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“It goes both ways.” I breathe in deeply and hold my position, no matter how badly I want to step back. “I’m not ready for this conversation.”
“What is there to discuss?”
“You want to fuck me.”
“I want to consume you.”
“Yet just this morning, you wanted me dead.”
He rests a curled finger under my chin, lifting it until our noses nearly touch. “You took care of my brother.”
“I’m the reason Denver stabbed him.”
“You want answers.”
“Desperately.”
For a horrifying moment, I think he’s going to kiss me again. He presses in so close the warm stream of air from his nose glides across my lips. The light scruff of hair on his face tickles my chin, and my lungs freeze.
Then he’s gone—his touch, his heat, his almost-kiss.
He backs up and holds out his hand, waiting for me to accept what he’s offering.
You want answers.
Nothing is free. There’s a price, and I have limits. First and foremost, I won’t cheat on my husband. But maybe we can negotiate other options.
I reach for his hand, gasping at the electric charge that zips up my arm.
His lips part. Damn him. He feels it, too.
Tightening his fingers, he captures mine in a death grip as if to say, No backing out.
Then he pulls me out of Denver’s room and down the hall.
24
Frankie
—
The basement.
Of course, that’s where Leonid takes me.
“My life has become a horror movie,” I mumble, clinging to his hand in the dark stairwell.
“Stop being dramatic.”
“I’ll stop when you tell me you have nothing to do with the bones I found.”
“You need to practice patience.” His grip on my hand turns to steel.
“Patience, he says as he drags the dumb girl into the dark, ominous basement. As expected, she walks right into danger—cue the campy music—because where’s the suspense in logic?”
“Except the basement isn’t dark or ominous.” He swings open the door and gestures at the well-lit space. “There’s no campy music, and the man—” he motions at himself “—is so utterly charming he doesn’t need to lure stupid girls into basements to get what he wants.” He touches his mouth to my ear. “He only needs to offer answers to one insanely gorgeous redhead.”
Before I can formulate a response, he pulls me past vodka ingredients and stainless-steel equipment and pauses in front of the master distiller himself.
Kodiak sits on the floor with his back to the wall, his legs outstretched before him. In his good hand, an empty bottle of vodka tips sideways as if he’s unaware he still holds it.
“You drank that whole bottle?” I pluck it from his loose grip and set it aside.
Leo hands him another, this one full to the brim.
“What are you doing?” I reach for it.
“Sit.” He points at the floor beside Kodiak. “My brother can handle his drink, and tonight, he needs it.”
“Go away.” Kodiak glowers at Leonid from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.
He doesn’t sound like he drank a whole bottle of vodka. But his eyes are bloodshot and laced with pain. Maybe he needs that drink after all.
“How’s your hand?” I lower to the floor and crane my neck, examining the bandage.
“As one would expect after being impaled by a fillet knife.”
With a wince, I motion at the supply room. “There are painkillers…”
“Got my medicine right here.” He tips the bottle back, drinking deeply. Then he drags the back of his hand across his full pouty lips and glowers at Leonid. “Why are you down here?”
“She wants answers.”
They share a look, one I can’t begin to decipher, and Kodiak sighs.
“Whatever.” He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.
Leonid reaches under one of the worktables and pulls out a wooden crate. I bend forward as he pushes it across the floor to me.
Placing my hands on the lid, I give him a questioning look.
“Remove your shirt.” Deep and velvety, his command knocks the wind from my lungs.
I expected that or some version of it and already decided how to respond. Still, it stings.
Lifting the hoodie over my head, I watch him take in the sports bra beneath. It’s not sexy. My small boobs appear even smaller, flattened as they are in the unpadded, shapeless fabric.
“Disappointed?” I toss aside the hoodie.
“My only disappointment,” he rasps, his gaze fixed on my chest, “is that I’m sharing this view with my pervy brother.”
At the edge of my vision, Kodiak’s chest rises and falls, and he swigs another gulp of vodka.
I don’t like being gawked at, but it’s worth the price of whatever waits in that crate.
Heart galloping, I lift the lid.
Children’s clothes.
Little jackets. Little shoes. Little denim overalls with embroidered trains on the bib. Boys clothes. Toddler age, if I had to guess.
My womb clenches with fresh loss as I run my hand over the material. The garments are old, well-worn. Unquestionably from another era.
“Whose were these?” I raise my eyes, finding Leonid’s vivid stare. “Yours?” I glance at Kodiak, who watches me with the same hyper-focused intensity.
