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“More like the cavalry.” His eyes bounced from my face to my fathers “It was a man. He said his name was Benjamin Hawk and that he had important information for us.”
“Aye,” my father hurried, urging with a hand. “Go on and fucking spit it out, lad.”
Declan’s lips twisted in a very sly way. “He's willing to help us take out Viktor.” Then his eyes found mine and his grin widened. “We should welcome the two new members to the team.”
I sighed.
Shit.
Chapter 10 - Viktor
“At the club, she was Celia Anderson, and the day after, her real name was Camilla Jose. I was like ... what? What the actual fuck? I’m forty, and I still can’t figure women out. Why do they have to be so fucking complicated?”
A few women giggled in the background as if on cue. It was mainly about the newest member at our table, Mark. All the female eyes were on him. They batted their eyelashes, pursed their lips, and invited him to fuck them. I rolled my eyes, at thirty-six I felt too old for this shit. Music. More laughter. Food. And blow jobs in a couple of premium suites upstairs.
Sometimes I loved parties, sometimes I didn’t. This time I fucking hated it. Eighty percent of the women pretended to be horny and eager to get you to a room, while the other twenty stuck to their husbands’ sides because otherwise they would be whipped. Literally.
“I have a theory.” A glass tinkled and the entire table faced Damien—the entire table being Mark, Fedor, and me—listening intently to hear his “theory.” His raven black hair glimmered under the light, his navy blue suit had a smooth shine, and the silver ring on his finger caught a flicker of light when he swirled the vodka in his glass with one leg crossed over the other. He smirked. “I think the problem is that you keep trying to figure them out, and that’s because you’re such an emotional ass. Too rational and interested for your own good.”
Even though I felt like shit, I let out a short laugh and Mark stared at me over the rim of a glass in his mouth. It was never hard to recognize a Varkov when you saw one. Their strong genes and similar traits followed them wherever they went. Like his older brother, Mark had bright blue eyes that constantly earned stares from his admirers, and dark hair that he had combed back. The only difference between them was Mark’s preferences. He was super careful, always reserved, and very detailed. If Damien decided to be reckless and wild, Mark preferred to be rationally reckless. He put a lot of thought into everything.
“You’ve had two women throw themselves at you this evening and why did you turn them down?”
That was my cue. I raised a glass, snagging their attention my way. “One wore mismatched shoes and the other had her lipstick smudged at the side. And you turned down a good fuck because she lied about her name.”
Damien busted into wild laughter, sinking back in his chair with no care about his composure. It didn’t matter; everyone else knew we owned the room. They couldn’t make a move without getting the pass from us first. “I swear, man, sometimes I think you’ve got fucking OCD.”
“It’s not OCD. You sound fucking stupid when you talk like you aren’t educated, Damien.” Unlike us, Mark didn’t find the jeers funny. He crossed a leg and smoothened a crease on his jacket. “They just have to get it right... why am I even explaining myself to you three assholes?”
Our laughter increased and even Fedor’s face broke out in a grin. I might have hated the party, but making appearances with Damien and Mark Varkov was always worth the shit. The conversation continued, moving at a steady pace from Mark’s tastes in women to some business Damien had to take care of, but I tuned out and watched the buzz in the room with no enthusiasm. Sudden sourness settled inside me, and I took a swig from another glass.
“I’m feeling sick. This party sucks. Sorry, but why the fuck are we still here?”
Damien chipped in. “To keep up appearances?”
“Fucking PR shit, maybe?” Mark laughed at his joke, and the rest of them found it funny enough to join in.
It didn’t feel great to be the one at the end of the laughing stick. Their snickers grated my nerves. Turning away, I arched a brow at Fedor, hoping for some backup but the bastard bobbed his up and down, matching the rhythm of a song that was honestly trash. “I like the music.”
“Of course, you do.”
When Damien was done laughing his head off, he straightened his suit. “You know why we are here, Viktor. It’s important for the business.”
Mark snorted, changing legs. “You’re edgy because you’re bored out of your fucking mind.” He got that right. I was bored out of my fucking mind and, so far, it didn’t seem like there was going to be any action soon. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to take one of those women upstairs to chill. I’d recommend the brunette with the smudged lipstick.”
Dropping my glass on the table, I flashed him a smile. “Fuck you.”
More laughter.
“I have a feeling that things are going to get spiced up soon though.”
A man climbed up the stage with a piece of paper, tapped the microphone, and began to read out some information no one paid attention to. It was long and insanely boring. Facing Mark, I egged him on. “What makes you so sure that an opera singer won’t climb that stage next?”
He sat upright. “Firstly, I love the opera. Secondly, except that the Opera singer is Cian O’Sullivan, I highly doubt we’d have anyone else on that stage.”
Hearing the name sparked a rush of adrenaline and I felt a familiar burst of energy surge through me. As quick as a flash, the boredom evaporated and was replaced with curiosity. “Cian’s coming here. How did that get passed us?”
“It didn’t. Your mind has just been stuck on how boring it is, you didn’t catch the news.” The brothers shared a wry smile and filled up their glasses again. “See who’s suddenly interested. Well, yes, he’ll be present tonight, and we must commend you; you’ve done well with keeping the peace. The Russian-Irish treaty has been effective, thus far.”
