Russian Tattoos Obsession (13 page)

Chapter 25

Neon Sign

“Can you pick up a few things from the store, Carter? Something vegetarian for you and Vladimir?” Dad wiggled his fingers in the air like vegetarianism was some mystic concept that required a black cauldron, eye of newt, and a bat eyelash to conjure up. He held out the car keys, but Boris stepped up and insisted on driving me.

Once we were in the Caddy, my rambling began. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw up. I know what happened to Coach is all my fault. What’s going to happen now?”

He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car. “You know what my
job is, dear?”

Your dagger tattoo says you’re a hit man.
“It’s none of my business.”

He came around to my side and opened the passenger door. I stood, but he blocked me before I could take a step. “My job is to protect the boss.”

I looked down at my feet.

He lifted my chin. “And to clean up his mess when things get out of hand—including
dirt
his pet princess drags him through. By all means necessary. Want to find out what happens if you cry to papa?”

I shook my head.

“Good girl.” He patted me on the back and steered me toward the store entrance. “Remind me to pick up champagne.” He softened his ominous tone. “We haven’t celebrated your team’s victory. Unless, of course, you have any more of the boss’s fancy bottles stashed?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “No. I’m clean.”

***

When we got back from the store, Dad and Vladimir were in the kitchen, talking, laughing, and drinking. The boss appeared to be in a good mood, despite all the bullshit I’d dumped on him in the last twenty-four hours.

“Hi, Mr. Ivanov. Great to see you again.” I met him in the kitchen. “What are the odds you and Boris are here, and I’m free on a Friday night?”
Sorry, Ryan. No bowling and burritos for me tonight.
I set down a grocery bag and moved in for a hug. Partly to let him know everything was cool and partly to feel if he had his gun tucked at his side: affirmative.

“A beautiful girl with no date? The boys must be crazy.”

I slunk away before Dad took notice of the neon sign flashing, “I’m having an inappropriate relationship with your daughter” above Vladimir’s head.

I survived dinner that night with Boris and Vladimir—and so did the rest of my family. The boss fawned on me the way he always did, but he also doted on Megan and Karen. Although I knew what the
pakhan
was capable of,
Vladimir
was a joy to be around. I wished there was a way to extract the dark side while keeping the goodness intact. My family adored him, and Boris.

The next day, Vladimir treated the family to dinner at a fancy restaurant downtown, and on Sunday, he took us on a private cruise up and down the Ohio River. By the end of the weekend, the Russians had fully immersed themselves in our lives. Megan even started calling Boris
Ded
, which he taught her was Russian for
Grandpa
, and she dubbed Vladimir
Dyadya
which meant
Uncle
. Based on appearances, we were One Big Happy Family.

Nyet.

Chapter 26

Cocky

On Monday, I had one goal: get through the rest of the week without getting into any trouble. Dad was taking the family on the road to Karen’s parents’ house on Friday. It was an annual pilgrimage I dreaded, but at least it would put separation between the Russians and me for four glorious days.

When we got to the house, I dove into a steamy romance novel my teammates and I were reading in our book club. I usually worked on homework, but the semester was over.

“Congratulations.” Boris dumped a pile of household bills and a checkbook on the bar in front of me. “You’ve been promoted to Household Bullshit Manager.”

“Gee, thanks.” I thumbed through the bills—cable, electric, trash. “Got it.”

I made out the checks and slid them across the bar for Boris to sign. As I finished up my task, the boys out back started hollering. I turned and looked out the window. It was a reaction. I didn’t care or want to know what they were up to. “Anything else I can do?”

“Truth.” Boris said.

“What?” I swiveled my barstool around.

He tipped his head. “Truth or dare. You wanted to play the other day. Truth. What do you want to know?”

“Seriously?” There had to be a catch. More likely, I reasoned, he wanted to find out something from
me
and not the other way around.

The wolves started barking out back again. I glanced out the window. Right as I looked down at the basketball court, Playboy heaved a rock at Igor. He hit the poor bird in the chest. “Hey.” I tapped on the window.

Playboy looked up at me, waved me off, and laughed.

Boris lifted his eyebrows. “What is it you want to know, dear?”

I twisted my lips as I thought about how to phrase my question. I was worried about Dad. He worked with Vladimir for eight plus hours a day. If
I
knew about Vladimir’s side business, wouldn’t Dad know, too? “I’m not sure I should ask. If you don’t want to answer—”

“If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.” Boris tipped his hand, encouraging me to continue.

“Is my dad involved in anything at work that could get him into trouble?”

Boris glared at me. I knew I shouldn’t have asked. “I mean, it’s none of my business what you and Mr. Ivanov do, but Dad—”

“No,” Boris said. “What your papa works on with the boss is legit.”

“Good. Thanks.” I exhaled, relieved Dad wasn’t an accomplice in Vladimir’s
other
business.

“I’m curious,” Boris said. “What if I’d told you he
was
involved in something else?”

I kept my attention on the basketball court. “I would have asked Mr. Ivanov to fire him.”

Playboy threw another rock at Igor.

“Hey!” I pounded on the window. “Boris, tell him to leave the peacock alone. He’s emasculating him in front of Natasha.”

