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I smile awkwardly. “Thanks.”
“You’re totally my type, ya know,” she says softly. “But he got to you first…”
I’m spared from having to say anything when she flops back on top of the covers and starts snoring softly.
“Damn, Bee,” I whisper. “You’re a hot mess.”
I grab her legs and hoist them into the bed. Then I drape a blanket over her and backpedal quietly out of the room. As I’m closing the door, it strikes me that, as nice as Bee has been to me, she hasn’t been very honest, either.
There’s no denying that she and Dmitri are close. But how close? Is her relationship with Dmitri just a marriage of convenience, or do they have real feelings for each other? The fact that I’m hoping for the former makes me sick to my stomach.
What is wrong with me?
37
DMITRI
Power gives you freedom.
Words my father lived by. Words he ingrained in me so young that power was the only thing I coveted.
It took me years of adulthood, of owning that power, to realize that he was just feeding me bullshit all along. It was all just a marketing strategy.
Power doesn’t give you freedom; it breeds enemies. It gives you problems.
Right now, I have five.
One: my best friend and soon-to-be wife who is suddenly proving unable to commit to the farce we shook hands on.
Two: her bloodthirsty father, who is sniffing closer and closer to the truth beneath the duplicitous life we are living for his benefit.
Three: the Irish motherfucker who stole Elena from me and seems intent on making history repeat itself.
Four: the woman who’s made it her mission to turn my life into a living hell without even trying. Oh, and she happens to be carrying my son.
The fifth and final problem is myself. For not getting my shit together and focusing on what’s really important, which is marrying Bee and protecting my son. Wren shouldn’t factor in at all. So why is she the loudest voice in my head right now?
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
Gratefully, I sit up in bed and grab my phone. “Aleks?”
“I know it’s late, but something’s happened.”
“Spit it out, man.”
“There’s been an explosion at the warehouse in Burnside.” I jump out of bed and start throwing on clothes blindly as he keeps rattling off details. “No casualties. But we have five injured men who were on the night shift. Two have been taken to the emergency room; the other three are being treated here as we speak. Pavel’s doing a sweep of the place to make sure we know what’s gone down.”
I storm out of the apartment. “An explosion is what’s ‘gone down,’ Aleksandr,” I growl. “My warehouses aren’t in the habit of self-combusting.”
“Right, but we don’t know who?—”
“The fuck we don’t!” I hiss. “This has his name written all over it.”
“Brother, why would he do this now? The Irish have been quiet for years.”
“Why do you think they’ve been quiet for years?” I demand. “That slippery fuck, Cian, has been biding his time, building up a plan. He’s always wanted to take me down. You think the attack on Wren was a coincidence? You think his appearance at The Eclipse was a coincidence?”
“I’m just advising caution.”
