

  Present day …

  Mariya drew in a breath, glancing over at Christophe to gauge his reaction, but if she thought she would see surprise or even disgust in his eyes, she didn’t. Throughout her story, his expression never changed.

  Except for when she’d described slashing Feliks’ face. That had managed to get a half-smile from him.

  “Next time, twist the knife—it causes more damage that way.”

  That was what he took away from her story? She almost had the ridiculous urge to laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You’re worried,” he said, as though she had no reason to be.

  But he didn’t understand.

  She’d thought she’d been so careful, and she hadn’t even known where
she was going to go after she ditched his car just before she reached New York. It had taken hundreds of dollars sitting in the back of a yellow taxi before she finally felt comfortable enough to stop.

  She only knew she had to avoid Manhattan where the Pakhan of New York lived and the slew of smaller organizations in Brighton Beach.

  She had never anticipated meeting Christophe, and by not accessing any of her bank accounts and being careful with everything else, she was sure he wouldn’t have been able to find her.

  Unless … “My sister. Do you think he hurt Kla—”

  Christophe stood a little straighter. “Did she know where you were staying?”

  “I told her Brooklyn, but nothing more than that.”

  So she wouldn’t have to lie, she had said, as though there was a chance she would be interrogated for the information.

  “I think she’s fine,” he said without a hint of inflection.

  “But—”

  “From what you’ve told me, if something was wrong, she would have called you to warn you about it. The fact she hasn’t could mean that something has changed, something she’s not privy to.”

  She was still shaking her head. “I should—”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, stroking the curve of her face, his eyes gentle. “We’ll get to the bottom of it all tomorrow. I promise. For now, get some sleep. He’s not going to find you here. I need to have a conversation with Tăcut.”

  Remembering the one who hadn’t spoken, Mariya rubbed her arms. “Is he always so … quiet.”

  “He can’t speak.”

  She looked up to gauge his expression, wondering if he was serious or … “At all?”

  It was rare that Christophe showed any vulnerability—she had only seen hints of it during their time together, but now, she saw it. His pain at whatever had happened to his brother made her wary of what he was preparing to say.

  “The orphanage took more than just our childhood.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to fully grasp his words before he was kissing the breath out of her. “Sleep,” he said again. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  But as he walked out of the room, Mariya didn’t think she would sleep for a very long time.

  Nostalgia had hit him hard the second they were riding through the gate toward the loft.