Page 21 of Dangerous Games

“Holy fuck,” I mutter, backing away. I shouldn’t be here, not here, not in this room. Not when he is… “Oh god,” I mumble, still backing away. This place, it’s where she was attacked, and I am crossing lines I never knew existed.

Fear pushes me to leave, to head out the front door and run away. I know exactly where I am now, but if I leave, he’ll only come after me. He’s already proven how much he knows, and now I know how deadly he is, what his name is, why he keeps it a secret. The Gusev’s are organized crime—Bratva—and Dominic is far more dangerous than Jimmy knows. How on earth could he get into bed with these guys?

I stumble down the hallway to the stairs. Mika passes me on my way up; she’s heading down. “I was looking for you. How were your sandwiches? You finished the book?” she asks, but I pass like a ghost in the night. “Are you okay?” she pries, but I can’t even look at her. Does she know who he is? Is she a captive too?

I mutter something unintelligible and walk straight to my room and lock the door, as if that puny lock will stop him. When he sees what I’ve done, the broken knob, the room—the albums. Fuck, I forgot to put them back. God, I’m in trouble. He will be furious. He will hurt me. He will punish me and this time it won’t be sex. He will kill me. His identity is exposed and there is nothing I can do about it. Knowing what I know will not save me—it’s a death warrant.

I curl up on the bed and cover myself, trying to hide from the terror seeping into my pores. This is worse than seeing Gallagher again, worse than me fearing Jimmy dies. I’m shaking so bad I may throw up. I want to go home. I want Jimmy.

13

DOMINIC

Another anger-fueled meeting with Nick and Leo, and I’m ready for a drink. The arms shipment fell through, and now I’m upside down on that deal. It’s nothing I can’t fix, but it does raise suspicions when it comes to those two. I’ve been watching everyone more closely since I discovered the plot against my life, including those two; I just wish Jimmy would bring me something conclusive.

As I drive home, I reflect on the family. Sven, my younger brother by only a few years, has been distant, trouble with a lady friend I assume. I don’t think for a second that he’s involved. He has no interest in running the family—he’s stated that a number of times. I believe him too. It’s a big job and it carries as much stress as it does weight and prestige. Not many people are willing to put their life on the line for something like this, not to mention their name and reputation.

A name like Gusev is synonymous with power, which is likely why someone is trying to get rid of me. And it makes sense how someone from within may want to shift Sven to the top. After all, a man who does not want to lead is easily swayed by voices within to do as they please. His authority means nothing to him. My father knows this too, which is why I am the obvious choice, because I seek the position with the interest of leading the family into the next generation of business. Not just because I’m the oldest son.

I turn down my street. The overcast sky paints a glum gray over the houses on the street. Mine sits at the far end of a cul-de-sac, down a narrow lane past the security gate. Scarsdale is home; it always has been even long after Father moved away from this place to a penthouse in the city. I could never leave. This place, where Mom died, holds too many memories. I have a fondness for the old trees that reach their branches out to shade the home’s eaves, and the bushes that grow out front used to be my playground. All four of my brothers used to play in them, pretending they were our castles or ships, whether we were on land or at sea.

I park near the front door and make my way up the steps. It’s been a long afternoon, and I’m ready for a drink. I’m expecting a call from Jimmy later this evening again, but I doubt he’s gotten any more information. The man moves slower than a snail. He’s thorough though, so despite my anger over how long he’s taking, at least I know I hired the right man for the job. I give him a hard time, but he is truly the best. If this works out and he wants a place in my organization, I know I can trust him too. That is a rare commodity in this business.

As I let myself in, I instantly know something is wrong. The house is quiet like normal, but there is a scent in the air I can’t place. It’s sweet, but not from Mika’s baking or Nanette’s perfume. And it doesn’t smell like the flowers from the garden. The low pressure has all scents outdoors dampened as a storm front approaches. This smell inside the house is almost sinister, as if ghosts are reaching up from the grave to taunt me, and I’m drawn away from my office to my mother’s room, where I rarely go—until Nanette drew my attention back to it.

