Page 44 of Kneeling for Daddy
The ringing of my phone drags me out of heavy sleep I almost never get anymore. Ani is curled into me, her bare thigh hooked over my hip and hand splayed across my chest like she owns every inch of me.Because she fucking does.
I grab the phone off the nightstand, shielding the screen so the glow doesn’t hit her face. My voice comes out rough with sleep. “Yeah? The words that come down the line freeze my blood. The Diva Lounge is on fire. My gut clenches like a fist. “Say that again.”
The man on the other end repeats himself, and it’s worse the second time. “Engulfed. Fire crews on scene.”
I sit up fast, and Ani mumbles incoherently when I disturb her. Pulling the blanket back over her—in a poor attempt to replace my warmth—I kiss her hair and whisper against her scalp, “Go back to sleep, little pet.”
With her eyes still closed, she grumbles again without even bothering to open her eyes. “Nik…?” she mumbles, her voicescratchy as my phone dings with responses from Cillian and Enzo alerting them to the crisis.
“Club business,” I whisper, already pulling on my jeans in the dark. “Nothing for you to worry about.” Her lashes flutter open long enough to give me one of those looks—half suspicion and half worry. I gently stroke her hair. “Sleep, Ani. I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t fight me—she’s too tired—but the crease in her brow holds fast even as she drifts quickly back to sleep. Guilt nips at me, but I shove it down and tug on my shirt and boots before slipping out the door.
Enzo and Cillian are already waiting in the garage, leaning against the hood of Enzo’s black G-Class under the harsh yellow glow of the overheads. They both glare at me as I approach, as ifI’mthe reason we’re all getting pulled out of bed at this god-awful hour.
“The fucking Diva Lounge?” Enzo grouses. “ What the fuck?”
“I called Alek,” Cillian grumbles, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes. “No answer.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and try for myself. Straight to voicemail. The three of us trade looks.Nothing good comes of an unanswered call.With everything going on right now, him not answering is a bad sign. Averybad sign.
“Let’s move,” I insist, climbing into the passenger seat. Enzo slides behind the wheel as Cillian takes a seat in the back. We tear out of the garage, tires squealing on the slick concrete. At this hour, traffic is light, and we make remarkable time to Brighton Beach.
The tension in the SUV grows more palpable with every redial—each hitting Alek’s voicemail. “Fucking call me back, Alek,” I growl into the phone. “So help me, if I have to tell your sister that you fucking died?—”
My jaw locks as I hang up. I can’t begin to imagine having to break that news to Ani. It would fucking destroy her.
Enzo’s knuckles flex around the steering wheel. “You think he was inside?” I don’t reply. Neither does Cillian. Our silence is answer enough.
The sky glows before we even reach the block of the club. Not the morning sunrise, but flames. Fire trucks line the street. Their lights are flashing, but the sirens are all dead. By the time we pull up to The Diva Lounge, the fire is mostly out, but the damage is done. The whole building is charred, the roof caved in, and the windows shattered. Smoke curls into the night, the acrid, bitter taste coating my tongue as we step from the car. The chaos of the emergency is still loud in the air—shouting, radios crackling, and the hissing of water turning to steam against scorched beams.
We shoulder through the crowd until a firefighter with a helmet tucked under his arm blocks us. His face is grim when he registers who we are. “I can’t let you any closer,” he apologizes. “But you need to know, there were two bodies. Both too badly burned to identify on scene.”
Enzo’s jaw tightens as he paces back. Cillian swears under his breath with his gaze falls on me, clearly worried that Alek was one of the people inside.
I ask what I know we’re all wondering. “Arson?”
The firefighter hesitates, glances back at the smoldering ruin. “It’s early. I can’t say anything for certain until investigatorsfinish. But the burn patterns… Accelerant was almost definitely used. This is not an accident. Place went up too fast.”
It confirms what we all knew on the drive over. This wasn’t an unfortunate disaster. It was a message.
I swipe my thumb across the screen and try Alek once more. No answer, and straight to voicemail again. “Fuck, Alek,” I snarl, as I hang up.I swear to Christ, if I have to tell your sister you’re one of those bodies, I’ll drag you back from the grave just so I can kill you myself.
We linger just long enough to see if there are any familiar faces in the crowd before piling back into the SUV. I try Alek twice more as we drive toward his apartment a few miles from the club. By the time we’re pounding on his door, my patience is razor-thin.
“Alek!” I bark, as my fist hammers against the wood, only to be met with silence on the other side.
Cillian steps back, eyes flicking to me, silently asking for permission. I nod once, and he doesn’t hesitate. His shoulder barges into the door, splintering the frame on the second hit. When it crashes open, the three of us flood in, our hands resting on our weapons.
We scour room to room, only to find it empty. No sign of a struggle. No sign of him at all. The air smells faintly of smoke, but from cigarettes, not fire. Stale liquor bottles are scattered across the counter, and a jacket is tossed haphazardly over the arm of the couch. But we don’t find what we’re looking for.
My voice echoes harshly in the silence. “Fuck, Alek…”
A soft nudge pulls me out of sleep. Not the warm drag of morning or the lazy tug of sunlight, but something more urgent. My eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep, and it takes me a moment to focus. When I do, my heart stutters.
Nik is kneeling on the floor beside my side of the bed. He’s fully dressed—jeans, boots, and a shirt stretched tight across his chest—and the solemnity on his face is enough to cause my heart to lodge in my throat.
I sit up instantly, clutching the sheets to my chest, as my nostrils flood with the burnt aroma of fire. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
