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“But why you?” I say, forcing the words through the tears. “And why—why risk your whole organization for it, you crazy fuck?”
“The wrong people heard the wrong things. If word gets out that Andrei the Wolf cannot protect his belongings, who’s to stop people from trying to take them? It is a hard time for the Bratva. It was this—or war. Now it seems it may be both.”
“But why you?” I growl, stalking forward, wanting to punch him as hard as I can in the face. “If it was this smaller gang in Moscow …”
“I am Moscow,” Andrei snarls. “Any promises made on her concrete are owed to me.”
“You’re nothing now,” Damian growls. “Popstar, what do you want me to do with him?”
A sick agreement, a twisted pledge.
And because of some Bratva politics, he had to go after me.
Life is a fucking joke, but I’m too tired to laugh, fatigue suddenly touching every part of me. I look at my man, his face flecked with droplets of blood, his eyes cold and supportive and his silver hair dotted with the crimson of combat.
“Let the police have him,” I say.
“They’ll be here any second,” Damian says, nodding. “I can hear them now. Right outside the room. Hear that, Andrei? A smart little trick, taking the other rooms quietly.”
“But you forgot who you were dealing with,” I hiss, looking this psychopath straight in the eye. “You were dealing with Damian fucking Drake, and my man is the best in the business.”
Damian smirks, looking at me warmly for a moment.
“That’s damn right,” he says.
“Police! Police!”
The door crashes open and Damian throws his gun down, grabbing Andrei and shoving him out the door. He slams it behind him and then guides us all to the ensuite.
“We’ll wait here,” he says. “When they come to investigate the bedroom, I’ll explain the situation. Hold on. It’s almost over.”
I clutch onto his strong back, the firmness that feels like home.
I don’t care if my family held such an evil secret.
Because I’ve got a new family now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Damian
The government man stands at the bottom of the steps, the ground dusty despite the time of year. We’re in California and the late afternoon sun is shining. Sparky sits perked up on the porch beside me, and inside the house, my queen bakes bread and sings a soft song as she does it.
It’s been one week since that shit in the hotel and I’m ready to move on.
I’ve had my interviews and I was found to act in self-defense when I fucked those thugs up, and now I just want Dakota and her wide hips and Sparky’s happy face and her angel’s voice.
Is that too much to fucking ask?
“Damian Drake?” the man says.
He’s tall and pasty, black-haired, wears sunglasses and he looks just as anonymous as I expected him to.
“What are you, FBI?”
The man smirks briefly in a way I don’t like.
“No, not FBI. I work for an agency most people haven’t heard of. I’m an associate of Mr. Jenkins.”
“Oh,” I murmur, thinking of my old contact. “I’m sorry Andrei got to him.”
The man nods. “He overextended himself, yes. I’m here to see if you can be tempted back into the business.”
“With all due respect,” I say, “I’ve got a woman and a family. I’m done with that. I’m opening a combat gym. I’ve been training martial arts for years.”
The man nods again, all business. “Then I’ll move onto my second reason for being here. Uncle Sam gives his thanks. He is so grateful, in fact, that when you check your bank balance you’ll see three million US dollars waiting there for you. It was very smart of you to invest in DekiLog so early.”
“What the fuck is DekiLog?”
The man smiles tightly.
“Ah, I see,” I chuckle grimly. “Three million? I didn’t know I was so valued.”
I mean it to come out as a joke, but it comes out dark and grim. It’s so hard to be lighthearted with anybody except for Dakota.
“You really were, Drake,” the man says, suddenly serious. “Every man you took out made the world a better place. You were never sloppy and you never hurt any civilians, any innocents. You were the best damn operator we had.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “What’s your name, son?”
The man smirks and turns away. “You already know it, Drake.”
“Mr. Jenkins?” I sigh.
The man strides down the dusty path toward his black sedan, which looks quite similar to mine. Maybe I was a government man all along.
“What was that about?” Dakota says, striding out onto the porch with her apron tied around her waist and folded down, so that her breasts are exposed in her tight T-shirt, her nipples nice and perky and needy.
Fuck, I’ve sucked those nipples raw over this last week but I don’t plan on stopping. I’m certain one of these days I’m going to slurp hard enough and make her squirt milk into my mouth. Then I’ll squirt it all over my cock and use it as lube to hammer her tight needy slit, watch as the white of her lactated milk mixes with her natural creamy juices—
