The Deception (4 page)

There’s nothing I can say in this moment. I’m utterly gutted and transfixed by her, by her words. By her genuine concern.

By her pronouncement.
My friend.

“You bought something for me?” I finally manage as her hand reappears, fingers clutching a medium-sized envelope.

Worrying the side of her lip, she says, “Self-defense, as well as gun safety, training, and permit classes—I can’t remember the exact name for it, but the gift certificate covers it all. They teach everything.”

“I can’t—”

“Please take it. We can take the classes together.”

It nearly kills me to hear that sort of invitation from her. Petrov’s revenge has marked her. It has affected Everly in a way that I would have never allowed, given the choice. Only that bloody bastard took it away from me.

“Or not,” she adds.

“I will accompany you, so that we can learn together.”

Beautiful eyes light up, but she’s still a bit wary. “You will?”

He will pay for that, without a contract. “I promise.” I draw an X over my heart, where it beats for her and only her, then I take the envelope and tuck it into the side pocket of my trousers.

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss that I long to replicate in far more erotic areas. The side of her neck, the backs of her knees... her inner thighs as they part for me. As she digs her fingers into my shoulders and moans my name while I pleasure her.

I slash the image from my mind, willing my traitorous body to ignore the surge of lust that threatens to overwhelm and break down every last bit of iron will I erected as a child.

Of course, none of this can ever happen, no one can ever know the depth of feeling I have for her—physically or emotionally. Both are dangerous.

Regretfully, and as my heart feels as though it’s about to burst out of my chest, I pull away, breaking the sweetest of contacts I’ve had with another in a very, very long time.

She brushes my hair back from where it has fallen over my forehead. I want to lean into her touch, to let her linger longer. I can’t remember the last time I was touched like this. Maybe when I was a child, before my mother sent me to live with my grandfather. “There. Now you look like the Roman I know,” she pronounces. “Seller of rare books and procurer of romance novels.”

You don’t know me at all
, I think sadly. I bring death even while I right wrongs. “Thank you.” I rise to my full height and brush at the invisible lint on the cuffs of my sleeves. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my friend.”

“Oh,” she says, as if remembering we aren’t the only two people in my shop. Her earlier terror is gone, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go easier on Petrov. Quite the opposite actually. “You go on; I need to leave in a few minutes anyway. I’ll see you Friday night for our first class. It’s at seven, so we can eat before we go or after. Or you don’t have to eat with me at all.”

Like a date?  And what happened to having lunch with her?
Stupid man—you can’t have lunch with her. You can’t have anything with her at all, beyond these walls. Meeting with her in the park was fucking madness.
“What if we pick the same restaurant? Shall we sit at separate tables and pretend not to know one another?”

She tilts her head to one side again. Adorably, I might add. “Are you flirting with me, Roman?”

I catch sight of my customer leaning against the counter, his inquisitive eyes missing nothing.
Fuck my life.
I can’t respond how she wants. Hell, I can’t respond how I want.

Everly’s a dangerous little thing to my peace of mind. She makes me forget what I do for a living. She makes me forget that my hands are scarred, burned, blackened and twisted, stained with the blood of vile monsters.

Not meeting her eyes, I shrug.  “I’m not sure of my dinner plans, yet. I’ll meet you at class, yes?”

“Sure. Whatever. See you at class,” she answers, smiling brightly. Her bright smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry about lunch this week or whenever. I, ah, forgot I have plans with my out-of-town guest.” A lie. The air vibrates with it. I’ve just hurt her. Again. There’s no way she’ll push for more.

“Brilliant.” I focus my attention on the man at the counter, watching Everly gather her things in my peripheral vision. She looks defeated.

She turns suddenly, her mouth opening like she has more to say, and my body tenses. Then she gives herself a little shake, and her mouth snaps shut. She hitches the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder, scooping the box of books into her arms before barreling toward the front of the store.

