Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

ADRIK

I don’t know if Malcolm was expecting me or not, but he looks surprisingly unruffled when he answers the door.

“Adrik Tasarov!” he says with that bullshit, campaign rally veneer of warmth. “What a surprise. How did you know I was still in town? I was supposed to get on a flight this morning, but, well, you know how the airlines can be.”

“Open the door and let me in, Waters.”

He arches an eyebrow at my bluntness, but he backs into the house and opens the door, ushering me inside. “Of course. Come on in.”

A narrow hallway with a set of stairs runs along the right-hand side. Paintings hang from the walls and the shelves are decorated with generic knick-knacks. It looks like a model home, something out of a magazine. Completely devoid of personality.

“Drink?” he asks, gesturing to a bar cart. “It’s a little early, but I’m sure I have some orange juice in the kitchen. We could—”

“I’m fine.”

He nods and moves further into the sitting room. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to show up in person.”

“And I didn’t expect for you to send some cheap pigs to ruin my morning,” I say. “I assume I can bill you for a new window in my car?”

He tries his best to look surprised, but he’s no actor. “What are you talking about? I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do. And you’ll save us both a lot of time and wasted breath if you just admit it.”

“But I really don’t—”

Before he can finish, I swipe my arm out and send the clock on the table next to me flying across the room. It shatters on the wall, glass and tiny gears skittering across the floor like roaches searching for a place to hide.

Malcolm yelps in surprise, then sets his shoulders resolutely. “Now, Adrik, I don’t think that is necessary. We can have a conversation without things getting violent.”

“Can we?” I snarl. “Because I tried that. And yet Emery and I walked outside to find police turning my vehicles upside down. It was a surprising number of officers for a simple car robbery."

“This is news to me, Adrik.”

I’m getting irritated with how often he says my name. A cheap politician’s trick, designed to make me like him. We like people who say our names—Human Psychology 101.

But I’ve heard my name on Emery’s lips plenty, and that’s the only drug I’ll ever need.

“You must be stupid if you’re willing to risk crossing me,” I remark. “That’s not a risk most people take on lightly.”

He holds up his hands. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I really didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened today. I’m sorry for it, certainly, but I—”

Before he can even finish, I swipe a liquor bottle by the neck from the top of the bar, shatter it against the wall, and then press the shard against his throat.

“I’d think very hard about whether you want to lie to me right now, Malcolm,” I breathe, speaking the words evenly and clearly. I don’t want there to be any chance for him to misunderstand.

Vodka streams past his Adam’s apple. His exhale comes out in hot clouds and his body trembles. “Adrik, don’t—”

“You and I really aren’t on a first name basis.”

“Mr. Tasarov,” he stammers. “Please, don’t!”

“Then tell me the truth. It’s as simple as that.”

“But I don’t—”

I press the bottle harder into his neck until a single drop of bright red blood slides down its length.

“Don’t lie,” I remind him. “That’s the one sin I will not forgive.”

He whimpers. “I’m… I’m sorry. I—yes, I sent the police to search your car. I just… I was jealous. It was stupid, and it won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again? Be very fucking clear.”

“I won’t interfere in your marriage,” he says. “Emery Montague is yours. You can have her.”

I tighten my hold on the broken bottle. “I don’t need your permission.”

“Obviously not,” he hurries to say. “Of course not. She chose you. Rightly so. I’m nobody. She should be with you.”

I step back for a second. Malcolm noticeably relaxes. His body sinks down into his bones and he exhales.

But before he can get the breath all the way out, I slash the bottle across his chest.

It’s a light scratch, just enough to slice his shirt and draw a little blood. But the man screams like I’ve gutted him and collapses.

“You got off with a warning,” I say as he writhes on the ground at my feet. “But the next time you fall under the delusion that you have some place in Emery’s life or that you can go up against me without consequences… I’ll shove this bottle through your fucking eyeball. Do you understand?”

Malcolm squeezes his eyes closed and swallows audibly. “Yes, I understand. I won’t… I’ll stay away.”

I toss the bottle over my shoulder. It clatters into something that sounded expensive behind me, but I don’t turn to see what it was. “Excellent. Then why don’t you be a good host and show me to the door?”

He stares at me balefully for a long moment before grunting and rising to his feet. He shuffles into the foyer, trailing blood and glass and vodka.

As I follow him down the hallway, I notice a small table behind the door that I didn’t see before.

And I see the flower sitting in the shallow pot.

Immediately, I’m transported back in time.

I’m standing in a humid glass greenhouse. Sofia is at my side.

“Daddy loves rare flowers,” she’s saying. “This one over here—the purple one—it’s my favorite.”

“An orchid?”

“A rare orchid,” she corrects. “It’s a ghost orchid. You can’t find these anywhere else in the world. Only in Daddy’s garden. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“What’s that?” I ask, gesturing to the pot.

Malcolm flinches when I move, but does his best to stay calm. “Sorry. What?”

“The flower.” I point to it. “It’s… interesting.”

“Oh, that. It’s a… from a friend. A gift.”

I arch a brow, but say nothing.

Because I don’t need to ask any more questions. I don’t need to torture the answer out of Malcolm.

I’ve seen this flower before.

Which means one thing: my enemies are working together.