Page 29 of The Bratva King

I know he hears me. He turns his head slightly, but he doesn’t look at me.

“You’re not supposed to be out here,” I say.

He looks at the floor. He’s breathing fast. I think about Pasha calming Catherine. The way he does the same for me when my breathing is a little off.

“Luke.”

He looks at me then. I see the fear. He’d run if he could, but he’s frozen in place.

“Come on,” I say. “I’m going to show you something cool.”

I stand and start back toward the corridor. I don’t grab him; I trust him to follow. Kids either follow or they don’t. Grabbing them only makes it a fight.

I glance back. He’s following, the end of his blanket trailing behind him.

I lead him toward the service corridor and press the button for the elevator. I was going to take the stairs. I’m still a little claustrophobic after my last elevator ride. Fuckers. The fire department had to rescue us. It was humiliating. There will be retaliation.

But first, I need to deal with my three-foot problem.

The elevator opens. I step in and wait. He hesitates before following. Someone needs to talk to this kid about following strangers. I could be a diddler. A kiddie killer.

I press the button for the executive floor.

We ride in silence. He watches the numbers above the door change. His blanket is tucked under one arm now. His other hand hangs at his side.

I watch him and wonder what’s going through his mind.

When his eyes meet mine, I know what he’s thinking, and it confuses me. He trusts me. I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything to prove I won’t hurt him.

Then I realize that I’m the same way when I meet someone. I size them up and decide quickly whether they belong in my inner circle.

The elevator stops. The doors open. Thank God. “This way,” I tell him.

I lead him down the hall to the private elevator and scan my key card. We ride up one more floor.

When the elevator opens, I walk to the dark double doors of my office and push one open. I step aside. The boy walks in ahead of me like he owns the place.

He stops in the middle of the room and looks around. His eyes go to the window first. I watch his face as he takes it in. I don’t think he’s impressed, but he’s curious.

He walks to the window and stares out.

I consider calling the floor and telling the pit boss to let Miss Collins know I have her kid. But because I might have an unhealthy obsession with her, I know her shift ends in an hour. He’ll be fine for an hour. We’ll deal with the consequences of her choices later.

I lean back in my chair and look at him. He’s small. His shirt is a little too tight. His shorts are torn at the pocket. His sneakers are worn.

I notice things. I always notice things. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t.

Once he’s finished evaluating the Strip below, he turns his attention to me. I smile when I realize his little body has relaxed. The fear from the casino floor is gone.

I gesture to the chair across from my desk. “Have a seat.”

He does what I ask, climbing into the chair and leaning forward because he’s still wearing his backpack. His blanket rests beside him, with one hand keeping a tight hold.

I had a blanket when I was his age. My father burned it in front of me. Said I was too old for it. Mom saved a piece, maybe an eight-inch square. The fabric was untouched, but it still smelled like smoke.

Maybe that’s why fire fascinates me. It’s funny, though; my youngest brother is the one who really loves burning shit down.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.