Bad Boy Soldier (Bad Boy 3)

"All what blows over?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"This problem with Romanovs. Once they are gone, you will be safe."

"Gone where?" I frowned. Was Hunter planning to kill the Romanovs?

He shrugged. "Prison? Back to Russia?" Then he ran a finger across his neck and raised his eyebrows. I knew what that meant…

I shuddered. "I hope Hunter won't kill anyone."

"He is soldier," George said. "He fights for what he loves. Friends, family. Country. He is honorable man."

"You keep saying that, but if he's involved with the mafia, that's not honorable."

"Fight fire with fire." George shrugged once more like he was helpless. "We shall see."

Then he left me alone to wonder what he meant.

Chapter 4

CELIA

I spent the next few hours in the small seating area, watching television and intermittently reading my journal articles for the next day's class. George spent his time in his cubbyhole office. The sun went down and the space was cast into mostly darkness, except for a few lights in each of our two places. George sat and watched his video feeds, and I watched him, wondering when Hunter would show up and what he would make me do to earn my keep.

Scrub his back?

Cook him supper?

Finally, after eight, my stomach started to growl and I got up to look in the refrigerator to see if there was something I could eat. While I was checking out the jar of pickles, Hunter entered the apartment with two bags of takeout food in his hands.

"Dinner is served," he said, holding the bags up high.

George went over to him and took the bags, checking out the receipts. "You got any Russian food?"

"That bag," Hunter said and pointed to one of the two. "Although it may be Ukrainian or Romanian or something." Then, he caught my eye. "I hope you like ribs."

"I'll eat pretty much anything at this point," I said. "The only thing in the refrigerator is some pickles."

Hunter nodded. "We can get groceries tomorrow if you want. I'm sure George would love to cook you some good food from St. Petersburg. What do you say, George?"

"I would love," George said and carried the bags to the kitchen, where he proceeded to prepare the meal for us, taking out plates and cutlery, and organizing the containers of food. He seemed to take on an avuncular role with Hunter, like he was Hunter's batboy. Hunter seemed used to it, and even relished it.

Hunter came over to me and looked me up and down. "How are you?" he asked, his voice soft. He ran his fingers over my bruised cheek. "Do you need anything? Pain killers?"

"Tylenol's good enough," I said, shaking my head.

"How about something to drink?"

"Sure," I said and sighed. "What do you have?"

"I can get you anything. George prefers vodka but I seem to recall that you like tequila."

"Tequila's good," I said. "Do you have salt and limes?"

"That bad?" he asked, smiling softly. "I'm sorry about all this," he said and looked around the apartment. "It's my fault. I knew better, but I have this weakness for you."

"Weakness?" I said, surprised at his choice of words. "Seems to me like you're the one in the position of strength here, seeing as you paid off my debts and I owe you hours and hours of," I said and hesitated, not really wanting to put it into words. I glanced at George, who was humming to himself at the sink. "Payback," I said quietly.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure the weakness is all on my side." Then he lifted a strand of my hair, his gaze moving over my face and lower. Then, to my utter surprise, he bent down and kissed me.