Expose' (Born Bratva Book 3) (4 page)

Kodiak

Shit!
I bolt upright in bed with a groan and run my hands through my hair, scrubbing at my face as I try to clear my head. Waking up to my father’s curt voice over the intercom is a sure sign that he’s already aware of last night’s events. “I’ll be right there, Dad,” I inform him drowsily as I press the button on the device. I untangle my legs from the sheets, swing them over the side of the bed, and light a cigarette.

Our house is set up like a fortress as far as security. The high tech speaker system is just one example of the many resources my father has put in place to keep our family safe and the family business operating smoothly. If Dad uses the intercom to summon me, he means business and expects me to be in his presence sooner rather than later.

I stop long enough to take a piss, but I’m sporting morning wood so it takes a little longer than usual. Damn, I wish I had that brunette beauty from last night under me. But thinking about her isn’t helping my dick cooperate, so I work my cigarette until things settle down. After I take care of business, I toss what’s left of the cigarette in the toilet, wash my hands, throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, and head down the hall to Dad’s office.

I knock lightly on his open door as I enter. As usual, Dad’s cold gaze is waiting for me as soon as I walk in, as if he knows the exact moment I’ll arrive and is somehow looking right at me even before I get there. The thing is, he does that shit even when I drop by his office without an invitation – it’s like he’s got some Hannibal Lector thing going on and I’m Clarisse. I find the whole thing even more unnerving than usual this early in the morning. I greet him with a kiss on each cheek, as is our custom, then promptly slouch down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. I eye my impeccably groomed father and wait to hear what I already know is on his mind. He’s dressed like he just came from a GQ magazine cover shoot. No wonder the ladies all want to fuck him.

“Are you fucking her?” he asks without preamble.

“Dad, I just met her.”

Up goes the eyebrow. That’s never good. “That’s never stopped you before, son.”

“It’s not like that, Dad. She’s, I don’t know…she’s different.”

“Did you hire her?”

“Not officially.”

“Why not?”

“It just never got that far. But she has a skill set that I think we can put to some good use…if things work out.” I can feel a smirk form on my face and, as usual, my dad reads me like a book.

“Going to keep her guessing? Good. That’s my boy, keep her off balance and you’ll have the advantage. On a serious note, get your ass over to the university and talk to that professor we keep on our payroll, Spike Ostrom. And anything else you need to do to find out more about that girl.”

“Yes, sir,” I say as I cross my ankle over my other knee and settle back in the chair.

“What are waiting for, boy? Go get your ass in the shower. You stink.”

I peel myself out the chair and saunter back to my bedroom. At least now I have a valid reason to be intrigued with the woman. I use the intercom and call down to the kitchen for a pot of coffee and a croissant. I trudge sleepily into my walk-in closet and pick out the day’s designer jeans and a black button down shirt that will end up rolled up on my forearms and paired with black Alexander McQueen leather high tops with red laces. Most of the guys around here strut around in suits like they’re going to meet the fucking Queen. I wear my fair share of them, but I prefer to be comfortable -- I’m no slob.

I want to linger in the shower but I know I can’t, so I get out and wrap a towel around my waist. A quick trim of my beard tightens up the five-o-clock shadow look I keep. Styling product in my hair and a splash of Christian Clive C will have me on my way.

I can only hope my little spitfire from last night will be glad to see me. It’s funny, if she were any other woman, she’d be doing back flips at the thought of being on the arm of a son of Glazov. But this chick—not so much. I get the feeling she’s going to try to get away, but I’ll be ready if she does. She may not know it yet, but Logan Ludwick sealed her fate when she ventured into my world.

Logan

I’m sitting in the back of the auditorium listening to Professor Ostrom go on about how blending into your surroundings can give you an advantage as a stalker, er, investigative journalist, that is. ‘Anything to get the story’ is his motto. In this day and age of paparazzi and investigative reporting, anything goes and then some. So why did I get into this again? Oh yeah, excitement. Like so many people, I’m a contradiction in terms. I like stability but my innate curiosity pushes me to know details. I’ve always been intrigued with the ins and outs of other people’s lives. Theirs are so much more exciting than my own. But I have a feeling that may be about to change…

“Can I sit here?” Gilbert asks me in a stage whisper, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
We’ve got to get you a makeover, dude.

“Of course,” I say as I make room. Gilbert is my best friend. We met on the first day of college and took each other under our respective wings and that’s how it’s been ever since. I’ve always rooted for the underdog and I think Gilbert really needs a cheerleader in his life. Frankly, I think he needs a real cheerleader in his life and in his bed, but he won’t hear of stepping out of his comfort zone to ask a girl out. People usually assume he’s gay, but he’s not. Like so many geniuses, my friend is just painfully shy. They say still waters run deep? Gilbert’s got himself a tsunami brewing underneath all that conservative geekiness; he just needs the right girl to bring it out into the open. And I know from our many heart-to-hearts that it will take someone special to get him to finally open up and, well, get off. He may look conservative and, yeah, he’s a virgin, but Gilbert’s got his compass (and his dick) pointed in a seriously unconventional direction. I guess that’s why God invented fetishes -- Gilbert just hasn’t figured out what his is yet.

Gilbert’s a great guy, he accepts me and is loyal to a fault, and that goes a long way with me. He’s also never hit on me, which is another big point in his favor. We’ve never had any sexual chemistry and we’ve known it from the start so we would never complicate the good thing we’ve got going by experimenting. What there
is
, though, is an unwavering acceptance that doesn’t come along very often.

Many people don’t realize how the emotional scars from high school can live on long after we graduate. I was a loner in high school, much too busy dealing with my parents’ shit to care much about what others thought of me, so I’ve got a pretty thick skin. Not Gilbert, though. He takes things to heart so easily. That’s why he maintains a low profile and lets his geek flag fly, preferring to be ignored than to risk being rejected or worse. I think of myself as Gilbert’s buffer who keeps the cruel world at bay. Like I said, he’s loyal. When your own parents shit all over you on a regular basis, that kind of devotion, even from “just a friend” puts things in perspective. He’s taught me – like no one else ever could -- how important family and loyalty are. In a strange way, it’s already given me some insight into the Glazov family, where – rumor has it -- loyalty is a matter of life and death.

“How did last night go?” His eyes light up with excitement as he bounces up and down in his seat.

“I won’t be going back, that place is too intense for me.”

“Oh, nooooo,” he wails with disappointment. He was so hoping for some serious scoop. “Come on,” he hisses dramatically, “you’ve got to get past that whole stability thing you have going on. You’re going to give up that quick?! What the hell, Logan? This is the perfect topic for your article. This is what being a journalist is all about, except this will be like that show my parents used to watch, ‘Dynasty,’ with all those big, funky shoulder pads and real Russian caviar!”

I cut my eyes to him and purse my lips. “No story is worth getting killed for, my friend.” My professor twirls his expensive pen between his fingers with master precision as he stretches his long legs out in front of him, his ankles crossed. He’s seated on the edge of the desk and his eyes are on us as he instructs the class on innovative surveillance methods. I nudge Gilbert with my elbow in warning when he starts whispering in my ear again, and he stops. Gilbert’s right, though, and, yes, I did choose this profession so I need to suck it up and get on with it. I just hate feeling so conflicted.

I’ve got to make a decision about the job and the article I’m writing, one way or the other. I know myself well enough to know that if I don’t move forward on both counts, I’ll always wonder what would have happened. If I take the job and write the article, at least I’ll know. So I guess that’s that. I just wish Ostrom would stop twirling that pen of his because it’s making me do something I promised myself I wouldn’t do: think about Kodiak Glazov.