Page 18 of Dark Soul

And hell if Dark didn’t respect the hell out of the man at that moment.

He took a moment to regroup. It’d been a long time since he’d felt like part of a team.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“What?”

“I said, go ahead. Thorne will burst a nut if he hears of this, but I will stand behind you. I think we all need to know.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. Find out as much as you can about Kvyat and the Iranians. See what we’re up against. Just try not to leave any tracks.”

Rogue’s lips stretched into a smile. “I won’t.”

Neither of them said anything else until Rogue finished the cigarette. He ground the butt carefully beneath his boot, then picked it up and placed it in a baggie in his pocket.

“Smoking’s bad for your health,” Dark said lightly.

“You think this job is good for our health?”

Dark shrugged, and together they walked back inside to meet the others.

7

* * *

Alexia

Alexia was exhausted. But so was Nikolai. She could see it in his eyes, even though the boy hadn’t uttered a single complaint.

He’d keep practicing his present perfect tenses until he was blue in the face, if that’s what she asked, because he was so eager to please, and so afraid of anything else getting back to his father.

In the past, she’d tried to reassure him that the relationship between them was exactly that—between them—and that it didn’t have anything to do with his father or anybody else from the household, but she could see the boy still wasn’t convinced.

Give him time.

Most of the day, the two of them had free run of the house. They usually started off on the large island in the kitchen, doing some math together while Mrs. Babanin put away leftover breakfast items.

The first day, the woman had explained to her that Arseny Kvyat didn’t do leftovers. Everything had to be cooked fresh for him. But he never came into the kitchen, so he didn’t know how creatively leftovers could be engineered into a completely new food. Mrs. Babanin didn’t like to throw anything out.

Usually, she offered Nikolai a small snack.

Then they began their slow excursion around the house, sitting down to work wherever Yelizaveta, the maid and Nikolai’s nanny, wasn’t cleaning. When she arrived in the living room, vacuum in hand, they left for the dining room, and when she followed them there, they often took a break and went for a swim in the huge, indoor swimming pool in the basement.

Sometimes, if the weather was nice, they sat out on the large deck. Nikolai would take off his socks and shoes and dangle his feet inside the jacuzzi, which was kept only just below boiling, for some unfathomable reason. Alexia wished some of that heat could be shared with the rest of the house.

They avoided the upper floor, where the bedrooms were, since that was also where Kvyat’s office was. The man spent most of the day in there, even having lunch brought inside for him—and when he did come out, he locked it carefully with a key he kept always on his person. Alexia knew that because she’d tried the door handle several times, hoping one day he’d forget to lock it.

Today, however, Nikolai was particularly restless. Maybe it was the topic in question—Alexia worked hard to make classes fun for the child, but there was nothing fun about the present perfect.

“Let’s go out,” Alexia said suddenly.

“Out?” Nikolai asked, his eyes round.

“You said you always wanted to learn how to sled. I’ve seen several sleds outside, in the garage. So let’s do it. Go put on your ski clothes and some warm boots.”

It would take the boy a few minutes to get ready. In the meantime, she went to speak to Kvyat’s security team. She knew better than to take the son of a billionaire out on her own, even in Gstaad.