Fuckin’ lunatic.
He could tell I was waiting for him. Yet the moron chose to take his bloody time at the expense of mine. How the fuck did I end up with that son of a gun as my baby brother?
The minute his polished shoes hit the tarmac, he laughed with open arms. “Hey, old man. Miss me?”
I straightened from the hood of the car, a suppressed grin struggling to break free. “You’re late, you dumb fuck.”
“Better late than never, am I right?” He chuckled lightly.
I stepped forward, a quiet laugh spilling from my lips as I embraced him. We thumped each other’s backs, chuckling.
“Welcome to Chicago, brother.” I tapped his face.
Karik was my younger brother, and he’d just arrived from Russia for a personal errand. He stood just over six feet with broad shoulders and a pair of cold steel-blue eyes. The man’s brown hair was kept short, always neatly combed. Unlike mine.
He had a permanent stubble along his jaw. A thick scar cut across his left knuckle, and a faint one grazed his collarbone. Dressed in black, he wore his tailored coat to conceal his weapons as easily as his intent.
Karik was discipline made flesh. The man was brutally efficient, emotionally guarded, and dangerously patient.
We hadn’t seen each other in over two years. So seeing him standing before me was like a breath of fresh air. His presence was the distraction I never knew I needed.
Even though he was only going to be in town for a few days, I figured that was more than enough time to catch up.
To officially welcome him to my city, I took him to my favorite nightclub. At the VIP area, we lounged on the plush couches, surrounded by half-naked women.
Bottles of vodka stood tall on the table between us, half-empty glasses perched beside them. The floor beneath my feet was vibrating as the DJ’s hypnotic beat filled the space.
A sea of writhing bodies dominated the dance floor below, singing along with their hands in the air.
I sat back on my couch, legs crossed, as I cradled a glass in my hand. Although surrounded by sexy women, none of them caught my eye. I was just focused on talking with my brother.
We made jokes and laughed while drinking—anything to get my mind off the woman living rent-free in my head. This was the first time I’d felt like myself since she left the mansion two months ago.
“So tell me, brother,” Karik said, changing the subject to something more personal. “How’s the girl?”
My brows knitted together. “What girl?”
“The one you told the council you were going to take care of,” he answered, his gaze unwavering. “You assigned yourself as her handler, remember?”
He wasn’t present in the meeting when I said that—he wasn’t even in the city at all.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He lifted his glass to his lips. “Word travels fast.”
“She’s all right,” I answered, my tone flat and dismissive.
“Still under your protection?”
I stared at him in silence, swirling the alcohol in my glass. Just when I was about to respond, a noise from the staircase leading up here caught our attention.
“Sir, you can’t be here,” a lady was saying, trying to stop a young man from joining us. “This place is reserved….”
“Get the fuck out of my way!” He pushed her to the floor, barking over her like a wild dog. “Do you know who I am? I can buy this damn place if I want to!”
The second we realized who the noisemaker was, Karik lowered his head in shame. He rubbed his eyes, mumbling under his breath, “Oh, I almost forgot this asshole still exists.”
“Unfortunately, he still does,” I replied.
It was our cousin, Vika—the bastard who’d tried to force himself on Kiera.
