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“Yes.” I say, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Angelina tilts her head and looks at me with concern.
“You had that empty look in your eyes. And you weren’t answering when I called your name.”
“I was just deep in thought.” I say and let go of her neck. “We should go back.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah.” I stand up and head in the direction of the house. For a dozen or so feet Angelina matches my quick pace, but then slows down to a sluggish walk. I stop to wait for her and when she catches up, she’s breathing hard, so I wrap my arm around her waist and lift her in my arms.
“That’s not necessary,” she says, but doesn’t make a move to get free. I ignore her comment, whistle for Mimi, and head down the path.
“Tell me, do all your hostages get the same treatment?” she asks a moment later.
“Me carrying them around when they’re tired?”
“Yup.” She nods.
“You’re my first. I'm still going through a learning curve.” I look down at her. “But you seem to be a pro in the hostage business.”
Her brows shoot up. “How so?”
“I saw you smuggling the steak knife into the bedroom after lunch yesterday,” I say and feel her tense up in my arms. “I also found the cleaver you keep under the mattress. Albert is particular with his favorite kitchen gadget shit. He’ll go ballistic if he sees the cleaver gone. Can you swap it with the santoku knife? He never uses that one.”
“How . . .” She stares at me. “Why . . .”
“Why didn’t I take them away?” I smile. “Why would I? You haven’t tried anything with them so far. And I think it’s cute.”
“Me keeping a meat cleaver under the mattress is... cute?”
“Very.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m not the one keeping a kitchen utensil in bed.”
“It’s a weapon!”
I imagine Angelina trying to attack someone with that thing and try to stifle a laugh, but fail. She would probably need to use both hands to lift it. Apparently, I may have offended her, because she juts her chin and snorts at me.
I enjoy the way Angelina feels in my arms. Having her this close ensures she’s safe from anyone who might want to do her harm. When she tells me who hurt her, and she will eventually, I’ll have such a great time killing them. I won’t use a gun. That’stoo quick. A knife won’t do, either. Hmm. Waterboarding? Maybe, if I can find a good place to do it. Strangulation? Yes, that sounds nice. As would cutting off their extremities. I’d need a chainsaw, and damn, that shit is loud. I’ll consider it some more.
“What are you thinking about?” Angelina asks.
“Nothing in particular. Why?”
“Because you have a self-satisfied grin plastered all over the face.”
“Oh, just planning some extracurricular activities, that’s all.”
Chapter 7
I park my bike at the end of a long line of Harley Davidsons, remove my helmet, and lean on the handles, inspecting the surroundings. Based on the sounds of laughter and yelling coming from the bar in front of me, the members of the Black Wings MC are having a great time. I told Roman that doing business with MCs is messy, but since my brother is mister bullhead extraordinaire, he insisted I meet with them.
There’s a sound of an engine nearing, purring softer than a motorcycle, and a few seconds later, a sleek black sedan parks to my right. Looks like my babysitter has arrived. After the fuckup with Shevchenko, Roman ordered one of the guys to go with me to meetings to ensure I behave. It’s Pavel’s turn today.
The driver’s door opens and he steps out. I stare at him for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
