“Seriously, though. The house shit ain’t getting to her too bad, is it?”
I thought about how to answer his question. Theory was more bothered than she had initially let on. She’d woken up in the middle of the last couple of nights, shivering and whimpering, her eyes wet, her hands holding onto me like she feared that there was a chance in hell that I was letting her go. The dreams could’ve been about her asshole ex, but for some reason, I knew that they weren’t. I talked her down, holding her against me until she fell sound asleep, curled in the safety of my arms. Mymilayadidn’t want to admit it, but on some level, she craved me for comfort and security. I was gon’ always be there to give that to her.
“She a lil’ shook. That’s why this Igor fool gotta get shook, too,” I finally said.
He nodded. “‘Igor.’ Nigga sounds like a monster.”
Smiling, I tapped in the code on a pad outside a solid, metal door. “He just fucked with someone even scarier.”
I opened the door to the sight of Grigor and Timur, Maxim’s preferred muscle, guarding two zip-tied men. They both looked like the big enforcers had laid hands on them, but they’d held back a little. I assumed that was for my benefit. Grigor and Timur were not the type to hold back from what I understood.
I walked to the square table and pulled out one of the four chairs. Lowering myself to sit, I gestured toward the men all trussed up.
“Untie ’em,” I ordered.
Grigor reached into his pocket and produced a big ass pocketknife. Unfolded, that thing looked wicked. Juvie let out a low whistle.
“That shit looks like one of them knives PawPaw be skinning deer with,” he muttered.
I side-eyed him. “You really gotta stay yo’ ass outta the country.”
He rubbed his belly. “Shiii. Soon as Granny Nette stop cooking like that.”
I decided, as I quite often did, to ignore him. Waving toward the seats at the table, I turned my attention to the men in the room that I hadn't met. “Where are my manners? Gentlemen, sit down, please. My mama would have a fit if I were remiss with my hospitality.”
Juvie scoffed. “‘Remiss with your hospitality?’ That must be the college talking?”
“Julien,” I warned as the former captives warily approached the table and sat.
The short blond rubbed his arms, teeth chattering in the cold of the warehouse. The concrete block, combined with the air conditioning and the freezer units, kept this place frigid. The cold was the least of his worries, though. He'd be warming up soon enough.
I turned to the dark-haired one, recognizing him from the file our team had quickly compiled. He stared back, his dark eyes a strange mix of fear and disdain. That’s how a lot of these cats looked at me—like they feared me and looked down on me all at once. Knowing the fear would eventually, painfully win out pleased me.
“Igor, let’s get straight to it. I heard you know a lil’ something about how my girl’s alarm systems failed the other day,” I said, tone conversational.
“Now, where in the world would you hear something like that?” he sneered, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists.Like his blood gon’ be circulating long, anyway.
I smiled. “Oh, little Russian birdies told me.”
He sat back, feigning surprise. “Russian birdies? I assumed you only associated withcrows.”
He meant that to offend me. I chuckled instead. “You funny, huh? That’s an old ass insult. But I know some old shit, too… like that line about who laughs last.”
His smirk fell. Mine didn’t.
“I’m sure I don’t know anything about any alarm system.”
“Mmm.” I nodded.
Igor Petrov was an IT and security specialist, the best of the few trusted to work with Russian crime syndicates. Hell, according to his file, he was probably one of the best in the business, period. He was excellent. And with excellence, I knew, came pride. I decided to try this another way.
“Whoever fucked with her systems undid some of the best work in the country. Hell, my brother said the one he had installed there was built by some Marine you helped train. We know for a fact that the jar head didn’t breach it. I figured no one else could undo your work… Except you. Maybe I was wrong. I did hear that Daniil Vasilov was just as good. I’m gon’ pay him a visit next.”
Igor was not some hardened Russian gangster trained to withstand interrogation. His work was lucrative. He spent most days glued to a chair in front of screens in lavish surroundings. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know how to hide his tells. He wasn't so bad that he gave it away in words. But the slight narrowing of his eyes, the flaring of his nostrils, the red creeping up his neck when I suggested that Daniil was capable of undermining his work was enough to tell me exactly what I needed to know.
“Maybe you should see Daniil.” He snarled the name, his tone belying the suggestion he thought was delivered nonchalantly.
“Nah. I think I’m seeing just who I need to see. Someone trashed my baby’s house, ruined it. That was possible because her systems were compromised. Can you imagine what would have happened to her if she were there?” I demanded.
