He lifts a dark brow at me. “Interesting choice of words.”
I’m just about to call him a bastard when Joyce arrives with our lunch. I say it in Russian instead before quickly switching to English and thanking Joyce for my tray. She fusses over us until she’s convinced we really do have everything we need, and then she disappears again so we can eat.
Ev decides to stop torturing me and grabs the remote, choosing one of the comedies instead. I try to enjoy the chicken parmesan that tastes a thousand times better than anything you’d ever find on a commercial flight, but my eyes keep straying to my watch. We have two hours to go, and there’s no telling how long it’ll be before Sitka and I cross paths. She might choose to stay on her own property the whole time.
Various scenarios run through my mind as I finish lunch and then stare out the window until it’s time to descend. I watch the small, private airport grow larger until we’re touching down and racing along the runway. Flying’s never bothered me, and I’ve always loved the takeoffs and landings. The speed instantly makes me miss my motorcycle and the rush of adrenaline I get every time I ride it. Being a passenger just doesn’t cut it, and by the time the plane comes to a stop, I’m antsy to get to Max’s so I can borrow a bike and take it for a ride.
There’s a black SUV waiting for us, and after we thank Joyce and Marvin and tell them to have a good flight back, we walk to the two men who are waiting for us. They’re giving off seriousdon’t fuck with mevibes, fitting in perfectly with the overcast skies and the slight drizzle that’s in the air, but they’re friendly enough when they extend a hand to both Ev and me.
In Russian, the guy wearing aviator glasses says, “I’m Denis, and this is Stepan.”
I look over at Stepan, the one with tattoos covering the side of his shaved head and nod at them both.
“I’m Damien,” I tell them.
“And I’m his cousin Evgeny,” Ev says, shaking both their hands.
“Everyone is waiting, so are you ready to leave?” Denis asks. “We should be there in forty minutes.”
“Yeah, we’re ready,” Ev says while we get in the back and they take the front two seats.
None of us bother with small talk. We know our place on this visit. We’re strictly guests, neither one of us privy to the inner workings of their Bratva. We’d treat them the same way, so neither Ev nor I take offense to it. For all intents and purposes, we’re a couple of tourists, just here to take in the beautiful scenery and enjoy the Oregon coastline.
After about twenty minutes, Ev nudges my arm and nods towards his window. I look out, spotting the roiling Pacific Ocean. It’s beautiful, there’s no denying that, but that doesn’t mean I want to jump my ass into it. I remember from last time that it’s freezing and way more rough than calm. I got hit with waves nonstop, several of them sucking me under with a strength that had surprised me. The ocean is not to be fucked with, so I’ll probably be keeping my ass out of it this time around.
The coastline disappears when we turn off onto a side road that leads into a forest. The large spruce and rowan trees obscure the view, and soon it feels like we’re miles away from anything. It’s so different from where Ev and I grew up, andthere’s a part of me that really wishes I’d grown up here instead. There’s no denying the conveniences of city living, but there’s something so peaceful about this place. It feels like another world almost. I can see why Max offered to live here for half the year.
After several more twisty miles, I catch sight of a large, wrought-iron fence in the distance. When we get closer, I can see the security cameras that are placed at regular intervals so there’s not a single blind spot. They make no attempt to hide them. They want you to know you’re being watched. If you’re stupid enough to keep going, well, that’s on you.
If the cameras and fence weren’t warning enough, when we come around the bend, we see a guard station in front of the main gate. The man behind it looks harmless enough, but I’m guessing there’s a small arsenal hidden away in there, along with a way to trigger an alarm that would send a small army to help him if needed.
The guy comes out, and even though he has to recognize Denis and Stepan, he still walks over to peek inside and get a look at Ev and me.
“You’re Max’s cousins?” he asks in Russian.
“Yeah, I’m Damien and this is Evgeny,” I answer in Russian. I hold his dark gaze because we may be guests but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be intimidated. I may not be a part oftheirBratva, but I am a member of ours, and I bow to no one.
After a few seconds, he nods and takes a step back. “Boss wants to see them at the main house,” he tells Stepan before walking back to his station.
I share a quick look with Ev. Seems like we’re going to take a detour and see Vasily Medvedev first. Instead of veering to the right to take the gravel road that leads to Max and Talia’s place, we go left, driving further into the forest as we pass several large homes, each of them with enough space between to feelprivate. They belong to Vasily’s top men and their families. I’ve met their kids before, and I think we’d all been relieved when we discovered that we genuinely liked one another. I’d play nice for Max’s sake, but I’m glad I don’t have to pretend to get along with a bunch of douchebag assholes.
The SUV stops in front of a large house that overlooks the ocean. As soon as we step out, the front door opens and the head of the Medvedev Bratva appears. Vasily runs the Bratva with his two younger brothers, Volodya and Valeri, but he’s the oldest, and he’s the one who took over after their dad was killed. Even in his fifties, the man is a formidable presence. Aside from a sprinkling of grey hair, there’s nothing to indicate he’s inching towards his golden years. Like my dad and uncles, he’s worked hard to keep his muscle, and when his blue eyes land on us, I recognize the darkness that lurks right below the surface. We all have it, some of us more than others, but you can’t do this job and keep your hands clean. It’s impossible. You either have what it takes, or you don’t. And Vasily has it in spades.
As soon as we’re close enough, he waves for us to follow him inside. Their home is gorgeous, but it’s not a pristine mansion. Family photos line the walls, and it feels beachy and cozy and not like an ostentatious museum. You can tell a family lives here, and it reminds me of home.
“Max told me you’re planning on staying for a few weeks,” he says as he leads us down the hall and into a large office with views that overlook the back garden and the vast ocean beyond. He motions for us to sit while he takes the seat behind the large desk.
“We’d like to, yeah,” I say. “If that’s okay with everyone.”
Vasily leans back and steeples his fingers. “Of course. Our families are joined. The Melnikovs are welcome here anytime they like.”
“We appreciate that,” Ev says while I nod in agreement.
“You can stay as long as you like, and you’ll have access to anything on the property.” After a pause, he adds, “All I ask is that you obey the rules.”
This is the first time I’ll be staying here for any real length of time, so I’m a little surprised at the mention of rules. When I lift a brow, he says, “If you leave the property, you tell someone first and you do it with a Medvedev. I don’t want you two going off on your own.”
“Agreed,” I say, not having an issue with always inviting Bran or one of the other guys along.
