Page 8 of Claim Me
“No. Just checking for now. There are always rumblings of shit going on. Bratva. Cartel. I’m surprised there’s any non-criminals left.”
I gave him a look, but he threw his hand out like it was no big deal. “Fine, brother. Have it your way.” It dawned on me that the truth was he was checking on me. Did he think I was about to implode?
“Seriously. Did you enjoy your time away even if it involved work?”
I thought about the reason I’d decided out of the blue to take the time in the first place. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be listed as a groupie.
Or perhaps more appropriately a stalker.
“More than I should and the city was hot and wet.” Wrong choice of words.
“Fantastic. That means you met someone. About fucking time.” His grin was wide. I’d been right. He’d cajoled me about my lack of sex life for months when he used to toss in my face that I was nothing but a playboy. Those days were long gone.
My thoughts drifted to the amazing pianist once again.
Long blonde hair delicately kissed by the sun. She always wore it in a neat and tidy bun, the classy yet body-hugging black dress more conforming than I’d believed she preferred, but keeping her almost anonymous during every performance. She was just one of a hundred musicians, the beautiful orchestrations of both classic and innovative selections meant to keep the performers together as a group, instead of creating any stars.
Except the member-controlled symphony had failed. Without the beautiful, stunning, enigmatic and talented woman, they wouldn’t be touring the world. Her first solo had clinched their position. Jumping a flight to Paris, seeing her framed by the Eiffel Tower had been the icing on the cake. She was utter perfection. As I drummed the fingers of my other hand on the surface of my desk, I took a thoughtful sip of my scotch. “Have you ever met someone you knew you were destined to remember for the rest of your life?”
“Wow,” Mikhail huffed. “That is way too profound for you.”
“Very funny, but I’m serious.” I’d thought of little else since the first time I’d heard her play.
His smile faded. “Okay, the truth is that I felt that way when I met Bristol, but do not tell her that. She’ll hold it over my head.”
I grinned as I turned my head toward him, momentarily driven from the pleasant and far too arousing group of images tearing through my mind. “Now I have something to hold over your head.”
“Ha. What’s her name?”
I pointed my finger at him. “Hell, no. You’ll never know because I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Come on. You’re still the playboy. For you to be pining away for someone while listening to God knows what music, someone managed to catch your eye.”
As I swirled the drink, I thought about all the filthy things I’d craved doing to her, unraveling every inch of her luscious body while forcing her to surrender.
My phone rang and I flicked off the music altogether. I could see my hope of easing back into work wasn’t going to be possible.
He sat back, obviously determined not to go anywhere until he’d discovered my deep, dark secret.
Given I didn’t recognize the number, I bristled. This was my private line, very few outside the family gifted with the information. While the Dmitriyev Bratva was almost completely legitimized, that didn’t preclude us from having a vast array of enemies.
Any of whom would be eager to make good on threats from the distant or recent past. We could never allow our guard to fall. “Kazimir Dmitriyev.”
A strange sound caught my attention first, a pump or a vacuum in the background.
“Kaz, it’s Charlie.”
I tried to recognize the caller, but his voice was raspy.
I heard lyrics. The caller’s attempt at singing was atrocious but I immediately recognized ‘Radioactive’ from Kings of Leon, a song from fifteen years ago that had become a crazy anthem.
“Fuck. Charles, the third,” I teased. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t recognize your voice. How the hell are you? Long time.”
“Not good, Kaz. Look, I need your help. You’re the only person I can turn to.”
The tone was indicative of a man either on the run or terrified for his life. I’d heard fear in a man’s voice several times in my life. I’d been the cause of it more than once. “What’s going on?”
“I’m in the hospital. Someone shot me and you’re the only person I can trust. I need to see you as soon as possible.”
