Chapter 19
Zariah
My hands rattle when they accept my fifth glass of champagne from the bartender. I want to say my shaking is due to the numerous pairs of eyes I feel boring into the back of my head, but that would be a lie. It’s Asher and the crazy inane feelings my head is muddled with.
Only six weeks ago, he let one of his goons rough-handle me without speaking a word. Now, he’s having them killed for looking in my direction. My emotions have been all over the place since I was thrust back into his life, but that annoying trait doesn’t usually affect men like Asher. They’re too pigheaded to have feelings, much less act on them.
Lenin pushes a tray of hors d’oeuvres to my side of the bar. “Perhaps you should have something to eat between glasses.”
He’d never say anything, but I don’t need his words to know he’s worried I’m downing champagne too quickly. Someone who has lived a sheltered life like mine is a lightweight in general, but I need something to take the edge off. The hungry eyes of stranger’s aren’t the only ones bombarding me the past two hours. I’ve also captured Asher’s heated stare numerous times.
I thought he’d be angry I stormed away from him at the start of the night, but it had the opposite effect. He seems to appreciate the distance. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no denying I’m under his watch. I just thought what happened earlier moved us away from the game he’s been playing the past two weeks—the one where he watches me when he thinks I don’t know he is.
Although frustrated we’re back at square one, I’m grateful his eyes are on me and not one of the many women vying for his attention. He doesn’t give them an ounce of interest while schmoozing the men my father wined and dined back in his glory days.
Half the men in this room orchestrated my father’s demise. The front runner of the campaign was the same man who brought me to climax earlier tonight. I should hate Asher for it; my father didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly, but a part of me is also grateful. If he wasn’t forced from his throne, I’d most likely still be locked in the ivory tower my mother’s death shoved me in. I’m no freer today than I was six weeks ago, but I can feel my wings expanding. They’re clipped, but fanning out nonetheless.
Feeling better than I did a mere minute ago, I spin around to face the succession of people. Smoke lingers high in the air. The stench should be overwhelming, but since they’re smoking only the finest cigars, it has a nice spicy wood scent attached to it. There are approximately two dozen women scattered amongst the men. For the most part, they’re dressed similarly to me, but there are a handful of the ones you expect at every gathering who are less covered than their ritzy counterparts.
It’s impossible to count the number of heads without having my snooping eye detected, but I guess around two to three hundred men fill the space. I met a lot of them when I was little, although I doubt they’d recognize me now. The ones Asher is being introduced to now are new. They’re the younger generation, the up and coming members of the cartel who will see the industry grow with the times. It’s not just about guns and drugs anymore. It’s much more than that. Cyber terrorism is huge at the moment, and it comes with a very impressive bank balance.
I’m not talking from experience. I can’t even turn on a computer, but from the conversations I overheard when my hairpin became useful for more than keeping my hair out of my eyes, I understand it is a rapidly growing entity.
My thoughts drift deeper into my past when my eyes lock on a pair of familiar green eyes across the room. It has been years since I’ve seen them, but I’m certain they belong to my Uncle Nesti. “Nesti”is Russian for bear.Itisn’t my uncle’s real name, but since he is as tall and as large as a bear, it’s very fitting.
He’s talking to a pretty lady with raven hair and legs that stretch for miles. From the way he continues his conversation without pause, anyone would swear he hasn’t spotted me gawking at him. I know that isn’t the case. His discreet stare is so intense, the heat of his gaze overtakes Asher’s.
After excusing himself from his enthralled guest, my uncle makes his way to the hallway that leads to the restrooms. His head nudge is inconspicuous to anyone not trained to seek it. I’m well familiar, though. It’s the same signal he gave Vaughn and me any time our grandfather’s parleys from the days when he ruled my father’s realm grew too tiresome for us to bear. He wants me to follow him.
My first thoughts are to deny his request. My good behavior has been well rewarded the past six weeks, so I don’t want anything messing it up. But another part of me, the rebellious one I’ve been unleashing more regularly the past two weeks, is a little more daring than its naïve, good-girl counterpart. I haven’t seen or heard from a member of my family in over six weeks. I’m more than ready to fix the injustice.
“I need to use the restroom.”
Lenin’s grin is not as evil as his deadly cat eyes when I slip off my barstool. “That’s not surprising with how fast you’ve been chugging down drinks.”
When he attempts to glue himself to me as he has all night, I splay my hand across his chest. It’s more rigid than I anticipated for his slim frame. “The washrooms are right there.” I point to the hallway my uncle darted down thirty seconds ago. “I don’t need a shadow.”
Lenin’s eyes stray past my shoulder before returning to my face. “Asher will—”
“Kill you if you see how I pee in this dress? Yeah, he will.”
I’m lying. Lenin can see more skin now than he will in the bathroom, but I want to talk to my uncle in private. That’s the only way I can guarantee messages solely for my family’s ears won’t be heard by anyone but them.
Lenin is smarter than I give him credit for. “Most bathrooms have stalls, so you’re safe from my prying eyes.” His glare though, that could kill a man.
He guides me into the bathroom by clutching my arm. It’s not a firm hold, but one that shows he doesn’t appreciate me treating him like an idiot. Although his quick wits made me want to abandon my mission altogether, my wish to be updated on family matters exceeds my fear of getting in trouble.
After fixing the stall latch and lifting the lid, I switch tactics. “Lenin?”
His rumbling grunt reveals he is standing right outside my stall, much less his big black boots I see popping out beneath the door.
His grunt turns into a gag when I murmur, “Can you fetch my purse from my jacket? I have awomanlyissue I need to take care of, and I forgot supplies.”
My plan goes to shit when he advises me there’s a dispenser attached to the wall. “It should have everything you need.”
While I cradle my throbbing head in my hands, Lenin feeds coins into the machine stealing my creativity. I could ask Asher for permission to speak to my uncle, but I don’t see my request being granted. My cell was confiscated within minutes of me entering the Yury compound, and any time I’ve come close to an unwatched phone, it was locked.
Things look up when Lenin grumbles a curse word a mere second before his fist slams into the metal box, the sound ricocheting around the isolated bathroom.
