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“Fine.”
He pushes up his sleeves and cracks his knuckles as he launches into his report. “My intel suggests that they’re being held in separate locations. I’ve got a lead that’s close to cracking. I just have to find the right incentive to make him talk.”
“Fists usually work.”
“You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” Dima says, running his hand over his fresh crew cut.
“I had avorwho used to say that. He’s dead now.”
Dima picks at a fraying thread on the bench. “Don’t worry; I’ll use my fists if I have to. The guy’s weak. He’s on the verge of singing like the fat lady, and when he does, I’ll be able to deliver you both Celine and Archie.”
“If it comes to a choice—”
“Don’t worry.” He very obviously resists rolling his eyes again. “I know which one to choose.”
“Good.” I load a hundred more pounds onto the bar and get in position for another set. My arms are trembling and burning, but I know better than anyone that pain is a hungry bitch. If you give into it, it only asks for more and more, until you have nothing left to give and nothing to show for your effort.
You ignore pain. You never feed it.
Lust is exactly the same.
Dima watches me with a sour expression. “You don’t need to show off, you know. We get it. You’re strong.” He sighs and scratches at the back of his head. “How are things here, by the way?”
I tense and sit up, abandoning the weights altogether. “Mila’s helping Taylor plan her mother’s funeral.”
He winces. “Fuck. Fiona’s dead?”
“I forget how much you miss when you go undercover,” I muse. “She died yesterday. Punctured her carotid after extracting a promise from me on her deathbed.”
“Christ,” Dima curses, his eyes going wide. “What was the promise?”
“That I’d take care of her daughter.”
“Yeah? Which one?” I narrow my eyes and he gives me an apologetic smile. “Come on, brother, I’ve seen the way you look at Taylor.”
That rankles, because I do not look at her in any specific way. In fact, I take pains to avoid looking at her altogether.
“Tell me: how do I ‘look at her’?” I drawl.
“Like a man who hates the fact that he can’tstoplooking at her,” he says with a shrug. “I saw the two of you in the corridor talking during the engagement party.”
“So?” I say. “It was small talk.”
“Brother,” Dima chides, “it didn’t look like small talk. It looked like a full-blown argument between two…”
“Two what?”
“Well…two lovers,” he explains. “And, just a heads up, I wasn’t the only one who noticed you. Celine was watching when I walked up to her. I tried to talk to her, get her attention off you, but she was definitely…distracted.”
“Who was distracted?” Mila asks, walking in. She stops short when she catches sight of Dima. “Dima!” she cries, flying to him and throwing herself into his arms.
He catches her in a bear hug and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You been keeping busy while I was away?”
“I guess,” she says, releasing him and sitting down on the bench next to him. “Boss man stuck me with the boring job. I think this is the first time in my life I’ve had to pretend like I cared about flowers. It went about as expected.”
“I heard about the funeral,” Dima says, turning to me. “When’s it gonna be?”
“Tomorrow,” I reply. “Arrangements have been made.”
