King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

He sighs. “You draw them out.”

“And that’s what we’re doing tonight?”

“Not yet,” he says. “But we will. Tonight, we find out who’s flying that plane.”

I turn to him and lay my head on his chest for a moment, then go up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’ll do it,” I tell him. “You’ll find out where they are, and you’ll activate the men around you. I know it.”

He smiles sadly at me. “Do you, Taara? Tell me how you know it.”

“Because you’re the king,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “I’m no king.”

But two can play at this game. “You sure as hell are,” I say. “I’ve watched how the pakhans of literally every other Bratva group in America pay you homage.”

“Have you?” He runs his hand up and down my back.

“I have. Tomas calls you for advice about everything he does. I mean, you even officiated at his wedding. I don’t know every detail, of course, but I’ve seen how they treat you with respect. And when we get to Moscow, I bet it will be the same.”

He smiles. “We will see about that.” But I can tell by the way his eyes dance at me that he’s pleased.

As we close in on the time when we need to leave the safety of this room, my heartbeat begins to quicken. I’m not sure what will happen next, but something tells me it’s going to change the course of everything.

“Listen to me, Taara,” Stefan says after we’re ready to go. He’s got the location we’re going to mapped out on his phone and plans in place.

“Yes?”

But he doesn’t speak at first. He draws me to his chest and crushes my face against the black t-shirt he wears, then kisses the top of my head so fiercely, I draw in a sharp breath.

“What is it, Stefan?”

“This is fucking dangerous,” he says. “That’s what. Fucking dangerous, and I wish you weren’t here with me.”

I push myself away from him and plant my hands on his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “Trust me to help you with this.”

He sighs. “Promise you’ll do every goddamn thing I say,” he demands in a tight voice.

“I promise to do every goddamn thing you say,” I repeat.

He narrows his eyes. “Promise if I tell you to be quiet, you’ll be quiet. If I tell you to hide, you hide. And if I tell you to run, you run.”

“I promise,” I tell him, reaching for his hand and giving him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”

His eyes probe mine for long minutes before he finally gives me a curt, reluctant nod.

“Let’s go.”

It’s slightly cool and breezy outside in downtown Boston, but the dogwoods are in full bloom, and everywhere I look, feisty green sprouts are poking out, unhindered by the chill in the air. Spring in Atlanta is much warmer than this, and I shiver when a chilly wind nips at my neck. Stefan wordlessly draws me closer to him, shielding me from the cold.

“There,” I say, pointing to the restaurant that’s right near the wharf and open late. We’ll eat here and observe what we can before we make our way to the Wharf. If we can see anything from here, we may not rouse suspicion. Stefan chooses a table underneath the faded awning and gestures for me to sit. He’d probably prefer we sat inside tonight, but we’ll get better visibility here.

I order fish and chips and a lemonade, and he orders a fish plate. We eat in silence, both of us observing everything we can. And at first, I don’t see anything at all. Where we sit, the waterfront spans out below us, dotted with couples and teens and parents with their babies. Someone plays a guitar and someone else sells large bouquets of flowers. Many ships are docked, quiet, lazy water lapping at their sides as the tide goes in and out. Few move at all.

But as I take a pull from my glass, something catches my eye. I sit up straighter, pausing with my mouth still to my glass. Stefan notes my sudden stillness and his eyes follow mine. Three large black SUV’s have pulled up to one of the largest boats in the harbor, and several tall, tattooed men step out.

I move on, pretending I don’t see anything at all. Ice hits my lips, and I swallow hard, when I recognize the man Stefan greeted the night before. The man he calls Mikahl. He’s with another man, and he’s gesturing angrily toward a boat, clearly upset.

“All done, baby?” Stefan asks. I nod, and he places several bills on the table to cover our bill. “Let’s go.” To anyone else, it would look like a casual date night coming to an end, but I know it’s my signal that it’s time to move on the real purpose of our evening.