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It isn’t the first time a man has pissed himself out of fear of me. It might be the most pathetic, though.
I pull my fist back to knock him out just so I don’t have to hear him whimper anymore, but the fear suddenly becomes too much for him to handle. His face freezes for a moment, then his eyes roll. He faints back against the concrete before I lay so much as a finger on him.
Disgusted, I get to my feet. “At least he should be easier to transport now. And quieter.”
Kirill just scowls. “You couldn’t have done thatbeforehe pissed himself? That car is brand new!”
“Put him in the trunk. Hell, put him in the glove compartment. That little fuck will probably fit.”
My second-in-command sighs again. “How did this happen, by the way?”
“Fucker was prowling after Emma, trying to get a story out of her. When she refused, he started stalking her kids.” I’m still simmering with anger over the image of Remmy sniffing on her trail.
Kirill lofts a brow. “You sure dumping him in Bumfuck, New Jersey is all you want me to do?”
“For now, yes.”
I wait until Kirill stashes Jefferson into his trunk and drives away before I get into Remmy’s LeSabre.
I’m very aware of the fact that I’m the one who created this fucking mess. If I hadn’t overreacted to his wild guess that I was fucking Emma, Jefferson wouldn’t have caught on.
So the least I can do now is protect her.
The least I can do is make sure she’s alright.
At least, that’s the reason I give myself for driving back to her street and walking up to her door.
I clean up my messes.
That’s all this is.
27
RUSLAN
“You’re so…big.”
“Like a giant.”
I assumed they were twins from the window. But now that I’m looking right at them, I realize that the one with a missing front tooth must be younger. With her dark blonde hair, round apple cheeks, and prominent dimples, it’s hard not to smile just looking at her. Her sister is maybe an inch taller, slightly skinnier, with just as much energy.
“Reagan! Caroline! That’s not polite,” Emma scolds.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t strange to see her in her mother mode. She’s rushing around the living room, trying to subtly clean up without looking like that’s what she’s doing. She shoves a dirty t-shirt underneath one of the cushions on the armchair when she thinks I’m not looking.
The boy, Josh, is sitting opposite me. His eyes haven’t left my face since I walked in. I’ve made enough grown men piss their pants to know that looking me dead in the eye is no easy feat—just ask Remmy. And yet here he is, all of eight years old, staring back at me as though he’s ready to take me down if I make so much as one wrong move toward the women in his family.
He’s definitely a leader in the making.
“What did you say to the man?” he asks.
“Josh,” Emma chides gently, “maybe now’s not the time?” She glances pointedly at the girls, both of whom are still fixated on me.
Reagan wriggles out of her brother’s reach and plops down on the coffee table in front of me. “Why are you wearing that?”
I look down at my Hugo Boss suit. “This is what I wear to work. You don’t like it?”
She cocks her head to the side and thinks about it. “It’s… too much.”
