The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) (40 page)

She nodded around her trepidation. She hadn’t been out of the house since they’d brought her home from the hospital twelve days ago. “Sure.”

“You uncomfortable around dancers that may or may not be fully clothed? Very classy, but still.”

“Uh, are you forgetting who my brother is, Gabriel? Take a stroll through the clubhouse and it’s rare
not
to see some girl in a tank and panties—if they’re even wearing that much—getting her man a drink or sustenance from the kitchen.”

“I don’t know how Caleb lives like that,” Eva muttered. “Is Maksim back?” she asked Gabriel, a hopeful note in her voice.

He shook his head. “Not yet. But he’ll show.” He lifted the object Nika had purchased with Eva—and Quan and Jak—during their trip to Westbury Plaza this morning. Who knew Quan and Jak would be such amusing company? The two had certainly drawn their fair share of female attention. “Here?”

“That’s perfect. So, um, will Vincente be at Rapture tonight?”

Eva’s husband turned to her with a pointed look. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Nerves exploded in her stomach, along with an anticipation that was downright knee-weakening.

With a rolling jaw and not much in the way of hope, Vincente once again parked the Kombat in the alley behind Rapture. He once again banged on the back door. And was once again greeted by the sight of Micha.

“Get the fuck in here,” the Russian grumbled, stepping aside.

Looked like his tenacity had paid off. He plowed through the door on a crash course for Maks’s office, and came to an abrupt halt when he saw his intended target. Maksim was indeed there, standing behind his monstrous ebony desk, his odd choice in art showcased behind him. Well, he was swaying more than standing, as though he were on the deck of a ship during one hell of a storm.

“Ah, there’s my man,” the massive Russian slurred. Or that’s what Vincente thought he said. It was barely understandable. Because the guy was totally faced.

Vincente just stared. Maksim didn’t drink more than one finger at a time. Ever.
Never ever.
He hated not being in complete control of himself at all times. “Hey.” He came fully into the room, guarded.

Micha closed the door, locking them all inside.

Vincente continued to move slowly, wanting to appear relaxed as he inconspicuously took out his cell. He sent a quick text to let the boys know what was going down. “How you doing, my brother?” he inquired as he put his phone away.

A long finger came up to wave, all over the fucking place. “No, no. Don’ ds’rve that title no mor’.” Maks’s words were a confusing mix of Russian and English. But Vincente got it.

And snorted. This man would always deserve that title. He’d saved Vincente’s ass on more than one occasion, and now he’d saved Nika’s. With that one bullet, despite it going through Nika first, Maks had stolen Nollan’s opportunity to pull the trigger on the gun he’d had pressed to her temple, which certainly would have killed her.

“Yes, you do. You’re my brother, whether you like it or not.” He came up to the desk and put his hands on the surface, leaning over to look the wasted guy right in the rolling eyes. “Nothing will ever change that.”

Maks copied his move, which placed them nose to nose. And, holy hell, the guy smelled like a distillery. “Don’ you fuckn’ dare try absolve me of my spons’bil’ty in this. I know what I did. Even ’f she survived.”

“I’m not trying to absolve shit. You saved my wom—You saved Nika’s life. That’s on you no matter what you say.”

“F’ck you. F’ck you, you son’fabitch.” Maks’s voice cracked at the end, and Vincente couldn’t help but feel bad for what he was about to do. But he pushed anyway.

“You think you owe me for what happened? Fine. You can repay me by accepting my thanks for stepping in when I failed to do what needed doing. Both you and Lore can accept my gratitude. There. We’re even. Feel better?”

Vincente’s head snapped to the side in the next second, a metallic taste coating his tongue, from the right hook he’d just been dealt. The good two-eighty behind that fist stumbled and listed to the side, then slid down the wall to land hard on his stubborn ass.

“Yur’ a f’cking liar! You hate me and won’ me dead fer hurting her. I
know
y’ do. I know ’cause I’d wan’ you dead if you did that t’ . . . t’ . . . someone like . . . ’stralia. Ya. ’stralia. Not that I feel fer her wha’ you o’viously feel fer Nika,” Maks went on almost unintelligibly. “Bu’ she’s close as I got ri’gh now. Coulda’ used Teg’n, I guess, but I don’ wanna fuck hur.”

Vincente rubbed at his protesting jaw and had to smother a grin at the change in the topic of conversation. Guy and his dick. Only thing on his mind at any given moment. He went down on his haunches beside his friend of so many years, a man who’d been through enough shit to last two lifetimes, and palmed the side of his jaw. He forced Maks’s head up and locked on to those silver eyes.

“I love you, man,” he said simply, never one to allow himself to feel embarrassed about positive feelings. “You’re my brother. You helped save Nika’s life by nailing that fucker. The fact that she got caught in the cross fire was a mistake I know you’ll regret forever. But it doesn’t change the facts.” He tightened his grip. “You get past it and straighten the fuck up, because we need you. You got me?”

Maksim’s forehead wrinkled with drunken uncertainty. “You can’ f’rgive me, Vi’cente,” he whispered in Russian, his face ravaged by a guilt Vincente hated with everything in him. “Naw’ when I can’ f’rgive m’yself. I hurt tha’ gurl who’s a’ready been hurt so mush.”

He nodded, accepting that. “But she’s going to be okay.” Grabbing the heavy mother under the armpit, Vincente hauled him to his feet. Fuck, the guy could stand to lose a few. Micha beat feet over and propped himself under the other arm, and they both led Maks through a door on the far side of the room and over to the massive bed against the far wall. They lowered him down onto the silky black comforter. Micha looked questioningly at Vincente.

“We’ll take shifts.”