The door opens with a bang, from her hip hitting against it. The cat I found in the alleyway slips out, flicking its tail proudly. I stand there, watching as both of them disappear from view.

THE REQUEST

“W
omen. Always wanting what they can’t have, eh?” Viktor Chapeyev knows about the shooting and Everly’s role. He
always
knows.

At fifty-five, he’s still just as intimidating as the first time I met him as a boy of twelve. Same white-blonde hair, same black eyes, and same charming smile. A great many have met their Maker after seeing Viktor’s visage. Sixteen years after our first meeting, I still wonder if he’s truly on my side.

Or any side for that matter.

I shrug. “She’s spooked from Petrov’s handiwork and wants me to take self-defense classes with her.”

Piercing, black eyes assess my words. “She knows nothing?”

“Less than zero,” I mutter as he passes a book to me.

“I’m interested in selling this,” he says.

I turn it over and read the title.
The Secret Lives of Kings
. “Royalty,” I say, nonplussed.

Besides the implication of the title, there are only three copies of this 1835 tome in the entire world. When it was published, kingdoms came tumbling down, because it created such a stir. Newspapers, pamphlets, and posters copied the scandalous truths of those in power, and it had gone, for lack of a better term, viral.

If I truly ran this store as a business, I’d be gobsmacked right now.

“
Viva la revolucion,
” Viktor says with a smirk, and so begins information dissemination. “It’s a fairly recent regime change, though the family is an old one. Hence...” He pats the book.

Before Snowden revealed what he knew and the entire world became aware of the far reach of the NSA, the
Bratva
embraced technology, the easy flow of encrypted information from continent to continent
.
Now, many—including me—have returned to the old ways, with the occasional use of technology to help.

“Ah, yes. How long have they reigned?”
How much time do I have?

“Not long—two months.” 
A month to study my prey and formulate a plan. Then a month to execute and get paid. Standard.

“What are they known for?”
What’s the crime?

“Parties, community service, and lavish spending.”
Prostitution, intimidation, and bankrupting their citizens.

“Sounds rather common, don’t you think?”
Method of execution?

“Not at all. However, I read that the prince avoids feather pillows. Fear of birds or something like that.”
Smothering... A very personal vendetta the financier has against this prince, then.

“Hopefully, someone will help him conquer it. In the meantime, I’m more than happy to purchase this book from you—for a fair price.”
I accept.

We go through the motions of haggling and settle on a price.

“You drive a hard bargain, Roman.” Viktor nods. “You know, it’s not good for a man to be alone. As your friend, I feel it’s my duty to give you some advice.”

Warning sirens blare in my head. “And that would be?”

“Go out with Ms. Andrews.” He waves a hand in the air. “Be a young man in springtime.”

“It’s autumn,” I say flatly.

“Whatever the season, no one is guaranteed anything but death.”

My death or hers? “I appreciate your advice but—”

“No buts.”

I clench my jaw, my fists, and hold my entire body perfectly still, even as I want to smash in his face. He’s threatening Everly. “The attention might be unwanted.”

“The attention will be welcomed. People will wonder if they never see you out and about.”

Message: My cloistered life is not acceptable anymore. They want me to blend in, while all I want to do is disappear once I pay my debt to my grandfather for taking in his son’s bastard. For not executing my mother when she showed up, unannounced, with me in tow. For giving me a life and attention when all that my father showed me was death and indifference. Not that my grandfather is innocent—far from it.

But he’s not a megalomaniac like my father. And he believes family comes first. Always.

I force my jaw to relax and bare my teeth at him in a parody of smile. “I’ll ask her to dinner Friday night, before class.”

“Very good, Nikolai. Very good.” With another tap on the cover of
The Secret Live of Kings
, he leaves my shop, whistling.

I pick up my phone and dial the number I memorized, but never used.

“Hello?”

“Everly? This is Roman.”

Silence and then, “Did I leave something behind?”

“No.”

“Did you forget that I didn’t order anything this week?”

