It’s funny, being in love. You can’t see it up close. It’s too massive.
It isn’t until you’re on a plane headed five thousand miles away that the big picture emerges, and you realize that the person you’re leaving behind is someone you can’t live without.
You realize that because, mile by mile, your heart feels like it’s getting crushed and your stomach is twisted into knots and all the cells in your body scream his name at the top of their little cellular lungs.
The pain of separation is overwhelming.
You feel as if you’re going to die.
You want to die, if it means you can never see him again.
And the anger. Oh, god! The anger that he’s the one who forced the separation in the first place. Him with his stupid principles and his overdeveloped penchant for self-sacrifice.
If he only knew that he’d be killing me with this separation, not saving me, maybe he’d have thought twice.
As soon as I see him again, I’m going to kick his big bearded ass.
A tentative knock on the door pulls me out of my head. I’m in one of the bedrooms in this new place of Sloane’s and Declan’s, wearing a groove in the wood floor with my pacing.
Wearing a groove in my brain going over and over everything Mal said to me before we left for town.
He knew I’d insist on coming with him. He also knew I’d insist on not staying in the truck at the market. He could predict exactly what I’d do at every turn, and now I’m pissed at myself for being so damn obvious.
I’m more pissed at him for not telling me what happened with Pakhan.
What was so horrible that he had to send me away?
“Come in.”
Sloane opens the door, comes inside, and closes the door behind her. She leans against it, staring at me as I continue to pace back and forth at the end of the bed.
“Hey, Smalls.”
“Hollywood.”
“You look…different.”
“It’s the contacts.”
“It’s everything.”
“Really? That’s where we’re starting? With my looks?”
She throws her hands in the air. “Where am I supposed to start?”
I stop pacing and look at her. Dark circles nest in the hollows under her eyes. Her hair is lank and disheveled. I’ve never seen her appear anything less than perfectly groomed before. Even when she was fifteen years old and sporting a black mohawk, it was artfully gelled.
That she’s obviously been worried sick about me melts some of the ice off the tip of the iceberg I feel for her.
In a softer voice, I say, “I’m okay. Mal took very good care of me. And thank you for sending Spider to rescue me, even though I didn’t need rescuing.”
She considers me in silence for a moment, then murmurs, “No, you don’t seem like you do.”
We gaze at each other across the room, until she says, “You’re missing a kidney?”
I nod. “And my spleen.”
She whispers, “Jesus.”
“Yeah, getting shot is a barrel of laughs.”
She rubs a hand over her face, sighing. “Spider’s a wreck about it.”
“He doesn’t need to be. Except for the stupid lightning bolt scar and the occasional nightmare, I’m fine.”
“Lightning bolt scar?”
I lift my shirt and pull down the waistband of my trousers. Sloane’s eyes widen. Her face pales. She puts a hand over her mouth and stares at my stomach like she’s trying not to puke.
Remembering how Mal described it, I mutter, “Not bad, my ass.”
“Oh, my god, Riley.”
Lowering my shirt, I wave a hand. “It looks worse than it was.” That’s a lie, but she doesn’t seem like she can handle the truth at the moment, so I’m going with fibbing.
Feeling like a caged animal, I start to pace again.
“So…this Malek person.”
“Don’t say his name like it tastes bad.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that all I’ve heard the past three months is what a monster he is and what a—”
“Wait. Three months? I haven’t been gone that long.”
“Yes, you have.”
I think for a minute, trying to piece together a timetable. “What month is it?”
“June. It’s June eighteenth.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“And Spider was in Moscow that whole time?”
She pauses for a beat. “Against Declan’s wishes, yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Declan forbade him to go. Spider went anyway.”
If Spider went against his boss’s orders, that can mean only one thing: Mal was right about him having feelings for me.
This is a giant clusterfuck.
I stop pacing and sit on the edge of the bed, dropping my head into my hands. Sloane comes over and sits beside me. She rests a hand lightly on my back. We stay like that for a while, until something occurs to me.
“What did you mean by that comment about Stockholm Syndrome?”
She clears her throat. Then she laughs a small, embarrassed laugh. “Declan kidnapped me. That’s how we fell in love.”
Shocked, I sit up and stare at her. “No way.”
“Swear to god.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“I’d say holy shit again, but it would be redundant.”
“I know. It’s remarkably bizarre.”
After a moment spent readjusting my brain, I chuckle. “Look on the bright side. We finally have something in common.”
When her eyes fill with tears, I’m horrified. “I swear I didn’t say that to be mean.”
“I know.” She sniffles, looking down. “But it’s true. And for the past few months, I’ve been crucifying myself for all the ways I’ve failed you as a big sister.”
Lord, this drama queen. My sigh is heavy. “Dude. The only time you ever failed me is when you stole my boyfriend.”
She jerks her head up and stares at me. “What? I did no such thing!”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t!”
I scoff. “I don’t know what kind of revisionist history you’ve created in your head, sis, but you definitely did.”
Indignant, she leaps from the bed and glares at me. “Who? When?”
“Really? You really want to get into this now?”
“Yes! Right fucking now! Start talking!”
