Under the Skin (13 page)

Intentions be damned, he pulled Patrick down beside him and claimed his lips. When they opened beneath his without hesitation, Alexei rolled over and put his weight on his good arm to lean over Patrick, the smooth skin of the younger man’s chest pressing against him as he deepened the kiss.

Patrick didn’t hesitate, his arms going around Alexei’s neck with such eager surrender that Alexei wasn’t able to resist taking more. Then Patrick’s legs opened with the same willingness as his lips, only firing Alexei’s blood further. It took no more than a few rocking thrusts before Patrick broke their kiss to beg Alexei to make love to him.

The words almost made him fumble as he reached to his bedside drawer for a condom and lube. Alexei didn’t let himself think in those terms, though he’d known that what they did was more than “just a fuck” even before he’d flung the hurtful words at Patrick on the boat. Patrick had said them once before, on the boat before Alexei explained the stars on his shoulders, but after that revelation and all that had transpired, Alexei had not expected to ever hear them again. Hearing Patrick’s pleading voice repeat them stirred him in ways he could not afford to admit.

He let his hands talk for him instead, preparing Patrick with more patience than he’d ever been able to manage before, until his lover’s own patience wore thin and he grabbed Alexei’s hips and maneuvered him where they both needed him to be. His hands bracketing Patrick’s shoulders, Alexei sheathed himself slowly, his eyes never leaving Patrick’s face while he pushed in and out, every thrust speaking the words he couldn’t voice.

There wasn’t anything to say after that. Patrick rose and dressed, shrugging into his gun harness with the same casualness he pulled on his underwear, not bothering with a shower, and kissed Alexei so tenderly he thought perhaps Patrick had understood him after all. And then he left, promising to call soon and reminding Alexei he could call sometimes too.

Not likely
, Alexei thought, rubbing at the sweat that had run under the bandage during their exertions that morning. Without Patrick’s presence, it was easier to remember all the reasons that letting the detective back into his life was a colossally bad idea. He might have been able to avoid the bullet in his shoulder if he’d paid more attention to what Konstantin was doing and less regretting his last meeting with Patrick.

Old man Volkov, like the rest of the
vory
in Chicago, stayed out of drug trafficking, but Konstantin had met some Chechens in one of the bars on Milwaukee Avenue, and after a night of hard drinking, they’d offered to sell him some heroin. Konstantin wasn’t a user himself, but he knew the street value of the Chechens’ product. Fyodor kept Konstantin on a tight leash, and the lure of money that didn’t come from his father’s pocket was more than Konstantin could resist. Maybe he’d wanted to prove—to his father or to himself—that he could carry off his own deals too. Alexei had tried to dissuade him, but Konstantin had lashed out, reminding Alexei who gave the orders and who followed them.

At least he hadn’t ordered Alexei to peddle the drugs, insisting he would handle the sales himself. Alexei hadn’t inquired too closely into his methods, a mistake he had cause to regret when word of Konstantin’s venture reached the Colombian distributors who owned the drug rights on the North Side.

Within a week of Konstantin’s first buy, two men jumped them as he and Konstantin left a club off Division Street. Alexei pulled Konstantin behind the cover of a parked car and got off a quick shot that downed one of the two men. The second fired a shot that shattered the car’s window, sending flying glass cutting into Alexei’s temple. Hissing at Konstantin to keep down, he brushed the blood from his eye and was trying to target the second man when a bullet tore into his left shoulder. Dropping to the ground and hoping the shooter would think he’d killed him, he crawled around the back of the car, fighting not to pass out until the man approached close enough for Alexei to put a bullet into his heart.

Someone called an ambulance, he had no idea who, but when the EMTs and the cops arrived, Konstantin was nowhere to be found. It was probably better that way, or he’d have ended up in prison for sure. When Alexei came out of surgery, Walther was sitting in his room. That memory brought him no pleasure, but the formalities had been taken care of, freeing him from his worries with the Chicago police.

Konstantin came to see him in the hospital, so full of boasting about their having “taught the fucking beaners not to fuck with them” that anyone would have thought he’d shot the two Colombians himself. To shut him up, Alexei asked, “How did your father take word of the attack?”

