“My name’s Mira,” I tell him firmly. “As for the sort of man I think you are… you’re dangerous.Extremelydangerous. The way you hold yourself suggests you’ve had a level of training that surpasses the most elite military or civilian forces in this world. I think you’re the type of person to shoot someone point blank in the forehead, then go home and sleep like a baby. You’re ambitious. Determined. Cruel, but only when you need to be. Too level-headed to be a sociopath, but too moral to be a psychopath.” I lean forward. “You have morals—I’m sure of it. Lines you won’t cross for any reason. My only question is whythisis one of your lines.” My eyes flick to his ring finger, where an onyx-black wedding band sits. “Is it because of your wife?”
“You are as perceptive as my legion has informed me,” Sergei says, a slow smile spreading on his lips. “My wife wouldloveyour company. I expect she’d want to study you.” He chuckles, as if enjoying a private joke. “I’ve never been a fan of sex trafficking. Business is business; killing a man who would kill you if given the chance is just survival. Killing men whose territory you want falls under the same category. Human flesh, however, is notbusiness. Humans are not inanimate objects, and each life taken or abused has a cost. I can easily shoulder the cost of the killing that needs to be done in my world, but the killing of innocents incurs a debt that weighs heavily on me. Events in my past have strengthened my commitment to putting an end totrafficking; so much so that I now actively seek out operations rather than destroying any I happen to stumble upon in the course of my dealings.” He sips his vodka, appearing completely at ease. “Does that answer your question?”
I nod. “Yes, thank you. Sorry for speaking out of turn.”
He examines me for a moment. “No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” I agree. “But since we’re in a room full of people who seem to regard you as their king, I feel it’s only fair that my lowly self apologizes for her gall to speak.”
Sergei grins at Dorian. “You’ll have your hands full with this one.”
Dorian squeezes my thigh again. “I know. I can’t fucking wait.”
Chapter Forty
The meeting ends shortly after my exchange with Sergei. Everyone departs in their respective cars. Though Dorian let me drive us here, he insists on driving us into Silving.
The sun is setting on the horizon as we cruise, lighting up the trailer parks and fields beyond the windows. The closer we get to town, the more uncomfortable I start to grow. Memories assault me, some of them good but most of them bad. As we pass the sign that welcomes us into Silving, and farmland is replaced with old brick buildings, my heart speeds, as do my breaths.
I see streets that I had to walk down with crutches after Clyde fucked up my leg. I pass the school where I tried desperately to hide my abuse, the community college where I took advanced classes so that I could leave this shithole as soon as possible.
Dorian doesn’t say anything, but he must sense my distress, because he reaches over and puts his big palm on my knee. I can feel the heat of his hand even through my jeans, and the contact settles me. It doesn’t make my anxiety disappear, but it does make me feel like I’m not alone.
I’ve felt alone in this town for as long as I could remember—since my mom died. But not alone anymore. I won’t have to fend for myself with Clyde; I have Dorian protecting me.
I direct him down the main avenue, and then past a few winding streets that lead us to the outskirts of the south side of town, where the brewery and bar are located.
“You have your weapons?” Dorian asks me.
I deliberately wore baggy clothes so I could conceal the handgun strapped to my body and the knife in my boot. Dorian and Sergei’s men will go in with all their weapons, but it’s best if Carver assumes I’m unarmed.
“Yes,” I respond.
He squeezes my knee. “Everything will be fine, baby. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I don’t know why Clyde even wants me there,” I mutter. “He said that Carver wanted to see me, but I don’t understand his motivation. I’ve only met him a few times.”
“It could be that Clyde simply wants to fuck with your head and made up something about Carver wanting you there,” Dorian says. “You bested Clyde and got away with it. He’s a vile, power-hungry man, and men like him aren’t good at letting go of old grievances. He wants to make you hurt in return for the way you hurt his pride.”
I sigh. “Yeah, probably.”
We pull into the dirt parking lot in front of a one-story brick bar. The weathered building blends seamlessly with the rugged surroundings. Behind it stands a longer, two-story building, bearing a faint resemblance to an old farmhouse with its barn-style rooflines. That’s the brewery where the staple beer of the region is created. Beneath it lies a sprawling basement for storage, where Carver is rumored to conduct his shadowy business meetings.
“There are men scattered around the lot,” Dorian mutters, his gaze bouncing around the area. “More hidden in those bushes flanking the left side, probably.”
I push my fingers through my hair, taking deep breaths in an attempt to steel myself. I don’t have much time to get a hold of my nerves before three black SUV’s pull up. Igor steps out from the driver’s seat of the SUV. Sergei gets out shortly afterwards, his polished shoes and suit looking remarkably out of place in this dusty lot.
“This business should be over with pretty quickly,” Dorian says, just as the wooden front door of the bar opens. Half a dozen men file out, wearing ridiculous getups of ratty jeans and old leather jackets, as if they’re in a boyband. I only recognize two of them.
Clyde and Carver. Two abominations to this world, men who don’t deserve to breathe. Clyde has mud-brown eyes, a balding head of black hair, and a distended belly that makes me question if he’s still in the business of killing Carver’s enemies. Carver is slightly more put together, though not by much. He’s leaner, a bit fitter, and has hazel eyes and dirty-blond, greasy hair.
Sergei looks back at our car with raised eyebrows. Dorian sighs. “Let’s get this over with, baby.”
He gets out and opens my car door for me, offering me his hand. I take it gratefully, drawing on his strength. I straighten my spine and lift my chin as we start walking toward the brewery. Sergei parked closer, so he’s already shaking hands with Carver.
Clyde’s eyes sweep the lot, ghosting over Dorian before settling on me. A smirk spreads on his pudgy face; a taunting look that makes my skin crawl. This is the man who abused me foryears, who got my mother killed. Nearly got me killed, in between the times he almost lost it and put me out of my misery himself. The majority of the trauma I’ve endured starts and ends with him.
It's a struggle to keep my stride confident. A swirling storm of emotions overtake my chest as I face down the boogeyman who’s haunted my dreams for what feels like my entire life.