Okay, here’s the Sloane I know. The bossy, impulsive, confident Sloane who once seriously considered getting the words “Pussy Power” tattooed above her cooch.
In a way, I’m relieved. That other weepy Sloane creeps me out.
“Chris. My twenty-first birthday party.”
Frowning, she thinks. “Your twenty-first birthday party was at that club in San Francisco. Chris was that tall guy you were dating who had that weird lazy eye.”
I say sourly, “I see it’s all coming back to you now.”
“I never dated that guy.”
I lose my temper and bark at her. “For fuck’s sake, Sloane, you told me you were dating him!”
She folds her arms over her chest and looks down her nose at me. “Baloney. You must’ve been high at the time.”
“Uh, no, I was on the phone with you after hearing from my girlfriend that she thought she saw the two of you together. You admitted it.”
“That’s ridiculous! I’d never date a guy with a lazy eye!”
“Man, I really wonder about your priorities.”
Ignoring that, she insists, “Do you have any idea how many guys named Chris I’ve dated?”
I mutter, “I’m guessing the number is in the thousands.”
“Exactly! Jesus Christ, Riley, I’d never do that to you! Never!”
We glare at each other, until her face crumples. “You don’t believe me.”
I warn, “Don’t you dare start crying on me, you frickin’ wimp. I’m the one who should be bawling here, not you.”
She bites her lip and blinks a lot. I want to jump up and smack her. A knock on the door distracts me.
“Can I come in?”
It’s Declan. My heartbeat goes into overdrive. I jump from the bed and yank open the door to find him standing there with a pained look on his face, like he’s constipated.
“Did you arrange the flight? When am I leaving?”
He glances at Sloane. When he looks back at me, he says, “I need to tell you something, lass. You should take a seat for this.”
I wave him off. “I think better on my feet. Just tell me what’s happening.”
He glances at Sloane again. It makes me nervous.
“What?”
“You two are so much alike.”
Crap, not this broken record again. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. What’s happening?”
“May I come in?”
I step aside and let him into the room. He goes straight to Sloane and gives her a hug and a kiss, then brushes a thumb over her cheek, gazing tenderly down at her. It looks like he’s about to start spouting poetry.
I throw my arms into the air. “Any day now!”
He turns to me with Sloane tucked under his arm. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
I look at Sloane. “Does he not know his life is in danger?”
She wraps her arms around his waist and gazes up at him. “You should probably just get straight to it, honey. I like you better without stab marks all over your body.”
He shrugs. “All right, if you insist. Malek is the new head of the Russian Bratva.”
That leaves me breathless.
So there it is. The reason Mal wanted me out of Russia.
I recall his hypothetical question about keeping something precious close though it would be dangerous and wish I’d bashed a pan over his head to force him to talk to me.
A mistake I’ll never make again.
Shaking off the tidal wave of emotion that’s threatening to overpower me, I say, “What happened to Pakhan?”
Declan lifts a brow. “What do you know about Pakhan?”
“That he makes questionable fashion choices including wearing real fur and pinky rings. What happened to him?”
Declan lifts his other brow, so now he’s staring at me in open astonishment. “You met him?”
“Yeah. We had dinner together. He’s really sweet. What happened to him?”
“He has cancer. He’s decided to make Malek his protégé.”
Cancer. Oh, no. He was so nice to me. Thinking of our dinner, I say absently, “You mean successor.”
“Excuse me?”
“A protégé is in the process of training. A successor takes over where someone leaves off.”
Sloane says, “She has a thing for words. Just keep going.”
“That’s it.”
Pulling myself together, I say, “What’s the good news?”
He gets a mysterious glint in his eye, like he has a secret. “How do you know that wasn’t the good news?”
I look at Sloane.
She says, “Seriously, honey. Look at that face. You’re taking your life into your hands.”
“Thank you, sis.”
She smiles at me. “You’re welcome.”
“All right…let’s just say Malek and I now have a mutual friend.”
I frown. “You mean the guy Mal visited in New York to get information about how to find you?”
Declan goes very still. He says slowly, “What guy?”
“Some guy named Kazimir. I heard Mal say the name over dinner with Pakhan and asked him about it later.”
His stillness turns to stiffness. Murder flares in his eyes. Through a clenched jaw, he says, “Kazimir told Malek how to find me? So he could kill me?”
Sloane whistles. “Oh, he’s gonna be in so much trouble.”
“What am I missing?”
Grimacing, she glances at me. “That’s Nat’s fiancé.”
“Whoa! Hold on! What the fucking-fuckedy-fuck?”
“Kage—Kazimir—is the head of the Bratva here in the US.”
I can feel my eyes bulging out like a cartoon. “And Nat’s engaged to him?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I think the three of us need to get on a conference call.”
Declan roars, “I’m not getting on the phone with that bloody arsewipe!”
Sloane pats his chest. “I meant us three girls, honey.”
Sputtering in fury, he says, “You’re not talking to Natalie! I forbid it!”
Sloane kisses his cheek. “That’s cute.” She holds her hand out to me. “Come on. The sooner we can sort this out, the sooner his blood pressure can get back to normal.”
We leave Declan behind in the room, shouting something in Gaelic that doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with his blood pressure.
