Vik (Shot Callers 2)

My face screwed up. “I don’t think so.”

The man leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched me a long moment. When he asked, “You hungry?” I took the opportunity and ran with it.

“I could eat.”

32

Nastasia

The man who released me from my prison introduced himself with a brusque, “I’m Pollux.”

Pollux. Weird, but whatever. “Nastasia.”

He jerked his chin over his shoulder and said, “C’mon,” then started walking, and I followed. The house was huge, and we walked a while, down a long hallway, passing through a small corridor, making our way down the huge, intricately carved mahogany staircase that looked like it belonged on the Titanic, until finally, we reached the kitchen.

Just like the rest of the house, the stunningly dark interior swept through the area, and while the kitchen seemed a touch more modern than the other rooms, it still held a macabre style that chilled just as much as it charmed.

The herringbone floorboards were stained black. The tiles behind the giant stove were onyx, glossed, and shined prettily. The huge island in the center of the room was mahogany but had a gray-and-cream marble countertop, and above that island were two cast iron light fixtures that looked like antique lamps. Their stained glass came in opaque cream and a blood-red. The appliances were matte black and expensive.

I was awestruck. No doubt, Roam was loaded beyond comprehension.

And the moment I saw the man himself sitting at the island, reading the newspaper, nursing a coffee, sipping from the antique cup, I balked, which seemed on brand, because the second his gaze came to rest on me, his eyes darkened. He placed the newspaper down slowly, deliberately.

Pollux didn’t even look at him when he uttered, “Yo. You lose this?” Before Roam had a chance to respond, Pollux opened a cupboard and retrieved two bowls before twisting back to open another door, taking out a box of cereal. He opened the box and shook some out into one bowl before doing the same to the other. “She was screaming like a banshee and banging on the closet door. Woke me the fuck up.”

“Yes,” Roam uttered coolly, his jaw tight, “pets tend not to like their cages.”

And Pollux stilled. Slowly, he looked up at me before chancing a glance at Roam. When he saw the icy look on the brooding man’s face, he let out a short breath before muttering, “Oops.”

That was when Roam lifted the newspaper and stated, “You just earned babysitting duty.”

And although Pollux looked like he wanted to argue, he didn’t. Instead, he went over to the fridge, took out the milk, and poured a little too roughly, shoving the bowl of cereal in front of me in clear irritation, mumbling under his breath, “Fucking bullshit.” He slapped a spoon onto the counter so harshly I flinched. When he sat at the island and scooped some cereal into his mouth, he spoke around it, “You could have warned us.”

Roam’s spine went rigid, and when he spoke next, it was tense. “I didn’t realize I had to run things by you.”

“You don’t,” Pollux returned immediately, knowing he fucked up. “But I can’t do my job efficiently if half the details on the page are blacked out. Maybe, you know, think on that.”

And Roam stared at the man, unblinking. After what seemed like an eternity, he uttered a rough, “Next time I want your opinion, you best believe I’ll ask for it, friend.”

He said friend in the same way some would say motherfucker.

Awkward.

Pollux ate his cereal in silence. Roam continued reading his paper. And I looked anywhere but at the two of them.

As I stared vacantly into the bowl of cereal, I heard Roam say, “Eat.” I lifted my head to find him looking right at me, and when he motioned toward the bowl in front of me, I swear to God, his face gentled a touch as he uttered an impassive, “Feed your baby, Nastasia.”

He continued to stare at me until I lifted my spoon, scooped up some cereal, and lifted it to my mouth, nibbling at it uncomfortably.

Satisfied, Roam stood and reached for his jacket that hung off the back of the chair. “I’m rather sorry, dear, but I must go.” When I peered up at him, he shrugged into his jacket and uttered a bored-sounding, “I know, I know. I promised I’d stay for dinner, but—” His dark grin was wide and white and absolutely lethal. “—you knew the man I was when you married me.”

My lips thinned.

He was taunting me. Sure, because why not? I was only here to entertain him, after all.

Taking his cup to the sink, he set it down gently before making his way to me. He stood by my side, looking down at me, and I refused to meet his eye.

“I don’t know when I’ll be home. You know how unpredictable my days are. What will today bring? Destruction? Torture? Anarchy? Murder?” He wasn’t after a response, so I kept quiet, but when his hand struck out, hard and fast, gripping my chin between his fingers, forcing my head up fast, I jolted, knocking the bowl of cereal to the floor.