I walk quietly to the hallway and before I am ten paces in, I notice the door is open. The doorknob rests on the floor on the opposite side of the hall, the bust of my Uncle Herbert on the floor next to pieces of a splintered door. My first instinct is to draw my weapon. Someone has violated my privacy, broken my door open. I move forward in stealth, pointing the gun in the room as I nudge it open with my toe.

It's still a disaster, almost exactly how I left it when I trashed it, but not quite. I see things have been moved, the blankets, a few items of clothing. I tore the sheets off the bed last; the clothing should not be on top of it. And who would want anything to do with this old room? There is nothing of value in here, except an old portrait of a dead woman.

The farther I get into the room, the more I see amiss. Yes, I see it, even though it was destroyed when I left. I can see how things are not how they should be. Papers are moved, dresser drawers up righted. But what catches my eye the most are the family albums. I holster my weapon, assured there has not been a real intruder, as my chest begins to tighten. Nanette has been in here again, snooping.

I stoop next to the albums that lay open with images of my childhood staring back at me. She’s gone through my things, searching for God only knows what. Her prying eyes and fingers have touched everything in here after I specifically told her to stay out and locked the door. She didn’t even stealthily pick the lock; she broke the damn knob right off and barged in. And why didn’t Mika stop her?

Infuriated, I stand and clench my fingers into fists, then storm out of the room and directly up the steps to her room. The door is shut as I approach. The sight makes my blood boil, but not as much as when I reach out to jiggle the knob only to find it locked. I’m so enraged, I plant the heel of my foot just above the knob, breaking the door open. The doorjamb splinters as the door slams open and bounce on the wall, swinging back at me with force. I stop it with a hand and glare at her.

Nanette lays on the bed curled in a ball shaking. Her scared eyes peek out from beneath the corner of the red fabric. I can see how terrified she is, and she should be. She broke my rules and now she will suffer the consequences.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I ask her, charging over to the bed. I grab the corner of the blanket and pull it hard, uncovering her in one movement. She grasps out as if trying to stop me from exposing her, but I move too quickly, stealing her covers. I expect her to back away, cower before me against the wooden headboard, but she surprises me.

Nanette leaps off the bed like a feral cat, swinging and clawing at me. Her assault isn’t just physical; she screams and sobs, slamming her hands into my chest. When I grab both her wrists and she cannot move, she spits in my face. I push her backward onto the bed where she bounces and finally does what I thought she would do first. She scurries away like a scared little mouse.

“You went in my room again!” I move closer, grabbing her foot and pulling her back toward me. “You knew I told you not to do that. I gave you orders to stay out of there. I locked the fucking door.”

“You’re a monster,” she hisses, yanking her leg out of my grasp.

“My property is destroyed. The door busted in… What were you thinking?”

“You’re hiding something,” she snaps, evading my grasp as she rolls off the opposite side of the bed. With the mattress between us we are at a standoff.

“I’m hiding something?” I move to one end, and she walks the other way. She’ll be over the bed and out the door before I can catch her, so I move back. When she centers herself, the real death stare ensues.

“You’ve been snooping into me and Jimmy. I saw the newspapers in the library.” She runs a shaking hand through her hair and all I can think about is teaching her a lesson. It isn’t nice to pry.

“Yes, because he’s doing a job for me. I need to know everything. You have no right snooping in my home.” I loosen my tie, feeling my blood pressure rise. “Now I need to teach you what happens when you break my rules, and dammit, Nanette, I never wanted this to happen.”

She backs away and it’s my opening. As she bumps into the night stand, I dart across the bed, snatching both of her wrists into one hand. “You should mind your own business, Nanette. Bad girls get punished, and you’re going to get it now.” I turn her around, wrapping both my arms around her and pinning her against my body. It doesn’t please me to have to threaten her, and I know nothing I can do to her is really punishment; she likes it too much. But she has to know I’m serious, even if that is only scaring her a little.

I bend her over the bed and pin her down with one hand as I undo my belt, making sure she hears it as it slides out of my belt loops. I fully intend to fuck her—dump this anger and frustration in an orgasmic release, but not until she understands how she wronged me. She can’t just go through my things.

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