Page 3 of Devious Obsession
Another message from my brother Kaz to call him and check in.
A message from Megan, my sister-in-law, telling me again she wants me to come home.
It’s the third message that sends a cold chill through me.
You can’t hide forever, Babygirl.
Babygirl.
I haven’t used that name for her in two years. A moment lost in a jumble of other memories from a night when she’d come home after the rest of the house had gone to bed. Her breath wreaked of beer and tequila. A dangerous combination.
I’d helped her up the stairs of Alexander’s home, cleaned her up, and put her to bed. Once she was under the covers, I’d stolen a moment. A brief second when I brushed her dark hair from her forehead. And then I’d said it.
Get some sleep, Babygirl.
For a second I thought I’d seen her smile. Thinking maybe she’d heard me, understood me. But she’d been drinking, and Iwas lurking where I didn’t belong. I turned off her bedside light and left her.
The next morning, I’d made sure a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin waited for her. When she came down for lunch, she said nothing of the prior night.
She hadn’t heard me.
It was for the best.
I’ve worked for the Volkov brothers for as long as I can remember. I would not betray them by giving into temptation. Even if she haunted my dreams.
But I’d said the word again. This time in a message. I didn’t wait for her reply. There wouldn’t be one.
The woman is nothing if not stubborn. When she said she wanted space and time from the family, she meant it.
While her brothers were willing to give her that space, I was not. I would not allow her to disappear into the dangerous world unprotected.
Once I was sure she’d gotten into her apartment safely, I drove across town to a small pub nestled between historic buildings and hotels all vying for the cash of tourists. The Devil’s Clover gave the impression of having been in the city since the country’s founding, but it had only been in operation for fifteen years.
When I push through the front doors of the pub, a few heads turn. It’s past midnight, the place is half empty. Those that are still sipping their drinks aren’t here for the company or the beer. They’re either hiding from the outside world or trying to recover from it.
As I approach the bar, I get a nod from the bartender, and I head to the back room. Through the door that to anyone who doesn’t know it exists, it looks like an entrance to the backroom.
But to men like me who conduct business while innocent souls sleep, it’s an office.
“Artem.” Cole O’Brien looks up from the billowing smoke of his cigar and grins. Around the table are four other men with playing cards fanned out before them.
“Should we deal you in?” Cole gestures to the pot. Hundred-dollar bills mixed with fifties lie crumpled in the center of the felt poker table.
“I won’t be long enough.” I stare down at the cash, then move my gaze to the man closest to me. He’s not protecting his hand, a pair of threes. If I took the time, I’d be able to clean house here.
But taking their money would be rude. I’m a guest in this city, and there’s trouble enough brewing that I don’t need to add to it.
“Right.” He puts his cards face down on the table. “Jimmy, come play my hand.”
A man, and I use the term gently, takes Cole’s cards and sinks into his seat.
“He’s a little young, no?” I doubt the boy has even grown his first beard yet.
“A favor for a cousin. The kid gets himself into all sorts of trouble, said I’d watch out for him. Get him straight.”
I lift my brows and he laughs.
“Better the evil you know, right? Besides, other than pouring our drinks, he doesn’t do much. But he’s off the streets.” Cole shrugs. “He’s family.”