“No.” Yes, this is a perfectly normal conversation to have with the woman you want to spend more time with. Perfectly, bloody normal.

“Then I’m not sure... do I owe you money?” she asks, and I want to bang my head against the nearest wall.

“No,” I bark into the phone, and then take a deep breath. “I would like to invite you to have dinner with me, Friday night before our class.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

Is this a good
oh
or you had your chance, but I’ve moved on
oh
? “I could collect you, around six?”

“Collect me?” she asks, clearly bewildered by this turn of events.

“Pick you up at your place,” I clarify.

Silence again. I drop my head into my free hand, positive she will say no. “That sounds fun. My address is 15 Magnolia Way—it’s an old house split into a duplex, so I’m B. See you in a couple of days.”

“Bye, Everly.”

She ends our call first and I stand there, head in my hand and phone pressed against my ear. There’s a scratching sound at the front door. I straighten and slip the phone into my pocket, right beside the envelope Everly gave me.

Peering out the display window, I find the little cat and move to open the door. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

I kneel, scratching the cat under the chin. The bugger flops to its side, demanding more attention. I shake my head. “Come inside. I’ll feed you.”

Whoever rented the shop before me installed a cat door in the front, but I had blocked it off. Perhaps this cat is used to coming here. In any case, I re-open the tiny door. “But not because I like you. I don’t want to be bothered with letting you out,” I say as I stand and step back.

The cat races inside, and I lock the door before following it to the empty storage room. “If you’re to stay, then I expect you to pull your weight around here.” Pausing as it eats, the cat looks up at me. “Kill the vermin, yes?”

Of course the bloody thing doesn’t respond, so I leave the room and head to my office, grabbing
The Secret Lives of King
s along the way. After a few hours of research on a prince that would make Joffrey from
Game of Thrones
look like an angel who dispenses love taps, I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes and stretching.

The cat jumps onto my desk and then into my lap. Absently, I pet the creature and it starts to purr. The sound calms me.

“In less than two months, I will end a man’s life,” I murmur in Russian to the cat. “Will you let me pet you then?”

If Everly were to know the truth, and I knew with absolute certainty she would be safe, would she want to be in my presence again? Or would she look at me, seeing only the monster and not the man?

Then again, maybe the man never existed in the first place.

***  ***  ***

A
fter two day of unbearable waiting, it’s finally Friday afternoon and I’m getting ready for my date with Everly. Unsure of what to wear for an evening of dinner and kicking bad guys’ arses, I dress in my usual suit and pack a gym bag with a second set of clothes. I tuck my trainers in last and zip it closed.

Koshechki,
or little she-cat, as I call her—it was easier than referring to her as an it— jumps up on the dresser, staring at herself in the mirror.

“You are a vain animal.” She turns up her nose at me, and I grunt. “Very. Vain.”

I adjust my tie and then forego it entirely, leaving my top two buttons undone. One last look in the mirror, and I run a hand through the front of my dark hair, then smooth it a little.

“
Blyad,”
I mutter. It doesn’t matter. None of this does. Once I’ve satisfied the powers that be by dating, I’ll move to another city, so Everly will remain safe and can’t be used as a pawn again.

Sharp claws scrape at my insides at the thought of never seeing her again, but I ignore the pain. It’s more important that she remain safe. That she remain alive.

I turn and head out the door to collect Everly.

***

E
verly is standing outside when I park beside the curb. With her hair in a loose bun, she’s wearing a pair of ankle boots, black trousers, and a light blue sweater. The sweater and trousers cling to her curves, highlighting everything I lust after.

Her eyes widen a little at my car of choice when she realizes I’m the one in the Porsche. I do find it amusing that she barely noticed the car when I pulled alongside her.

Cutting the engine, I get out and walk to her. “You should have allowed me to colle—pick you up properly at your home.”

She swings her purse from side to side. “It’s too nice of a day to wait inside.”

I glance up at the heavy clouds. It’s been raining all day and only stopped twenty minutes ago. “Really?” I ask dryly.