“We lost five, though we have a sixth that doc sent to the hospital. Carl Breenan’s boy. We don’t know if he’ll make it.” Peter gently pulled at the bandage on his ear. “We didn’t leave any Russians alive. Just the few that managed to get away on the second boat.”
Dmitri had shown up and sent more men into the fray but stayed on his speedboat, simply watching the carnage go down. Pussy.
“The weed?”
“Already in our warehouse, getting divided up for delivery to the dealers.” Peter gave up at the bandage. “We should be well stocked for a little while, but it looks like we’ll need to make some new transport arrangements for next time.”
“It won’t matter. The fucking rat will blow that plan up, too.” Nate smoothed his palm up and down my back.
“We’ll find him.” Peter’s face grew grim. “I’ve put out feelers with the few Russian contacts I have.”
“And the Irish already know about our troubles. Not that they’ll lift a finger to help us.” Irritation edged Nate’s voice. “We’ll never seal an alliance with them until the rat is gone and Dmitri is decomposing.”
“You want me to handle notifying the families from today?” Peter asked.
“I’ll handle it. Just get me the numbers.” Nate didn’t stop running his hand up and down my back. If I were a cat, I would have purred.
“Will was Cindy Gardia’s last son.” David spoke up.
“Shit.” Nate’s caress stopped.
My heart sank, and I glanced to my hands. They were clean. But I could still feel the way Will’s blood had poured out, the way his life ended far too soon just a short while before. I leaned into Nate, soaking up his strength.
“I’ll go to her house to deliver the news. She deserves at least that much.” Nate paused for a few moments, thinking. “And set up the usual fund for her, for all the wives and mothers, but make it double our standard pay.”
“Double?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up.
“They earned it.” Nate’s tone was certain, final. “Make it happen.”
Peter pulled out his phone, taking notes. “Sounds good. I’ll get that all sorted out.”
“When’s our next shipment. Two weeks?”
“Yeah, supposed to be coming in on the river again.” David eyed me.
Nate noticed. “She’s already neck deep in this mess with Dmitri. There’s no point shutting her out. Not now. It’s too late.”
David didn’t seem convinced. “Maybe, but she doesn’t need to know our operations.”
“I’m sitting right here.” I met David’s eyes. “I’m not a rat. And I will do everything necessary to make sure Dmitri goes down. My life depends on it.”
He frowned, but didn’t reiterate his objection.
Nate pulled me back to his chest. “Tell everyone the shipment will go on as planned at the river. But I want you to set up the real delivery at the private airfield south of the city, the one near that old farm.”
“Yeah, I know the one you mean.” David rubbed his chin. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Keep the airport location amongst yourselves. Let the rat tell them we’re going the river route again. Throw them off the scent.”
The authority in Nate’s voice seemed like such a change from a few years ago when wisecracks were his main weapons. I shifted in his lap, wanting to get even closer. Was it wrong that his power was a turn-on?
“Airport. Got it.” Peter nodded.
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?” Peter was still tapping away on his phone.
“Send your mom on up to my room tonight. I’m feeling all antsy.”
Peter’s fingers stopped, and he glowered at Nate. “You’re a prick, you know that?”
I hid my smile in Nate’s chest. He may have changed, but the wisecracking smartass still lived beneath his surface.
“I’m aware.” Nate resumed stroking my back.
Peter and David stood and shuffled to the door.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” David shot me a look. “Training, bright and early.”
I gawked at him. “It’s already two in the morning.”
“Better get to bed then.” He shut the door behind them.
Nate dropped his head back and let out a long breath. “David’s right. You need to sleep and to train.”
“You need to sleep, too.”
He huffed out a low laugh. “You offering to sleep with me?”
Yes, please. “Well, you did spank me and all. I figure it’s only fair.”
He groaned. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be.” My ass was sore, but butterflies swirled and dove in my stomach as I thought about how it felt to be draped over his knees, his hand between my legs.
“I mean, it’s more of a sorry, not sorry.” His hand slid down my back and skirted along the waistline of my jeans.
“I figured.”
He cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “But it can’t happen again. This”—he scooted me out of his lap so I stood facing him—“can’t happen again.”
Ice pricked my heart as I stared into his eyes. “Why?”
“You’re eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. College and a real chance outside of this fucking mess.” His tone gentled and he took my hands in his. “I know you have this idea of me as some sort of savior, good guy type. I’m not. I kill people. I take. I’m not what you think.”