He turned on the radio, unaffected by my bird drama.

Playboy tried to kick Igor, but the bird dodged him.

“I’m not kidding, Boris. Tell him to stop, or I’m going out there.”

He lowered his reading glasses. “Is not your problem.”

I went to the mudroom and lifted my tennis racquet and a can of balls out of my bag.

On my way outside, Boris caught my arm. “Stay out of it.”

His threatening tone meant business, but I’d pledged to hold my own with these Russians. I could at least do that with a bird on the basketball court, for god’s sake. “The boss will be super ticked when he finds out
he
was bothering his bird, and
you
didn’t stop him.” I tried to shake off his hand, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Or maybe boss will be ticked because
I
told you to stay out of it, but
you
defied me.”

I tried to pull away again, but instead of letting up, he squeezed tighter.

“Let me go.”

He looked down at my tennis racquet. “If you act against that bad boy, I won’t stop him when he comes after you, understand? Is time you learned your place.”

My mouth gaped. “My
place
?”

The peacock shrieked. “
Help! Help! Help!”

He let go of my arm and gave me one last warning. “You’ll be sorry.”

I stuck to my convictions and marched out on the balcony. With my racquet hidden behind my back, I yelled at Playboy and pointed to the peacock.

He flipped me off.

The peacock charged him.

When Playboy turned to find another rock, I got out a ball, bounced it, and took aim like I was ready to serve up an ace. I tossed the ball up and slammed it down to the basketball court.

Wham!
I hit Playboy point blank on the side of the head.
Shit.
I’d aimed at his feet. The other two goons laughed, but Playboy stared me down like he wanted to kill me. I squinted at him, went back inside, and locked the door behind me, with an annoying shakiness in my legs. Playboy can sure look menacing when he wants to.

Boris had gotten out his betting book and was scribbling down notes when I shuffled back to the kitchen. I fumbled with my book and pretended I wasn’t scared out of my mind. Just when I thought it was safe, that Playboy wasn’t stupid enough to come after me, the swinging door flew open, and he stood in the doorway with a sinister grin.

I was ninety-nine percent positive Boris was bluffing when he’d said he wouldn’t protect me. There was no way the boss would be okay with one of his
patsani
coming into his house and hurting me in any way. And if Boris stood there and watched, he would be in trouble, too. Nobody, not even Boris, would want to answer to the
pakhan
.

Playboy stepped toward me with his hand behind his back.

Wait.
Wasn’t the boss the one who said I needed to
learn a lesson
with his boys out back?
Shit, shit, shit.

I stood strong, though. I was tough. Whatever happened I could take it. Boris continued to work, unaffected by Playboy’s threatening posture. What did that jerk have behind his back?

A baseball bat?

A knife?

A gun?

Playboy moved toward me and said something creepy in Russian. Then, from behind his back, he flopped a dead peahen on the kitchen counter.

Natasha!
I covered my mouth and screamed.

Playboy pointed in my face and barked at me.

“Boris, tell him to get out of here.” I backed up as Playboy cornered me against the stove. He grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the dead bird, pointed to her body, and then waited for me to do something with it.

“Boris, please.”

“Should have listened. I warned you.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants you to clean up the mess you made.”

“The mess
I
made? Are you serious?” I stepped around the bar and fired back at Playboy. “Screw you,
lapsha
. The
pakhan
is going to be ticked when I tell him what you did.”

Boris spoke to him in their native tongue. Playboy’s face burned red when he got the translation I’d threatened to rat him out. He picked up a cookbook from under the counter and whizzed it at me. I covered my face and ducked, narrowly dodging a blow to the head.

I jumped up to escape, but before I could get away, Playboy clutched my ponytail and yanked me to my feet. He put his other hand on my back and steered me toward the fresh kill.

He picked up my hand. I fought him—with all the strength I had—but it was no contest. He guided my hand over the bird, and forced me to stroke her dead body. “
Do svidaniya, ptichka.”

I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut. In defense, I bent my knees and pushed my back against him, but instead of letting up, he jammed me against the counter and shoved my face an inch from the bird’s bloody body. The smell of cigarettes and cologne mixed with Natasha’s earthy wild musk forced acid to gurgle up in my throat.

“Ready to apologize and clean it up?” Boris asked.

Would the boss blame me, too?
“I’m sorry.”

“Say it in Russian.
Izvinite
.”

“
Izvinite
.”

Playboy yanked me upright, pointed to the dead bird, and flung open the trash drawer. With shaky hands I picked Natasha up by her feet and dropped her in the bag.

“Why did he hurt her? She didn’t do anything.” My voice trembled.

“To teach the peacock a lesson.” Boris said. “That cocky bird will think twice before picking a fight with him again, don’t you think, dear?”

Playboy snapped his fingers and waited for me to finish the job.

I buried my nose in my jacket and zipped it up all the way. Trying not to gag, I tied the bag shut and took it out to the garbage receptacle in the garage.

When I came back to the kitchen, Playboy was gone. “Where did he go?”

“It’s over. You’re even,” Boris said. “Not a word of this to the boss.”

I covered my mouth, doubled over, and vomited in the sink.