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“True. Anyway, you get going. See you later.”
“Yeah, later.” I cut the call as I headed north to Eoghan’s building. “How much of that did you try not to hear?” I asked wryly.
“Well...” I shot her a look and saw her nose was wrinkled at the bridge.
Fuck, she was hot.
I knew for a fact she didn’t know it either.
I reached over and placed my hand on her thigh. Not to get kinky or to tease, just to connect.
In all honesty, my mind wasn’t on sex. I just needed the union.
“Camille, things are going to get ugly.”
“Brennan, you said it yourself—life is war.”
“You have that coin,” I reminded her. “I wouldn’t blame you for running off with it.”
“Hush,” she whispered, her hand cupping mine.
And that was how we drove the rest of the way, neither of us saying a word, both of our hands bound—each of us the other’s life raft in a fucking storm.
When we made it to Eoghan’s place, Tink was there, waiting in the parking lot. He nodded his head at me, waved at Camille, and as a unit, we headed to the elevator and rode up to the penthouse.
When Eoghan let us in, I immediately saw the issue. There was no way of hiding it.
“Where was it?” I demanded. “Was your security breached again?”
Down the hall, I could hear Victoria sobbing, and I knew Camille had as well, but the box held her in thrall too, otherwise I knew she’d have gone to her sister.
“No. They left it with the doorman who brought it up when he saw we were back.”
My brow puckered. “He carried it like that and he didn’t call the police?”
Eoghan snorted. “It was in a case, like one of those Uber Eats’ carriers the bikers wear strapped to their backs.”
That would have contained the smell, I figured. At least, for a short while.
In the center of the hallway was a white cardboard box that was soaked through with blood at the base. Eoghan had tipped off the lid to reveal a severed head. Around the neck, there was a bright blue ribbon which peeked out behind the Ziplock bag tucked between the fucker’s lips. The only consolation was that the bastard’s eyes were closed.
“What’s in the bag?”
Eoghan shrugged. “I ain’t touching that shit.”
I couldn’t blame him, but I still grumbled, “Pussy,” as I leaned down and pried it out of the guy’s mouth—rigor mortis was a real pain in the ass.
Once I was standing, I opened the bag and cast Camille a look. “Correct me if I’m wrong, babe, but that’s Basil Lukov, right?”
“Yeah. It is,” she whispered, her eyes perfectly round in her beautiful face as she stared down at the decapitated head of a guy that had just become the next move in Maxim Lyanov’s plan to take over the Bratva.
Pulling out the contents from the bag, I realized it was a legal document, and my brow puckered as I read it.
“What is it?” Eoghan asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Good news, I guessed. Sorting out Victoria’s legal status in Eoghan’s household was on this week’s to-do list, but it looked like Mariska had thought of everything.
I, Mariska Vasov, knowing that my husband will outlive me and may not provide adequate guardianship in case of his untimely death for our daughters, Camille, Inessa, and Victoria Vasov, do hereby assign their legal guardianship to Brennan O’Donnelly.
