Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Kir

My brothers go off to bed, leaving me hanging out with Charleigh in the library, a room I love at night. When we rebuilt from the fire that killed my parents, I wasn’t sure any of the magic of the house I grew up in could be replicated. But this room, my favorite, is perfect. In the evening, when it’s dark out, the room holds a sort of golden cast, perhaps because of the leather-bound books lining the wall and the dark paneled walls. I don’t know crap about decorating—I leave that to the pros—but something about the place is magical, and I am psyched to be here with Charleigh, alone.

I take a seat on the sofa next to her after pouring us each a scotch and reach for her free hand. Unfortunately, she slides hers out of mine, returning hers to her lap.

Okay. No hand holding. That’s cool.

“I’m sorry about your father, Charleigh. It sucks when both your parents are gone.”

This I know, firsthand.

It sucks to lose anyone, but losing your parents is a special kind of pain. You’ve known them literally all your life, longer than anyone else in the world. And one day, they’re gone. You might be an adult, but it does leave you hanging there, swinging in the wind, like a deserted little kid.

That shit never really goes away.

Charleigh shrugs one shoulder like she couldn’t care less.

False bravado. I see that all the time in my business.

She sighs. “I guess it was bound to happen. The man was skating on thin ice for so long. But on the other hand, who knew Dimitri would go after him as revenge against me? Against us?”

I wouldn’t put anything past him, but he has to know that every time he does something like this, the price on his head just grows and grows. He can’t show his face in the light of day now, we have so many men in the field hunting him down. It can’t be a pleasant way to live. Who knows, maybe he’s left the country to live out the rest of his days under an assumed identity. That’s what I would do if I were him.

Not that our men can’t find him living under an alias. It’s amazing what you can do with the right connections and enough money.

Charleigh looks at me. “Hey, did I overhear someone earlier talking about the truck driver who crashed into Stacey? Like you’ve seen him before or something?”

I pause. If I talk about this, I have to talk about Clara.

But the woman deserves answers.

“Yeah. The big rig driver who hit Stacey was the same truck driver who hit Clara and me a few years back. Seems neither were accidents.”

She grabs her stomach. “What?” she whispers.

“All these years I thought it was a random accident that took Clara from me. But it was intentional, and it was intended to take me out. Not her. So, in the end, it’s still my fault. She hadn’t wanted to go out that night but I pressured her into it.”

Charleigh grabs my arm. “You can’t say that, Kir. Anyone could have been in the car with you.”

She weaves her fingers into mine, her hand small but warm.

“It hit you hard, didn’t it?” she asks quietly.

That would be an understatement.

“Do you still listen to her music?” Charleigh asks.

My head whips in her direction. “How do you know about that? Who told you?”

She sighs, rubbing her thumb over the top of my hand, her soft pale skin a contrast to my darker, weather-beaten skin.

It’s funny Charleigh’s asking me that question. As much as I would have preferred to keep my music-listening habits private, the truth is in recent months I have listened to Clara’s recordings less and less. Not that I don’t still miss her. I just have… less of a need to punish myself by playing her songs over and over.

“Niko told me you play her stuff, I think. I’m not sure, but it was a while ago. Was she a good singer?”

I wait for the stab in the heart that hits me every time I talk about her. But for some reason, this time, it doesn’t come.

Instead, thinking about her feels kind of good. “She was an amazing singer. She was doing lounge acts when I met her, playing piano and singing. She’d just started making recordings, at my encouragement, when she died.”

Charleigh looks at our clasped hands. “I’m so sorry. It must have been devastating.”

Time to change the subject.

“What was it like for you when your mother died?” I ask.

She gives a little laugh. “Same. I’d wake up every morning looking for her. When I’d remember she was gone, I was bereft. So lost. So empty. A ten-year-old kid needs her mother. What kept me going was taking care of Evie. Like right now, she’s still part of what’s keeping me going.”

“What else is keeping you going?” I ask, kissing her behind her ear.

Her breath comes out in a rush, like she’s been holding it and finally let it go. My girl is holding on to a lot right now… and it’s my job to help her plow through it so she can get back to herself and find her heart again.

If it’s not already too late.

*****

Charleigh

“Oh c’mon, Charleigh. Don’t make me do schoolwork today.”

Evie flops back over in bed and tugs the comforter over her head. But I yank it right back down and in fact, pull it all the way off the bed, leaving her thrashing around in her favorite striped pajamas, which make her look like a prison inmate.

“You suck,” she whines. “I’m grieving.”

Really?

“Yeah, I know I suck. I also know you’re grieving. So am I. But you can still learn. Now get up and get dressed. We have to head over to the school to get some of your books. I need to speak to the principal too.”

She wrinkles her nose. “What are you wearing?” she asks when she finally sits up in bed and looks me up and down.

I step in front of the full-length mirror on her wall and check myself out. Creamy white trousers, an off-white blouse, and a nice wide belt to pull it all together. “What? I think I look nice.”

I read somewhere about wearing neutrals and that they take the guesswork out of putting together prints and other colors.

A uniform, of sorts. Works for me. It’s the only way I’ll get away from my usual uniform of jeans and sneakers.

Plus, they say wearing all one color makes you look like a rich lady. Not that I care about something like that. I mean, who do I see except people here on the compound?

She shrugs as she finally rolls out of bed. “I guess. But you look weird.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say haughtily, checking out my ass, all nice and smooth thanks to Spanx.

Which the guys did not purchase for me. I got the housekeeper to order them for me from the internet. We’re not supposed to get packages here, another security thing I guess, but the household staff seem to be allowed to.

God forbid the guys see me in my modern-day girdle though. If it looks like any sexy time is about to go down, I have to slip out and quickly change into a thong.

