Nikolai, Volume 2 by Roxie Rivera
His face tight with worry, Nikolai studied me for a long, unnerving moment. Finally, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. His lips lingered on my skin, and he caressed my cheek. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He sat there for a few seconds, and I wondered if he was trying to work up the courage to tell me the truth about where he had been today and about Tatiana. My heartbeat ticked up a few notches as I waited and wondered, but in the end, he simply stood up and left the bedroom.
Curled on my side, I tugged the sheet over my head. I tried to stop the hot tears that erupted from the corners of my eyes, but it was impossible. There was no stopping them. Betrayed and heartbroken, I cried quietly in the darkness as one question rattled round and round in my head.
What else wasn't he telling me?
Chapter Twelve
Nikolai didn't come clean with me the next day or the next. We were leaving for London tomorrow evening, and I didn't know how much more of the lies I could take. He wasn't around the house very much because he was so busy trying to get everything situated before we left on our short holiday. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
After the shock had worn off, I wanted to confront him, but he had to be present for that to happen. Some part of me still believed there was an innocent explanation for Tatiana's return to Houston and the lunch date I had stumbled across. It was the silly, naïve part of me that desperately wanted everything to be smoothed over easily. It was the side of me that was going to be slain and broken, left bleeding on the floor and writhing in agony when the ugly, painful truth finally came spilling out of Nikolai's mouth.
"Miss Vivian?" Roman Boychenko popped his head into the sunroom-slash-studio. Not long out of high school, he still had a sweetness about him that the other men who ran with Nikolai had long ago lost.
"Yes?" I swirled one of my brushes in the small pool of mineral spirits in the Mason jar near the sink that had been installed in my home studio. The scent of paint thinner had been too much for me to handle in the earliest days of my pregnancy so I had switched to the less smelly but more expensive spirits for cleanup.
"You have a visitor."
"You can send them back here." I watched the thin streaks of brick red pigment blossom in the jar. "I'm cleaning brushes."
"I don't think he wants to come back here." Boychenko took a step into the room. "I can do that for you. I remember the steps you taught me." As if ticking them off for a test, he said, "First I use newspaper to squeeze the excess paint off the bristles. I swish them in the paint thinner and then I use the newspaper again. Then I use that pink bottle of soap. I squirt it into the palm of my hand and clean the bristles until the foam is white."
Satisfied that Boychenko wouldn't damage himself or the brushes, I nodded and invited him closer with a wave of my hand. "You don't mind?"
"No, ma'am." I had asked him a dozen times not to use ma'am with me, but his manners simply wouldn't allow it. There were less than four years between us, but I was his boss's wife and that meant something to him.
"Okay." I handed him the brush I had been rinsing and a piece of newspaper before untying my smock and hanging it on the closest peg. It occurred to me that I hadn't even asked who was at the door. "Who came to see me?"
"The detective," he said glumly. "Your cousin."
Shit. The thought of Ten and Eric alone together scared me. I practically ran across the house toward the front door where I found the two facing off in the foyer. The way they stood across from each other, glaring viciously with their shoulders squared, reminded me of the fights I had watched at the meatpacking warehouse. It was like watching Sergei facing off with Kelly Connolly all over again.
"Eric!" I said a bit too brightly.
He broke his standoff with Ten to smile at me. "Vivi." Glancing back at my bodyguard, he said, "I'm just waiting for your new gorilla to frisk me for weapons."
"Don't be ridiculous. He's not going to frisk you for a weapon!" Even as I denied that would ever happen in the entryway of my home, I had the distinct feeling Ten had been preparing to do just that.
"It's not his guns that worry me. It's the wires," Ten grumbled in Russian, his voice so low I barely made out the words.
I shot him a pleading look, silently begging him to behave, and turned my attention to Eric. "You should have called me. We could have made plans for dinner."
"I didn't want to give you a chance to blow me off."
I poked his chest. "I wouldn't have done that."
"No, you wouldn't." His gaze slid to Ten as if it to wordlessly say, "But he would."
