“I have to go.” He stands, offering me his hand. “I’ll take you home first.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “I’m not going to run away from you, Kirill.”
He searches my face for a long moment, then kisses me hard and claiming and desperate. I don’t hold back, letting him feel how much I want him with every pull and sweep of my mouth. He adjusts the angle and I open for him. His hot, slick tongue meets mine and I whimper in satisfaction.
I want more. So much more, but now is not the time. With a hand on his chest, I gently push him away. As I do, my sleeve pushes back, revealing the intricate peony blossoms winding up my forearm.
Kirill catches my wrist, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of a petal. He follows the vine of the ink up to my pulse point, his touch so careful it makes my skin shiver.
“Peonies,” he murmurs, gaze lifting to mine. “They’re beautiful. Is there a story here?”
I pause, the truth hovering on the tip of my tongue before I decide to let a piece of it go. “My mother loved them. She always had them in a vase on the kitchen table in the spring.” My voice is husky from the kiss. “I learned later they’re the bravest flowers because they bloom even when the spring is cold. I got them to remind me to be brave.”
He brings my wrist to his lips, kissing the center of the largest blossom. “You don’t need ink to remind you of that. I see it every time I look at you.”
An ache blooms behind my ribs, because whatever he sees, it’s an illusion.
“Go do what you need to do,” I murmur.
He releases me only to return with the helmet. He slides it over my head, his fingers ghosting over my jaw as he secures the strap. For one wordless moment, he rests his forehead against the helmet’s crown before he pulls on his gear and swings a leg over the Ducati.
When I wrap my arms around his waist this time, the exhilaration is gone, replaced by the bitter ache of falling for someone I can’t afford to.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
KIRILL
The warehouse districtis dark when I arrive, nothing but rusted chain-link and abandoned buildings. I park next to Dem's G-Class and head inside.
An hour ago, Dem sent me security footage. One of our guys meeting someone who doesn't belong to any family we know, late at night, in a warehouse we own. The kind of meeting you don't have unless you're selling secrets.
As much as it pained me to end my night with Evelina, I had to. We've come across too many dead ends lately. The dead Ghost soldier’s body held no clues. No fingerprints on file, no dental records, no identifying tattoos. Like he was a real ghost.
At least we caught a break on one thing—one of our hackers discovered the Ghost broke through the encrypted app we used to plan the pier operation.
We've shut it down, switched to burner phones and face-to-face meetings only, but the damage is done. They had access to our communications for weeks.
The smell of blood and piss hits my nose the second I step inside.
Dem’s leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. Matvey’s circling the man tied to the chair in the center of the room. Petr. He coordinates the logistics, tracking every shipment, every warehouse transfer, every goddamn time we move product across the city. If anyone knows what’s happening in our organization, it’s him. He’s been with us for eight years, loyal the whole time. Or so I thought.
His face is a mess. Split lip, swollen eye, blood crusted under his nose. Three fingernails gone from his left hand, the stumps still oozing. His right hand hangs at an unnatural angle. Broken in at least two places.
“I see you got the party started without me.” I walk forward, my footsteps echoing off bare concrete. “Did I miss all the fun?”
Dem takes a drag and exhales slowly. “Our friend here has been spinning stories for an hour. Not one of them checks out.”
I stalk closer to Petr, taking my time. His head lolls to the side, but his eyes track me. Good. He’s still conscious.
“We caught him on camera letting someone into the Red Hook warehouse at two in the morning,” Dem continues. “The person kept their face hidden and hood up. They were in and out in three minutes.”
“Plus, his personal phone is locked down like Fort Knox,” Matvey adds. “Now why would he need to be so secretive?”
“Maybe he’s working for the Ghost?” I raise my eyebrows and fix my stare on the man in front of me. “Sound familiar, Petr?”
His head jerks up despite the pain. “Who the fuck is the Ghost? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