I guess to Evie, I do look weird. I no longer wear the clothing that has been a uniform for me nearly all my life—jeans, Converse Chucks, T-shirts, and a hoodie, depending on how cold it is. Well, most of the time. When life gets back to normal and I can run out for coffee or something, jeans and a hoodie will have to do.

The guys have filled a closet for me—or rather, hired someone else to—loaded with silk blouses, well-fitting slacks, and cashmere sweaters. I also have a stash of shoes to choose from, mostly high heels, except for the one I used to stab a man’s hand with. That pair is long gone. I’m not asking about it.

In fact, I have so many clothes now it’s almost embarrassing. I’m not into waste and seriously wonder how I’ll ever wear all these beautiful things. The shoes themselves are so plentiful I have a hard time choosing every time I get dressed. So, I pretty much wear the same ones, over and over.

I don’t mind my new look or having a closet full of nice things. There was a time when I would have scoffed at the ‘lady who lunches’ look, but I don’t give a shit now. I like looking nice, and the guys like it too.

Something I never thought I’d say. Not because they never wouldn’t think I look nice, but more because I never thought I’d care about what they thought.

I tried not to, God knows. I never wanted to like anything about these guys. After all, they up-ended my life, not to mention my sister’s, and are even indirectly responsible for my father losing his life.

One would think I’d be trying to get away from them as fast as possible, like I once was. But that’s behind me now, and I’m not even sure I can explain why.

Well, aside from the obvious. All I have to do is set foot in public without protection, and Dimitri or some other of their enemies will scoop me right off the street and do any manner of horrible things to me.

So really, people are after me because of them, who I was forced to be with to begin with, and now I’m stuck with them because they’re the only way I can stay alive.

They’re the cause of my problems but also the solution.

How’s that for fucked up?

But they light something up in me. Even in my darkest days, they have a way of pulling me away from the abyss, taking me to a place where things are beautiful and easy, even if it’s only for a short time. It’s like a drug, and I am afraid I’m becoming addicted.

If I’m not already.

Evie appears in front of me, ready for our outing, and back to her usual heavy black makeup and goth clothes in case any of her friends see her. “I don’t know why I need to go,” she huffs. “Can’t we just send Gloria?”

“She’s not our personal errand runner, Evie. We need to make an appearance at the school to show we’re okay, doing well, even though Pops just died and the shop is gone. People talk and believe me, I’m sure we’re the subject of a lot of speculation right now.”

We pass through the kitchen so Evie can grab a bagel, and we run right into Kir, grabbing himself a cup of coffee. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye with a little smile, and I nearly melt right there.

I don’t care how many people are around. I walk up to him and nuzzle my nose into his neck. It feels so normal and damn if he doesn’t smell good.

“How’d you sleep. darlin’?” he asks.

I look at him coyly. “Very well, especially after… spending time with you in the library.”

No, I can’t hold hands with the man, but I can fuck the shit out of him. He doesn’t seem to mind.

He turns from the coffee machine to face me and leans down to place a kiss on my forehead. Then he gets right next to my ear. “Good, baby, because next time I’m not going to just play with your ass, I’m going to fuck it. Hard.”

Oh God. I nearly melt right there in my pretty monochromatic cream-colored outfit like the useless pile of mush he’s just turned me into.

Dammit. How does he do that?

Then he pulls away from my ear. “Heading over to the school this morning, Evie? Gonna get some A’s for us?” he asks.

She shrugs a shoulder and grunts.

Nice.

“Evie, answer Kir. Show him some respect. After all, you’re in his house, eating his food.”

She straightens up as she pulls her backpack on. “Yes, Kir,” she says with exaggerated politeness. “I will be getting A’s today just like I always do.” She snorts.

Punk.

I exhale, counting to five, so I don’t blow up on her.

Kir notices and snickers, probably glad she’s not his problem. Not entirely, anyway.

“So you guys are set with the driver, right? He’s taking you?” he asks.

It’s more of a statement than a question. Since the attack on Stacey, they don’t want me driving. I don’t know how I’m safer in a limo, but if it makes them feel better, fine.

“Yup, we’re all set, and in fact, he’s waiting for us. C’mon, Evie,” I say, taking her by the arm.

She follows along like she’s all put out or something, more for dramatic effect than anything. Kir and I ignore her theatrics, and I remind myself to be patient. Just a couple more years ‘til she’s legally an adult. If she wants to act like a fool then, well, there’s not much I can do about it.

I’m not crazy about pulling up to the high school with a driver. People draw conclusions and I don’t want anyone in my private business at the moment. I mean, only a few weeks ago I was driving a junker held together with glue and tape, and now I show up like this?

Yeah, people have big mouths, and big mouths blabber. A lot.

But it is what it is, and besides, Evie thinks it’s cool.

Because of course. She’s an idiot teenager.

As the driver takes us through the Alekseev’s leafy neighborhood to busier streets, I dismiss my annoyance with Evie, not wanting to waste my energy on things I can’t control, and go back to Kir and his dirty, filthy words.

God, that man knows how to get my motor revving.

I might be on my way to Evie’s high school right now with the mission of getting her further set up for remote learning, but damn if there isn’t a thrumming between my thighs, made all the more dire by the smooth vibes of the car’s backseat. If I were alone right now, I’d raise the window between the front and back seat, lie down, and reach my hand into—

“What the fuck!” Evie screams, and I scream with her.

Something hits the car so hard that even though we’re wearing seat belts, Evie slides into me. We hold on to each other as the car is jostled again, and just as I think we just hit a couple potholes or something, gunfire explodes the windshield, and our driver slowly falls over in his seat.