Opening his arms, Eric beckoned me closer. My cousin, one of Houston's toughest detectives, embraced me warmly and tightly. We hadn't always been close, and we didn't always see eye-to-eye, but we cared about each other. For the longest time, he had been the only blood family connection in my life. Now my father was sort of in the picture again, but it was Eric who had been there for me in the worst and most difficult times.
But he and Nikolai had bad blood between them that went back years and years. Neither had ever told me the source but it wasn't hard to fill in those blanks. Though Nikolai's links to organized crime in Houston had never been proven, Eric wasn't stupid. He knew exactly who yanked the invisible chains attached to every member of the local bratva.
"I've missed you, Eric." My words were muffled by his chest. The hard plank of his cleverly concealed bulletproof vest was probably the only thing that kept him from feeling the swell of my pregnant belly. The loose T-shirt with the Eiffel Tower graphic on the front and the too-big plaid shirt with the arms rolled up to my elbows helped.
"I've missed you, too, kiddo." He pressed a quick kiss to my temple. "I'll try harder to keep in touch."
We both knew that he wouldn't but neither of us said a word. My marriage to Nikolai complicated things so badly. Even coming to the house to see me now put him in such an awkward position professionally.
"We should set up a standing lunch date or something," I suggested, hoping that if we were meeting away from the house it wouldn't be such a big deal.
Before Eric could answer, Ten growled at me in Russian. "That's not happening."
Glancing back at him, I frowned and replied in the same language. "Why not?"
"Are you serious?" Ten looked at me as if I might be going soft in the head. "He's a fucking police officer. You're the wife of a boss. Why don't I just paint a big red target on your back, huh? It will make it easier for the cartel snipers to pick you and your cousin off like Coke cans on a fence."
Cartel snipers? Were the problems in Mexico finally crossing the border? Was Houston safe anymore? "Do you always have to be so negative?"
"It's my job to be negative."
"What's wrong now?" Eric warily eyed Ten.
"Nothing," I lied in English and tried to lead him out of the entryway. "Let's go to the kitchen and have some iced tea or lemonade. It's pink. I made it this morning."
Eric resisted my attempts to tug him along after me. Toe to toe with Ten, he asked, "Do you have a problem with me having lunch with my cousin? Because if you do, you should take it up with me and stop bullying her."
"You think I'm bullying her?" Frustration deepened Ten's voice. "I'm trying to keep her safe."
"I’m a cop. I don't need a con riding shotgun to a lunch date to keep my cousin safe."
"Ex-con," Ten testily countered. "I did my fucking time."
"Not enough if you ask me," Eric snarled. "I saw the crime scene photos. I know what happened that night you knocked off that convenience store. Six years for that? Four years of probation? A fine? It's a goddamned joke."
Fists clenched, Ten took a menacing step forward. "You don't know shit about what happened that night."
"I know plenty about you, Anton." Eric stepped into Ten and daringly invaded the other man's personal space. After six years on the inside, Ten was understandably peculiar when it came to his personal space. Eric's behavior was a blatant provo
The scum remark was too much for Ten. He raised a clenched fist, and I reacted without thinking, throwing myself between the two men. "No!"
Eric shoved me out of the way at the last possible moment, and Ten threw his weight to the side, slamming his hand into the entryway lamp instead. Glass and ceramic shards exploded everywhere. Eric pushed me behind him, knocking me into the wall on accident, and jumped on Ten. I lost my balance and crumpled to the floor.
Scrambling backward like a crab, I managed to narrowly escape being kicked by one of them. I couldn't tell who the foot belonged to as I scurried out of the way. The demi-lune table crashed to the floor, taking the photographs and the vase of flowers with it. Water splashed onto the walls. Glass and metal crunched beneath boots.
In a flash of movement, Boychenko suddenly appeared. He hauled me up off the floor and swung me out of the way. He carefully deposited me in the living room before rushing out to break up the fight. The shouting and cursing intensified but the physical blows had stopped.
