Page 51 of Ripping the Odds
Kas: Why a marine terminal? What’s this asshole shipping?
Dimi: Nothing legal, that’s for sure.
Mak: Guns, drugs, girls. If there’s a market for it, Victor’s selling it.
Mak: They don’t have a visual yet, though.
Me: I should’ve buried him twenty years ago.
Me: What about Sorokino?
Mak: He’s a ghost. It’s like the guy vanished into thin air.
Kas: Offer twenty-five G’s for anyone who gives him up.
Dimi: Jesus, I spent more than that last week on hair products.
Kas: Because you’re ridiculous.
Me: Make it two hundred.
Kas: Whoa, let’s not go overboard.
My best friend believed everyone had a price, but he was the stingiest motherfucker I’d ever met. We had more money in the bank than we could spend in five lifetimes. A couple hundred grand was pocket change. Sometimes I forgot he grew up with practically nothing.
Me: Two hundred. And I prefer him breathing.
Next up on my agenda was the man waiting outside in my driveway for his fate to be determined. Kent Townsend. He’d proven himself over his eight years of dedicated service, which was why I’d personally chosen him for the job. In hindsight, what happened was partially my fault. If I hadn’t kept his presence a secret, Sorokino never would’ve gotten close to Pru, a fact she’d pointed out before we left the office earlier. She also told me, in no uncertain terms, that I couldn’t fire him or kill him, however my five-foot-six goddess never said I couldn’t hurt him.
Which was exactly what I did when I stepped off the front porch. Kent didn’t dodge, which earned a sliver of respect. The first punch hit his solar plexus, sending him crashing to his knees with a grunt, followed by an upper cut, then a right hook to his jaw. Blood sprayed from his mouth when his head snapped to the side. Good. It was enough to satisfy the roaring beast inside of me for a little while.
“I’m prepared for whatever punishment you deem necessary.”
“Fortunately for you, the future Mrs. Vlaschenko nixed your death.”
“Give her my gratitude.”
“Give it to her yourself.”
Those words tasted like acid coming out of my mouth. I blamed Pru. It was her fault I’d gone soft. Even Kent had a hard time believing what I’d said. He cocked his head to the side, a thin line of red dripping from his lip.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t make me regret giving you a second chance. Starting tomorrow, you’re Pru’s full-time bodyguard. Anything happens to her”––I fisted his collar, yanking him to his feet––“you’ll be in the basement.”
He nodded once, knowing exactly what the threat meant. All of my men did. The basement was Mak’s playground. He’d have you begging for death long before he ended your life. Scream, and he found a way to make you scream louder. He wasn’t just good at his job, he was exceptional. That’s why he was my executioner.
“Understood.”
“Good. Now fuck off.”
I didn’t wait around to watch him leave. Pru was my priority. Always. Because of the concussion, the doctor said to wake her every few hours. My girl loved her sleep, so interrupting it could be hazardous to my health. Luckily, I had a mutually beneficial idea.
After locking up the house, I strolled through our bedroom door. The light on the bedside table blared bright, but that’s not what stopped me dead in my tracks. Pru was star-fished, face down in the middle of the mattress. Blankets I’d carefully tucked around her earlier were half on the floor and she’d changed out of her pajamas into one of my T-shirts which barely covered her delectable, panty-covered ass. My heart rate doubled, and my cock thickened in my pants. Stripping down to my boxers, I climbed onto the bed next to her, straightening the disheveled sheets as I went. She swatted weakly at my arm when I repositioned her on her side and slid in behind her––becoming the big spoon to her little. Her body melted into mine moments later.
It was going to be a long fucking night.
“Zak?” She muttered sleepily the next morning.
