Page 46 of Coveted By Cupid

Shit! Their presence at my place can’t be good. We always meet on Kirill’s grounds, never here.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, opening the door for them to enter. They storm inside, closing and engaging the deadbolt. Locked away in my apartment, they both let out shaky breaths.

“What the hell is going on? Why are you here? And why is your face messed up, Mikhail?”

“Your recruit wouldn’t come easily,” Mikhail snaps, his Slavic accent sounding more nasal through his broken nose. He pushes past me toward my kitchen, turning on the sink and washing the blood from his face.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, stunned Vanessa could inflict such damage, particularly to a man as big as Mikhail. “But you got her, right?”

“No, we didn’t fucking get her,” Kirill spits through his teeth, taking a seat on my couch and running a hand down his tired face.

I gasp, my hands flying to my head. “What do you mean you didn’t get her?! You always get your targets.”

“She had help,” Kirill says, glaring at me.

“Help? From who?”

“A goddamn biker, that’s who,” Kirill yells. “And not any fucking biker. A Royal Bastard.”

I pause, unsure of what he means. “I don’t understand. A Royal Bastard? Is that supposed to stand for something other than an insult?”

Mikhail returns from the kitchen, his face still a mess but less bloody. “The biker is part of the Royal Bastards MC—a one-percent club our organization has had the misfortune of dealing with in the past. Shit never goes well when they get involved.”

My stomach sours, recalling the rough-looking man sharing Vanessa’s bed. He definitely gave off bad news vibes.

Kirill curses under his breath. “We already have the Mercy Ravens MC here in town giving us grief and stalling operations. However, if the Royal Bastards know we are here and behind the abductions, we’re fucked. Our organization may be large, but not Royal Bastards large. They’ll be calling in neighboring chapters to take us on.”

“Maybe not,” I say nervously, terrified of what this could mean for all of us. “Maybe it was some random Royal Bastard passing through at the right time and only intervened because he was there. I’m sure they have other pressing matters to deal with than to care about some random girl being taken.”

Mikhail shakes his head. “Unlikely they won’t get involved.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because this wasn’t some low-ranking member,” Mikhail explains in a testy tone. “His patch read President of the Loveland Chapter.”

“Cupid,” Kirill adds, spitting on the floor with disgust. “He’s one relentless bastard, stopping at nothing to make sure no one disrespects their club.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins, recognizing the name as the one Vanessa used the night before when she was addressing the asshole at her apartment.

Something in my face must give away that I know more than I’m sharing. Kirill’s eyes narrow on me. “What aren’t you telling me, boy?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly, sounding guilty as hell.

“Do you know him?” Mikhail asks, moving closer. “He has Artem—my brother. If you know anything about this guy, tell us.”

Admitting I know Cupid means I need to admit Vanessa wasn’t a random recruit. I had no idea who Cupid was or who he was affiliated with, but they will not believe it, not when I have a vendetta against my ex. They’ll assume the worst, that I set them up. Before they dispose of me, I’ll be beaten and used violently. I don’t want to die—I never wanted any of this.

Schooling my face, I shake my head. “Never heard of the guy.”

Mikhail’s shoulders sag, and he hangs his head in defeat.

Kirill continues to look my way. I hesitate meeting his eyes, but when I do, I notice he’s not looking at me, but past me. He rises from the couch, walking past me.

Confused, I turn to watch where he’s heading. Kirill reaches up and pulls down a picture frame I had on a shelf, one where I’m embracing Vanessa. Her smile is beautiful. I love that photo and the happier time it represents between us.

After Vanessa left me, I couldn’t bring myself to pack it away. But now, I am kicking myself for leaving it out.

Kirill holds the photo out to me. “Is this her? Was she the recruit?”