Hands shaking and legs wobbly, I emerged from the living room to find Eric leaning against the front door. He had a swollen cheek and busted lip and roughly wiped blood off his chin. Ten was slumped against the wall and dabbed at his nose. A red trickle made its way down his neck and stained the collar of his shirt. Boychenko winced and picked a shard of glass from his palm.
Panting and flexing his already swelling hand, Eric shook his head. "I knew this was a bad idea." He turned toward the front door and yanked it open. "When you get rid of the bulldog, call me, Vivian. We need to talk."
"Wait! Eric! Don't—"
The door slammed behind him, rattling the paintings on the walls.
"Fucking dick cop almost broke my nose," Ten huffed.
Infuriated, I spun around and thumped his chest with a closed fist. "I should finish what he started!"
Ten gripped my wrist, not hard enough to bruise or hurt me but with enough force that I didn't dare try to jerk free. "Do. Not. Hit. Me."
"Ten! What the fuck, man?" Boychenko shoved at Ten's shoulder but the larger man didn't even move.
"Let go of me. Now." His fingers straightened, and my wrist dropped from his hold. Gritting my teeth, I pointed a finger toward his bruised, bloodied face. "Don't ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?"
Jaw clenched, Ten nodded.
"Get this cleaned up. Now." Trembling inside, I left the entryway of the house and stormed toward the sunroom. I could hear Ten and Boy arguing behind me, but I didn't stick around to hear what they were saying. I picked up my cell phone from the table where I had left it in the studio and immediately called Eric.
It went straight to voicemail.
"Eric, I'm so sorry. Please call me back. We can meet wherever you would like. I'm just…I'm sorry. So, so sorry."
After hanging up the phone, I tucked it into the pocket of my jeans. They were my loosest pair but I had been forced to leave them unbuttoned that morning. I had resorted to using one of those wide elastic maternity bands that I had ordered off the internet to cover up my questionable fashion choice.
Running my fingers through my hair, I felt suddenly claustrophobic. I needed some fresh air. I needed to get away from Ten and Boychenko, even if it was only a few steps into the garden. I left the sunroom through the French doors on the side and walked toward the pergola.
"Vivian! How are you?" Judge Walker leaned against the low back fence that allowed entrance to the rear of our property.
Forcing a smile, I crossed the yard to talk with him. "I'm good. How are you?"
"I'm all right." A flicker of sadness darkened his face. "I had Roscoe put to sleep yesterday. I'm still trying to adjust to the quiet house."
"I'm so sorry." I thought of the big, slobbering but sweet dog who was such a familiar sight in our neighborhood. Nikolai and Ten had said the dog was poisoned, but neither had offered any suggestions as to the culprit. It worried me to think some psycho was running around our neighborhood throwing poisoned food over fences. "That must be so difficult for you."
The judge nodded sadly. "It will get better, but for now, the grief is very real." He patted my hand where it rested on the wrought iron scrollwork adorning the gate. "Do you have plans?"
"When?"
"Now."
"Oh. Um…no." I couldn't quite face going back inside the house yet. "Why?"
"Let's have dinner. I know a great little barbecue joint. It's quiet and a good place to relax." He must have known I was wavering on the inside because he added, "It's a favorite hangout for law enforcement and fire and EMS."
In other words, it was safe. The thought of escaping, even for something as simple as smoked brisket smothered in a sweet, spicy sauce and creamy potato salad, was too tempting. Ten would blow a gasket, and Nikolai was definitely going to be annoyed when I finally came back, but I just didn't care. I really didn't. Not anymore.
This week had been absolute hell—the forgotten prenatal appointment, springing Ten on me, finding Nikolai with Tatiana at the hotel and having him lie to me about it to my face, watching Ten and Eric beat the shit out of each other in my entryway—and I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to run away, even if only for a couple of hours.
"Barbecue sounds like a delicious way to end the day." I unlatched the gate and stepped out of the backyard. "Let's go."
