Bad Boy Soldier (Bad Boy 3)

I signed his paper and stood, recognizing that the meeting was over by the way Barlow opened a new file and said nothing else.

I left and went back to the gym, wondering if I'd made the right decision. I felt it was my only choice. I was a soldier. Despite my MBA, it was in the military that I felt at home. Taking down the Romanov family with the approval of the FBI and with police support?

How could I say no?

I went to Langley for a couple of weeks of intensive training, emerging relatively unscathed. After the two-week training period was up, I had a few more bruises from the physical training and a lot more respect for the rigorous training clandestine operatives underwent.

I returned to Boston, tired but ready to move forward with the next phase of my performance as a Romanov insider.

"I'm glad you're back," my father said the first night I returned and we were sitting around the table in our kitchen. I'd made a quick meal of steak and potatoes with a side of green salad, and was happy to sit down with him. He looked tired, his breathing a bit faster than I'd like. I took his hand.

"How are you? You look exhausted. I'm sorry I went away when I did. I should have stayed."

"No, no," he said and waved me off. "We all went through hell these past months. Everyone deals with their grief in different ways. I'm just glad you’re back."

I smiled at him and then attacked my steak, but I wondered when I’d get my first mission, hoping my little arrangement with the FBI didn’t turn out to be a bad decision.

A week passed and then another. My life seemed to get back in order, with days spent in the office, talking to suppliers and match organizers for the fights, plus dealing with franchisees, making sure they were keeping up with reporting requirements.

On the personal side, I hadn’t had any action since I returned to Boston, having said goodbye to a woman I’d had an on-again off-again arrangement with in Quantico. She was going through a divorce and didn't have a lot of time for a relationship, so we met a couple of times a week and fucked, then said goodbye. Nothing more.

Every night, when I finally crawled into bed after closing the gym and club, I lay awake and wondered when things would get going with the Romanovs. My mind kept returning unbidden to the graveside service and catching sight of Celia Franklin.

How a woman could still hold my interest years after one night of sex I'd never know, but she did. There was something about Celia that I couldn't get out of my mind. I always thought she was the kind of woman I could make an exception for regarding serious relationships, but I'd been so damn wrong. How she could go from so sweet and passionate and fun and intelligent to being a cold-hearted bitch who’d used me and then thrown me away when Greg finally asked her out blew me away. I'd been hurt before by a woman, and I expected I would again, if I let my guard down.

So I had many frustrated bouts of masturbation to get me through the week, and always, my mind's eye returned to lovely Celia lying beneath me, her thighs spread wide for me to see her, her eyes half-closed in pleasure, her mouth open, licking her lips… I imagined ramming into her tight pussy, into her willing mouth—and more.

It was unsatisfactory but it was all I had until I found a new fuck buddy.

Finally, I was summoned to meet with Gladwell and learn more about my mission. I made the trip to the precinct and knocked on the door to his office.

"Come," he said. I opened the door and entered, standing in front of his desk to wait for his orders.

"Sit," he said finally, pointing to the chair. I sat and waited some more.

"I hear you did a pretty decent job in your training," he said without looking up at me.

"I survived," I said.

"Good," he said and finally took off his reading glasses and glanced up at me. "We're going to let you loose. We expect you to try to reconnect with your uncle's old contacts in the Romanov family, get deeper into his organization."

"I'll do it," I said, having already heard from my father that several thugs with Russian accents had been by asking about me, wondering if I was going to be their contact now that Donny was in federal custody. "I've been quite vocal about my objection to my uncle's ties to racketeering and money laundering for drug money so I'll have to use Spencer as the excuse to get in and roll around in the dirt with them."

Gladwell smirked. "Victor Romanov is pretty arrogant and might be only too glad to have you at his side. We'll see what he does. Don't worry," he said and put his glasses back on. "He'll think you've finally come around. At the least, he'll understand your desire to get revenge for your family. Even he could understand that."

I nodded. "I hope so."

Gladwell shook his head. "He's smart," he said, "and has been good to your uncle, but he's hell on his enemies. Don't become an enemy."

"Isn't that precisely what I'll be doing?" I asked.

"Don't let him find out," Gladwell said simply. "We won't out you. We want to keep you involved for as long as we can so there'll be no leaks on our side. Keep your own mouth shut about your mission and you'll be okay as well. Don't tell your father or anyone in your family what you're doing. Don’t tell your girlfriend."

"Don't worry. I understand the need for secrecy."

As my handler in the FBI and I planned, I met with Victor Romanov, one of Donny's business associates in the Romanov family, and made the offer to provide security for their businesses in exchange for them leaving our family alone. I set up a security detail for them so they could guard their properties on the waterfront against rival families muscling into their territory or attacking any of their family members.

I hired a few retired Marines I knew, who were quite happy to take on light duties on a part-time basis. Standing around and watching streets for suspicious vehicles and taking names at the door to the business was child's play for them.