George shrugged, knowing me well enough not to push the topic. Most men in the family would avoid arguing with me since I had the least amount of willingness to suffer fools. But I appreciated the concern, nonetheless. Watching over and supervising the cleanup, I sighed and tried to stretch out of the discomfort.
“Maybe I just need to work out more,” I joked back belatedly.
George grunted a weak laugh. “Yeah, right. Like you don’t spend enough time at the fucking gym already.”
“It seems like you’ve got some tenderness on your side,” the new soldier commented, pointing at where I was still rubbing near the surgery site. Realizing I was massaging the tight skin, I stopped and scowled.
“He was hit a couple of months ago,” George said as cars pulled into the alley. Headlights flashed, blinding us, as more Orlov men arrived to dispose of the body.
“I’mfine,” I repeated, more than sick of the topic. I didn’t need any reminders about how vulnerable I was. How vulnerable we all were. It wasn’t every day that we lost too many men, but with how we walked dangerously on a thin line between life and death, it was a sobering lesson to know none of us were immortal nor untouchable.
Once the cleanup was underway and more soldiers efficiently moved the bodies into the trunks, I sighed and tried to imagine how the rest of the night would go. In the aftermath of the short-lived adrenaline rush of the fight, and the twisted high that camewith knowing I’d killed others, nothing else would fill in the idleness.
Mikhail didn’t have anything pressing for me to follow up on. Andre hadn’t been asking for any assistance in anything he was working on. Roman was probably off with a few women, adding more conquests to his long list as our infamous playboy.
It wasn’t often that I felt this restless and without purpose, but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of not having a place. Of missing a sense of direction.
Or someone to go home to.
Finished with the cleanup and knowing that Popov spy was long gone, I dismissed George with the order to supervise the two new recruits for the remainder of the night.
I furrowed my brow as I continued walking further from the alley where the fight had happened. Strolling into the part of the city that we considered unclaimed—not part of the Orlov territory, nor the land of any other crime family—I tried to shed this stupid sense of being alone. Of being listless and untethered.
Because George had a point, one I wasn’t ready to confess aloud.
Itwouldbe nice to have someone check on me. Not Claire. She was Mikhail’s. Not even a nurse or anyone in the medical field. I wasn’t wishing for actual medical follow-up from my surgery. I just couldn’t dismiss this wish to have… someone.
For fuck’s sake.
Get a grip.
Shaking my head as I wandered toward the glowing and flickering neon lights that announced a bar up ahead, I triedto shut off all the stupid thoughts clogging up my head. Being grumpy about not having anyone special in my life was a waste of time. Moping about how alone I would always be—committed to only my job for my uncle—was a pathetic misuse of my energy.
Having a couple of drinks wouldn’t solve anything. I’d be just as listless, glum, and alone as I was walking into this bar as I would be when I left to go home.
But, hell, it wouldn’t hurt to pass the time in a different place for an hour or so.
I entered the bar, scoffing at the cheesy name. The Diamond Mirage? No sparkle of opulence shone in here to resemble a rare gemstone. There wasn’t anything exotic or special about this hole in the wall to induce the feeling of a mirage.
Sighing at the dim and bland setting of the smoky and crowded bar, I took a seat at the end. Squeaky vinyl gave friction against my pants as I settled on the stool and glanced at the grimy mirror. As I lifted my arms to rest them on the wooden bartop, I made a face at the stickiness that shone on top of the polish.
I hadn’t planned to drink here, or anywhere else, but with how dingy this place looked, I wondered if I’d be better off finding another dump to have a couple of drinks to pass the time.
Loud music drowned out the chatter, laughter, and arguments that rose up in a clash of a cacophony. TV screens blared overhead, projecting different games and talk shows.
Among all the distractions, though, the sight of the distressed bartender snagged my attention.
She paused near me, her lips moving as if she were mouthing multiple orders to herself so she’d remember them all.
“Hey! Move your ass,” another bartender yelled from the opposite end. Maybe he wasn’t her coworker, but her boss. Because she flinched at his voice and hunched her shoulders as though she were caught red-handed underperforming.
“I am. I am,” she replied, furrowing her brow as she reached toward the drafts she’d just filled. She moved her hand too quickly and knocked one over. Beer spilled. Her brows shot up and she mouthedfuckas she hurried to mop it up.
Glancing up at me with her brow pinched and anxiety clear in her green eyes, she gave me a source of unlikely commiseration.
Yeah, life sucks, huh?
Her unguarded eyes gave a strong hint of misery. Nervous and moving a rag with trembling fingers, she lowered her gaze.