The judge gestured toward his property. "After you…"
Within five minutes, we had left the neighborhood and were on our way. My cell phone started to ring, but I silenced it without even looking at the screen, switched to vibrate and stuffed it back into my pocket.
"Your shadow?"
Did he know that was Ten's nickname or was he just making a joke? "Probably."
"I heard the ruckus earlier. Is everything all right?"
"It was just a disagreement between Eric and Ten that got out of hand."
"Boys will be boys," he sagely replied.
"That may be, but I would rather they not turn my hallway into one of Ivan's sparring cages, you know?"
"I bet." Judge Walker tapped the touchscreen console to switch stations and landed on a classic country one. He turned down the volume. "Do you mind if I swing by and pick up my daughter on our way?"
"Not at all."
"Good." He smiled at me. "Have you ever met Julie?"
"No." I had heard from our neighbors that she was a wild drug addict, but I also knew how our neighbors liked to embellish tales.
"I think you'll like her. I know she'll like you. Julie has always wanted to be an artist."
"Does she paint or draw?"
"She prefers pastels and charcoals," he said. "Her art won awards in high school. I had hoped that she would go to art school, but she met a boy—and—well. You know how that goes."
"Yes," I said quietly. "There are art classes around town that she might enjoy. Hadley's center mainly hosts courses for special needs kids and adults, but they also have some evening classes that are open to anyone. She gets some really great visiting artists. I've enjoyed the workshops I've attended."
"I'll have to pass that along to Julie." He merged onto the loop headed south. "We aren't far from her boyfriend's house. Maybe twenty minutes."
"I'm in no rush." I inhaled a relaxing breath and settled back against the leather seat. We talked about the neighborhood while he drove. It was a nice, quiet conversation that I rather enjoyed.
He turned into an upper middle class neighborhood that had quite a few FOR SALE signs with FORECLOSURE stickers slapped across them. It wasn't an uncommon sight in this type of neighborhood. A few years ago, people had purchased way more house than they could afford on shaky mortgages and this was the result.
He pulled into the curved driveway of the large house at the center of the cul-de-sac. It had a Spanish feel about it with white stucco walls and red clay roof tiles. I took a long look and guessed it was in the four or
The houses on either side of it were empty. The yards were slightly overgrown and the flowerbeds had been scorched by the summer sun. The houses next to those were for sale. No wonder the neighborhood was so quiet.
"Would you like to come in? Julie tends to take forever to get ready. If you're with me, she'll be quick about it."
"Sure." I unlatched my seatbelt and stepped out of his car. Trailing him to the front door, I glanced at my surroundings. I stood beside the judge as he knocked and waited for someone to answer. The door opened suddenly and noisily as if someone had jerked on it.
An Asian man close to my age appeared in the doorway. He wore skinny jeans and a tight red shirt that bared a stripe of tanned skin. Vividly colored tattoos swirled along his arms. He ran skinny fingers through dirty, disheveled hair. I noticed his blown pupils and took a nervous step back. This guy was high as a kite.
"The store's closed, Grandpa. Go find of our slingers."
Slingers? Was this a stash house? Or a dope dealer's house? I glanced at the judge and wondered if he had any idea what sort of place this was. Surely not. He wouldn't have brought me here if he'd known.
Before the other guy could slam the door in our face, Judge Walker gripped it with one hand and stunned me speechless by whipping out the pistol he had concealed in holster hidden beneath the back of his shirt. He expertly flicked off the safety and pointed it right in Mr. Skinny Jeans' face. "Let go of the door and back up. Now."
Eyes wide, I glanced from the man who was clearly a dealer and the judge. "What are you doing?"
Judge Walker kicked the door open, forcing the man to stumble backward into the house, and grabbed my arm. "Come with me."
"What?" I tried to jerk away from him, but the sight of his gun and the determined, grim look on his face stopped me. "What are you doing, Judge?"
"I'm getting my daughter back," he stated and shoved me into the house. "They won't let me see her, but they can't stop me if I have you with me."