Page 206 of Lethal Obsession

“It’s not about my sister.”

Thank Christ for that.

“Well,” he amends, “not directly.” His eyes meet mine. “Lourdes broke up with me,” he says quietly.

I attempt to look like I could give a fuck.

“That’s not the reason for this conversation,” he goes on. “But it might add some context to what I’m about to say.”

I resist the urge to look at my watch.

“What you’re building in that basement is groundbreaking,” he says bluntly.

I tense. I’m still shocked that after I’d sworn Mak to secrecy, he spoke about Phantom so openly to Roman and Mickey. Until now, I’d considered Mak to be the most discreet man I know.

“But my conversation with Mak wasn’t the first time I’d heard about Phantom,” Mickey goes on. “Lars told me about it during our argument back on the yacht.”

For a horrible instant I see Lars lying on a hospital bed, tubes and wires coming out of every part of him.

“What are you getting at, Mickey?” My voice is harsher than I might like, but there’s fuck all I can do about that.

“Miami is going to be off-limits for you after this is all over.” His voice is just as harsh as my own. “And while you might be able to code yourself into invisibility, as Lars described it, you still need a server center to do it. And someone who knows what they’re doing to oversee it.” A muscle tenses in his jaw. “To protect it. Along with whatever other interests you still have in the city.”

I’m powerless to stop a contemptuous sneer. “And you think you’re that huckleberry, do you, Mickey?”

“Not yet.” He doesn’t try to deny it. “But if I stay in Spain, I’m never going to be. Roman will literally lock me in the Mercura office if he thinks for a moment that I’m planning to get my hands dirty. But we both know there are skills I need to learn which don’t involve being behind a keyboard.”

“You think it takes skill to drop bodies in the swamp?” I give him a dry look. “Skill has fuck all to do with it, Mickey. Killing takes a strong stomach, and an ability to ignore every shred of conscience we’re born with. Men are not supposed to kill their fellow man, in case you missed that commandment. It’s unnatural, and it fucks you up. It fucks you up even more when you make the doing of it an art form, like wielding a knife with surgical precision. And believe me when I say that is not a skill you ever want to have cause to learn.”

I turn toward the door. “You got dumped by your first real girlfriend, Mickey.” I try to keep the impatience out of my voice. “Go and get drunk with your friends. Fuck a stripper. Take too many drugs, game all night—do whatever you need to. But even if I wanted to give you what you’re asking—which I don’t—there’s no chance in hell the men who live in this compound would follow someone as green as you.”

He glares at me. “They followed you.”

“I wasn’t fucking green. And my men knew that. They’d seen me bleed—in many cases under their own hands, at the Orlovs’ orders. The men who followed me back then knew who I was and exactly what I was capable of.”

“I’m not asking to be given an empire I didn’t earn.” His tone is flat and hard. “Or one I’m not qualified to run. I’m asking to build an empire of my own out of whatever ashes are left tonight when you’re done blowing up yours.”

“And I’m telling you there’s no way you’re ready for that.” I half laugh. “Especially not if you’re standing here asking my fucking permission.”

“Asking was a courtesy,” he says coldly. “I thought it might be good business. But I didn’t come for your permission, Alexei, and I sure as fuck don’t need it. I’m staying in Miami when this is done.”

“Well, you’re a bit too old to visit Disneyland, but I’m sure you can distract yourself by spending some of Roman’s money in the floating casinos.” Shaking my head, I walk toward the door. “You don’t want this shit, Mickey,” I say quietly. “You think I’m an asshole—fine. But I’m an asshole who has seen more corpses than anybody ever should. I know you’ve held a gun more than once. Used it, even. But you don’t go to sleep at night with the stench of decomposing flesh in your nostrils, or dream of a parade of faces you deprived of life. I hope you never do, and I’m pretty damn sure Roman feels the same way.” I hold the door open.

“So you’re just going to let the swamp win, then, are you?”

What the fuck?

I turn to find that he hasn’t moved. “Whatever this is, Mickey, I don’t have time for it.”

“Of course you don’t.” His face is pale, set, and harder than I’ve ever seen it. “Do you know what Lars’s exact words to me were on that yacht?” He goes on before I have time to argue. “He said: ‘Your sister will never love anyone else but Alexei. And unless Alexei allows himself to love her back, he won’t ever find a way out of that fucking swamp.’”

If it was anyone else, I’d punch them. Unfortunately, I can hear Lars’s voice in every word.

Well, you won’t listen to me when I’m inside your head, motherfucker. I had to get your attention somehow.

“Phantom didn’t matter to Lars at all,” Mickey goes on. “What mattered to him was you. Phantom meant that you could finally see a future that didn’t involve putting corpses into the Everglades. And despite being hopelessly in love with you himself,” he says grimly, “Lars knew it was Ofelia who’d given you that future. He was furious that I’d jeopardized that by getting between you.”

I stare at him hollowly. Am I the only fucking person who didn’t know how Lars felt?