Torrid (Sordid 2)

Goran Markovic was smart, and because the FBI was always up our ass, he liked to keep his distance from the more lucrative business he ran. He sat in one of the chairs opposite my desk, and Filip took the other.

“How are things?” My uncle’s tone was generic, and he looked at the screen of his phone as he asked it.

“I finally sold that Bentley,” I said. It’d been in inventory for months.

“To that guy who test drove it six fucking times?”

“No, some older guy who lives in Iowa. Him and the wife drove in to get it.” I watched Eric at the back of my office as he swept the portable reader over the picture frames on the wall. “That local guy was an asshole when he came in and discovered it was gone. He said I should have called him to tell him I was about to sell it.”

Goran raised his eyebrow up into a sharp point. “What does he think we do here?”

I nodded in agreement. The son of a bitch thought he had, like, dibs on the car just because he’d test driven it a bunch of times. It was fucking ridiculous. “He only liked the idea of buying it. He was never going to commit.”

Eric finished his sweep of the wall and moved on to the vents. It was pointless because I could see the dust still in the slats, meaning it hadn’t been touched, but maybe the FBI had stepped up their game. Security was the top priority at Markovic Motors after a listening bug had been discovered in the break room of the main dealership two years ago.

We’d never learned if it was the Russians or the Feds who’d planted it. My suspicion was the government, since my cousin had been busted right before that.

Eric climbed down from the chair and turned the scanner off. “You’re good,” he said.

“Thank you.” Goran dismissed him.

The satisfied look evaporated from my uncle’s face as soon as the door shut. “The meet and greet was a setup in the texts we’ve been following.”

So, that confirmed it. The Russians had planned an ambush. “You sure?”

Filip nodded. “They haven’t used those cellphone numbers since.”

“Jesus.” Last night could have been a huge mess. I glared at my uncle. “What the fuck would have happened if we’d showed up ten minutes later?”

He stared at me the same he would an insect he’d squashed with his shoe. “Lucky for us, your father taught you some sense, and you and Filip were smart enough to see what was at play.”

I stared at him critically, and he returned the look. Neither of us liked the other, but you couldn’t pick your family, and we were stuck with each other. For now. My uncle smoothed a hand down his tie, and he looked around the office like he owned every inch. It was fine, I told myself. Let him think he owned me, in addition to this dealership. He’d never see my knife when it finally came for him.

Would I look like my uncle when I got older? Goran was fifty-six, but he’d aged well and stayed in good shape. He got plenty of cardio in, judging by the steady stream of whores in rotation. Pancreatic cancer had taken my aunt from him ten years ago, and he’d never remarried. Her death had given my uncle some gray hair and lines around his eyes, but if anything, it made him more intimidating, because it was proof the monster was real.

His eyes were as black as the barrel of my Glock, and men withered under his glare the same as my gun.

My uncle was right. I was smart enough to see what was coming. Did he?

“Without any new shipments to take from,” he said, “it’s going to squeeze that side of the business for the next few months.”

It was out before I thought better of it. “Fine with me. I hate running the girls.”

The Markovic hereditary trait was our pointed eyebrow. It arrowed up whenever someone pissed us off. My uncle’s rose now. “Do you, Vasilije? And here I was, thinking you liked making money.” He leaned forward and his dark eyes drilled into me. “You hate them so much, then why’d you bring one home?”

I faked indifference. “It was nothing. I promised a girl to Alek.”

Shit. There was a flicker in his eyes. Gotcha, it said. Fuck, I’d stepped into a trap. My uncle was like fucking God sometimes. All seeing, all powerful. There was a possessive tug in my chest over Oksana. I didn’t want her on his radar.

“What’d he do with her, then?” he demanded. “Mira said Aleksandar came by her place last night.” His expression was hard as stone. “I don’t like loose ends.”

“No loose ends. I have the girl.” I held up my phone. “Don’t worry. If she so much as fucking sneezes, I’ll hear about it.”