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“I’m beginning to. Look forward to getting that info.” I get up and put a couple of hundred on the bar to cover the tab and tip. “Now, I need to meet my fiancée.”
He’s not going to tell me anything, and staying there is bad game play. Before I do a thing, I’m going to need a fuck ton of intel, starting with who the common enemies were back when I was too young to be part of this.
My people have work to do.
* * *
I walk for a block or two to get my thoughts in order. There’s an enemy out there, seemingly from the depths of the past, one who’s thinking this wedding and the vacuum of Finnegan’s death is the perfect time to make a move.
There’s something off here, something I can’t quite put my finger on.
I won’t be blackmailed, but I’m not an idiot. I’m playing this carefully because I know what this is: a threat against Rose.
I’m a big deal, and if this pans out like I suspect it will, I’ll have to make a show of power or risk losing it.
But at what cost?
Field isn’t a small player. He’s an invisible one. He’s a worry because of the labyrinthine network of people he represents. I just might end up having to kill a lot of people, more than Rose has seen, stain myself red more than I have before. To protect her, I will. Even if she ends up resenting me, I’ll do it to save her, to keep her safe.
I might have to turn darker and nastier than I have in a long time, and chances are, I might not be able to find my way back.
If she’s safe. If Rush is…
I’ll do it.
I make the call.
“Get me everything we don’t have on a list I’m sending,” I say to Tony as I glance at my watch. “I want to know why most of Queenstown banded together, part of why my uncle and Finnegan aligned. Was there a name? Someone knows something. Records, anything.”
“Got it.”
Then, because I have time to kill and I want to, because she’s the balm I need, I head back to take Rose shopping.
* * *
“Nikolai.” Rose’s attempts at stern make me want to laugh.
I don’t mistake this for inability—she sure as shit can—but with me, she’s got a big whipped cream center, flavored with a heady liqueur.
Especially right now.
“What?”
She shoves at me, tits threatening to spill from the very fine, very lacy, very see-through soft pink bra. I sigh and lean against the wall of the dressing room, idly pulling one of the cups down. Her nipples are erect, darker with arousal, even though she pretends she’s not. “You can’t be here.”
“I want you to try this on.” I nod at the filmy little dress nestled among the ridiculous nightwear lingerie.
“You don’t care. You said you were leaving the wedding stuff up to me.” She grabs, I swear to fucking God, a flannel, floor length gown that buttons up to a frill around the chin. I think it’s got prancing bears on it.
I don’t know where the fuck she got it from, but I’m tempted to buy it.
Then burn it.
“I’m interested in this part.” I push the offensive flannel to the ground and straighten, backing her into a corner before sliding my hand into her panties and pushing a finger into her. “Try it on.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll—”
