The barrel doesn’t move. I keep my own weapon down, angled at the asphalt. No point in dying stupid.
His eyes are black fire, unblinking. It’s only been a short time since we met, and he’s still wearing the black suit and tie. I lean in, pressing my chest into the steel. If he wanted me dead, he should’ve made a move back in the warehouse. “What the holy fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Was it you?” His voice is low, lethal.
My skull pounds, blood dripping into my eye. “No.” I don’t even know what he’s accusing me of. But it wasn’t me.
“You don’t know what I mean.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you mean.”
He tilts the gun back a fraction, gaze locked. “You really don’t.”
“No, and if you don’t lower that thing, I’ll shove mine up your ass.”
The grin that splits his face isn’t humor. It’s a predator baring teeth. “Somebody shot a missile into my new homestead ten minutes ago. I thought you were trying to make an even bigger statement than the one you made earlier.”
“Rosalie?” My voice cracks more than I want to admit. “Is she alive?” I can’t tell Ella that her friend is dead.
“She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” He lowers the gun. “It was the guest house that blew.”
My chest loosens. Who is shooting missiles at us?
“Which means her seven boarders are moving into my house.” His voice hardens, rising. “Seven old men. Eating my food. Breathing my air. Until I build them something else.”
I blink. “What?”
He snarls. “She took them in years ago. From her old place. I promised her a roof, so I built them one. Now it’s rubble, and they’re mine until I replace it.”
“Send them to a home.”
His jaw tightens, teeth grinding. “That’s not how it works.” Then his eyes cut back to me. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.” My head throbs, blood stings my eye, and my vision is edged in black. Part of me wants to shoot him for payback, just in the knee, but I have more pressing matters to handle right now. “I didn’t bomb you.”
“Yeah, I get that now.” He takes a step back and looks at my damaged vehicle. “I owe you a car.”
“You better not owe me a driver. Bronco.” I look over my shoulder. “Wake up.”
The man doesn’t move.
“Bronco. His name’s Bronco?” Alexei asks.
Bronco groans and pushes away from the steering wheel, his forehead bloody.
I breathe out. “You’re paying for any medical bills, Sokolov.”
“That’s fair,” Alexei says. “Do you need a ride?”
“No.” I jerk my head toward a second car coming into view. My men are already out, weapons raised. Alexei’s men spill from two additional vehicles, guns drawn as well.
“Everyone, weapons down,” I say, voice hard. “I am not in the mood.”
The barrels lower, but the tension stays wired tight. My face is throbbing.
Alexei clears his throat. “This is probably the wrong time, but I have a cousin I’d like you to meet.”
I blink blood out of my eye and focus on him. “Excuse me?”
