The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva 3)

Story seems to sense it because she nuzzles her face into my neck and nibbles my skin.

Maxim folds his arms across his chest and looks from me to Ravil. “Something tells me you know exactly who he worked for.”

Ravil spreads his hands. “I have a guess.”

“Please,” Maxim prompts. “I can’t fix if I don’t know what the fuck we’re dealing with.”

Ravil looks his way. “Have you gotten a good look at Oleg’s tongue?”

Story tightens her hand on my thumb, turns her face into my neck in solidarity.

Maxim shoots me a look and rubs his nose, knowing it’s a touchy subject for me.

Ravil answers his question, which apparently was rhetorical. “I have. And it looked pretty damn clean. Not a rough cut. No visible scar tissue. Almost like it got cauterized. Or was done by laser.”

Laser. That never occurred to me, but it makes sense. I didn’t wake up with a mouthful of blood. A cut would’ve caused me to choke on my own blood. I woke up with a stub. It was swollen and terribly sore, but it didn’t bleed.

Story swallows, pulling back to eyeball me. I pull her in closer.

I’m all right, I want to tell her.

She seems to understand because she nods.

“So how many doctors do we know who worked on the wrong side of the law? Black market surgeries? Maybe identity changes?”

“Blyad',” Maxim curses. “Skal’pel’. You worked for Skal’pel’?”

I don’t answer.

Maxim gets up and walks over. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You can tell me. I don’t give a fuck what you did in the past, either. You’re my brother now.”

I blink at the smarting in my eyes and nod.

“So I’m guessing you can identify at least twenty guys the bratva wants dead.” Maxim says.

I shrug. Maybe. It wasn’t my job to memorize faces or names—not the old ones, nor the new ones. But yeah, maybe.

“And you don’t know where your old boss disappeared to?” Ravil asks.

I shake my head.

“I’m going to find him for you, Oleg,” Maxim promises. “And if you won’t kill him for what he did to you, I will.”

I acknowledge the unease that brings me. I don’t want to kill him. At least, I didn’t before.

Have I been waiting all these years for him to contact me? To take me back?

It seems insane, but I think some part of me was. Like I still belonged to that cruel father figure. I hadn’t forgiven him, but I was waiting.

Story presses the back of her hand to my neck, then her lips to my head. She turns to look at Ravil. “I know this conversation is important, but he needs a doctor. Oleg’s burning up.”

Chapter 9

Story

Ravil stands. “Get Svetlana,” he says to Maxim, who pulls out his phone to text. To me, he explains, “She’s a midwife who lives in the building. She should carry antibiotics.”

I want to hold Oleg. Not because of the fever although I’m worried about that. But because whatever just went down in this office seemed big. Important to him. And I still don’t understand any of it.

I’m part relieved, part frustrated to see that Oleg’s walls aren’t just for me. They’re for everyone around him—including the people he lives with and apparently loves.

Ravil called him fiercely loyal, and I realize that’s what he’s been to me, as well. He decided at some point to become my number one fan, and then nothing would sway him from that job. Now he has to be my protector.

His loyalty to me makes me feel it right back. I may normally be flighty and flakey in relationships—at least the intimate ones—but there was no question when I found him bleeding in my van that I was all-in with him. And no question when we got jumped at Rue’s. Whatever he’s into, I’m sticking beside him.

Once we see it through, I’ll probably bail, but I don’t abandon friends in need.

He’s more than a friend, a voice whispers in my head.

I nuzzle into his neck and kiss his hot skin. “You should go and lie down,” I murmur.

No. He doesn’t move, but I hear the word clearly projected in my head.

I stand and pull on his hand. “Come on. Svetlana will need to look at your wound.”

He catches me around the waist and lifts me back to his lap. With his phone, he texts one-handed and sends a message.

Ravil’s phone beeps. He reads the message and considers me.

“What does it say?” I demand. This literal game of telephone is going to drive me nuts.

“It says, talk to Story.” Ravil says it like an apology. Like he already knows it’s going to piss me off, and it does.

I rotate to glare at Oleg. “I told you not to do that.”

His stare back is blank. I want to slap that impassive wall right down. “Oleg. what the fuck, does talk to Story mean?” I demand.