"Report," I bark, setting the gun on the table. “And make me a damn cup of coffee too.”
Alexander sips his coffee, unfazed as he sets about pouring me some. "All quiet. Perimeter secure. Motion sensors didn't trip once. Not a soul within a mile. I checked the cams myself every ten minutes. Deer, maybe, but no threats."
I nod, exhaling slowly.
“Good.”
But my paranoia lingers…
“Enquiries?"
Alexander sets his mug down, pulls out his phone. "Yeah. Couple messages overnight. Niko checking in, wants to know your location, says it's urgent. And Radek from the city crew, asking if the gallery deal is still on. Nothing suspicious, but..." He trails off, shrugging.
"Send them to me."
Alexander taps his screen, and my phone buzzes on the counter where I left it last night. I glance at the texts. Nothing out of the ordinary. But right now, who the hell knows what anything means…
I look up at Alexander. He's been with me five years—solid, no family to leverage, no debts. Loyal. Or so I think.
"Thanks,” I say. “For watching the place. Your loyalty... it means something."
He nods, a rare flicker of pride in his eyes. "Always, boss. What's next?"
"Back to perimeter. Stay there. No one in or out without my say. And Alexander…eyesopen."
I nod to dismiss him.
He grabs his coat, heads out the back door. I watch him go, silhouetted against the rising sun, then lock up behind him.
Alone now, I pour Alexander’s slop down the sink and make myself a coffee—black, scalding. The nightmare's residue is still with me… Eddie's face, twisted in pain. Not from a spanking, but from betrayal. My hand tightens on the mug…
He’s a wildcard. A witness. A goddamn deadly distraction.
Footsteps—soft, hesitant—from the stairs. I turn, and there he is. Eddie, still in yesterday's rumpled clothes, hair a wild tangle, his stuffie dangling from one hand. He pauses in the doorway, sheepish, cheeks pink.
"Um... I might smell a bit bad," he says, voice small, wrinkling his nose. "Like, really bad."
I can't help it—a chuckle rumbles out, low and unexpected. He does smell—a mix of sweat, fear, and that faint, sweet scent that's all him.
But it's not bad.
It's... alive. Human.
"You smell just fine, malysh,” I say. “But if you want, shower while I make breakfast."
His eyes light up a fraction, suspicion warring with relief. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks.M-m-m-malyshthough?
“Baby boy, in Russian,” I answer.
Eddie simply turns, skips up the stairs. Actually skips, like a kid dodging chores. I watch him go, that pert little ass swaying in those jeans. The same ass I reddened last night.
Heat stirs in my gut, unbidden.
But as the shower turns on overhead—water rushing through pipes—I lean against the counter, my coffee forgotten.
Will he try to run today? Odds are high. He’s feisty, resourceful. Last night's escape attempt was clumsy; next one'll be smarter.
Window? Diversion? Double-cross?
