“Or women whose husbands have left them with nothing.”
“When they die?”
“Or they were unable to work because of ill health. My last client was the wife of a coal miner.”
The information on the screen meant little to me, but the notion of Alexei being a knight in a white pressed shirt to elderly ladies in financial distress was something I’d never considered. “How did you get into this?”
“When I left my last employer, I didn’t want to work for a bank or a financial institution.”
“Too many wankers?”
“That is a problem with most occupations, I’ve found.”
I couldn’t argue with that. And Alexei’s phone—the one that didn’t give him waking nightmares—rang before I could try.
He stepped out of my suffocating embrace and picked it up, answering the call in a language that was neither English nor Russian.
It was my turn to raise a brow.
He smirked and turned his back on me, leaving me to attend to my own business.
My phone had buzzed every ten minutes since I’d left the club compound—mostly updates that didn’t require chapter and verse in response, but by now, shit had started to move and I needed to check in with my brothers.
I retreated to the bedroom, easing my sore body onto the rumpled sheets. Saint didn’t answer my call. Nash was next.
“Mateo swept the Crows. They’re on lockdown now and we’re watching them to see who comes to their rescue.”
“His delivery?”
“Seems to be on schedule, no issues. Should have the early paperwork through in a couple of days.”
“Don’t file it in the usual place. Take it somewhere only you, me, and Saint know about.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“How’s Orla?”
Pause. Nash cleared his throat. “With Rubi, last I checked. You worried about her?”
Are you?“Not as long as she has a brother with her. You got eyes on River?”
“Subtle ones. He told me to light myself on fire last time he saw me in Porth Luck.”
I snorted. “Sorry, brother.”
“It’s all good.”
We said our goodbyes. I called Rubi next. He answered with a sigh.
“I’m fine, and yes, I’m eating my fucking vegetables.”
“How’s my sister?”
“Almost as annoying as you.”
“Prettier, though?”
“I ain’t Nash, but yeah.”