The Russian shook his head. “No need. I have nowhere else to be.”

“Me either, so it looks like we’re gonna keep each other company while we babysit the boozehound.”

“Good deal. I’ll grab the cards.”

He didn’t watch Micha leave but turned back to Maks, who was staring at him with an expression so tortured it made his eyelids feel prickly. “You’re turning me into a chick here—you know that, right?” he muttered, irritated.

“Y’r f’giveness is a h’mbling gift. But I’m too close t’ the bottom of the bottle t’ tr’ly ’preciate it righ’ now. V’sily’s mad at me fer go’n MIA. Said I scared ’em. Gabri’l’s pissed, too. Alek isn’t, ’cause he gets me.” Silver disappeared as his lids finally slid down. “Wurd of w’rning—I plan ta play lackey t’ yur woman fer least a decade, so yur gonna have t’ tighten up an’ lemme.”

Vincente chuckled weakly, chest aching because he’d never get to witness that.

Caleb traveled the back hallway of Rapture and didn’t hesitate to enter Kirov’s private domain when he came to the closed door Moretti had sent him to.
Sweet digs
, he thought, impressed, eyes bugging a little at the painting across the way. The office was huge, lots of computers, leather furniture, and one big-ass desk. Too dark, though. A lot of black.

Forgetting the real estate, he focused on the man sitting with his back to him in front of a bank of monitors that showed off the fancy club and anything going on within a five-block radius, or so it looked like.

“You mind if I talk to him alone?” Caleb asked Micha, Kirov’s guard dog who was sitting behind the desk. There was a half-played game of solitaire in front of him made up of an actual deck of cards, but the guy wasn’t playing it. Nope. He was leaning back, booted feet up, twirling a butterfly knife with enough precision that the sight had Caleb’s balls tucking up close.

Save us
, they cried quietly.

Micha gave him a searching look and then inclined his head as only a guy like him could without looking like a jackoff. “Tread light, my man,” the Russian murmured as he walked by, leaving Caleb alone with his and his sister’s savior.

Yet V was the one acting like a fucking pansy.

This had been Caleb’s fucking mess, not Vincente’s. If not for him, his sister never would have been dragged into this nightmare with Nollan in the first place. She was innocent of it all.
He
was the one responsible. Nollan had made sure to spell that out after Caleb had come to in that building. One minute he’d been leaving a club with a chick that had come on too strong for him to ignore; the next he’d been tied to a chair getting the shit beat out of him.

But enough of this shit. Caleb got right to it, too impatient to fuck around now that he had the idiot in front of him. “Why’d you shut her down?”

Vincente spun the chair he was lounging in to bring his eyes around without lifting his head.
Fuuuck.
Caleb was pretty sure his balls were now sharing horror stories with his tonsils. The Reaper
was
his nickname just then.

“You okay?” Vincente tipped his goateed chin, indicating the healing slice on Caleb’s forehead that Tegan had fixed up with tissue adhesive instead of stitches. Less scarring, she’d offered as if he might be concerned about one more mark added to the many he already had.

“Dandy. Why’d you shut her down?” he repeated.

“Not your business, brother.”

“Fuck that, V,” he snapped as he wheeled away and began walking in a tight circle. “Is it because you’re not feeling her? Maybe what happened to her turns you off. You think she’s damaged—”

Caleb was slammed into the wall so hard his back teeth rattled.
Point proven
, he thought to himself smugly despite the sickness now in his heart. He knew V had it bad for his sister. Guy was in love with her. Anyone with two eyes in his head could see it. And Caleb’s were working just fine. Only thing he didn’t know was why the guy was no longer acting on it. Guilt, probably. The same shit that was swimming like electric eels through his own veins, zapping him into remembering every time he tried to forget the horror of the past month.

“That woman is so far above us even the angels have to look down to see—” Vincente’s lips pressed together, cutting off his defense. “Fuck off, Paynne. I’m not in the mood for these games.” With a rough shove, he moved back over to the monitors. Perfect timing. Right where Caleb wanted him to be.

He tried to feel some satisfaction when he saw Vincente’s skin pale as his gaze zeroed in on the table Nika now sat at, arm in a sling, her bright head bent as she stared into an untouched drink. “Why the . . . ? Why is she here?” The pain radiating from his voice was strong enough to make Caleb feel even more like shit.

He peeled his back off the wall and shrugged even though he couldn’t be seen. “She needed a night out. She deserves better than roaming the rooms of your place all by herself.”

“So you bring her to a gentlemen’s nightclub, you degenerate? And she hasn’t been by herself. Eva’s always with her.”

As if to prove him right, Eva entered the frame, Moretti cloaking her as if
she
were the fucking boss of the family. Good man. And as if they’d have brought Nika anywhere that wasn’t as well protected as Kirov’s club for this little experiment.

He watched Vincente’s shoulders stiffen as Nika got to her feet to receive a hug from her friend, which angled her face up toward the camera embedded in the ceiling. With a reverence that was downright heart-wrenching, Vincente’s big hand came up, and with the softest touch, his finger swiped over Nika’s face on the screen.

When Vincente spoke, his voice was tortured. “She deserves a man who won’t bring death and violence to her every time he walks through the door. You know what Nollan did to her—kept her locked up. Took away her freedom. How do you think life with me would be any different? You know what I do for a living. The circles I run in. And you know as well as I do every fucknut out there would be threatening her to get to me. I’d have no choice but to keep her in a cage half the time, just to keep her safe. She’d hate it. And one day, she’d hate me for doing it. She deserves someone who’s whole and stable. Not . . . me. If anyone is entitled, she is. To a degree of happiness that I just can’t give her, Caleb.”