“Bah, he makes threats, like he always makes threats. ‘Why they shoot first? Why they looking for us?’ I tell him nothing,” Konstantin blustered. “I tell him you watched out for me. He says to bring you to him when you feel better.”

Konstantin leaned forward, his eyes glittering, reaching out for Alexei’s shoulder. Closing his eyes against the memory of a very different pair of eyes glaring at him as he walked away from the docks, Alexei wondered if these were the only arms he would feel around him again. The thought made him shudder, but if this was the only tool he had to influence Konstantin, he’d be a fool not to use it. Forcing himself not to pull away, he relaxed into the clasp of Konstantin’s embrace.

The memory, after the night he’d just spent with Patrick, made Alexei feel unclean, but
sam navaril, sam i kushay
—
he’d cooked his meal, and now he had to eat it.

He wondered a bit at Fyodor wanting to see him. In the old man’s eyes, he’d probably failed by not anticipating the shooters before they’d attacked, since Konstantin had no doubt taken credit for dispatching them. Alexei suspected the reason Fyodor had agreed to his son’s request to sponsor him into the
vory
was so that Konstantin would see him as an equal, to make it more likely he’d be able to temper the younger man’s wilder behavior. He’d certainly failed at that so far.

Could Fyodor have found out about his son’s drug dealing? It was possible—he undoubtedly had enough experience seeing through Konstantin’s dissembling. Or could Konstantin have said something that raised Fyodor’s suspicions about the relationship between his son and his bodyguard? There was no doubt the old
vor
would rather learn his son was a dealer than that he was
golubói
—gay.

A knock at the door startled Alexei from his musings. Refusing to let himself hope Patrick had come back for one reason or another, he went to the door, checking through the Judas hole and opening it when he saw Konstantin on the other side. The
vor
had never come to Alexei’s apartment before, though it was naïve to think he hadn’t known where it was. “Konstantin.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Konstantin barged into the apartment, heedless of Alexei’s privacy. “The old man wants you back at work tonight.”

“Has something happened?” Konstantin’s eyes were roaming over Alexei’s bare chest with a hungry expression that had him reaching for a shirt.

“Another shooting,” Konstantin replied, pacing the room with such frenetic energy that Alexei wondered if the
vor
had taken to using after all. “Fyodor killed another beaner. Is nothing, but he acts like is end of world.”

“They attacked you at home?” Alexei could have used a shower, but if he had to accompany Konstantin back to Fyodor’s, he would at least carry the scent of Patrick’s skin with him. “Are you sure he was Colombian?”

“Who else?” Konstantin said with an insouciant shrug. “Everyone else knows not to fuck with Fyodor. The man, he snoops around the store. Fyodor has market on electronics, how the Americans say, cornered?”

Easing his suit coat over his bandaged shoulder, Alexei slid his gun into his pocket. He hoped he wouldn’t need to use it; he was far from his best, but it would be useless to argue. “
Da
, Konstantin,” he agreed, reaching for his topcoat. “Let’s go clean up mess.”

Chapter 9

P
ATRICK
paced the sidewalk across the street from the empty storefront off Division and Damen where Alexei had set up their meet. He’d tried the door when he first arrived, but Alexei hadn’t arrived yet. He knew he was making a spectacle of himself, but he had a dead cop on his hands and the
vory v zakone
’s fingerprints all over the hit.

He was pretty sure Alexei hadn’t been involved. He was pretty sure Alexei had been fucking him when the undercover detective was shot, but none of that would matter if Alexei was killed defending the Volkovs in a showdown with police.

A light flipped on in the deserted space, barely visible around the paper that blocked the windows. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Patrick counted to fifty before crossing the street and trying the door again. It opened easily, not even a creak to give away his entrance. Not that he cared, since Alexei knew he was coming. He shut the door behind him, taking care to lock it again so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

That task taken care of, he looked around for his lover, but the storefront showed no sign of being occupied. Frowning, he unbuttoned his sports coat so he would have easier access to his gun if he needed it.

Once he heard the click of the lock, Alexei emerged from the shadows of the back room. Patrick hadn’t given him any details when he’d called beyond telling him he needed to meet him as soon as possible, but the tension in his voice had told Alexei this was not just an excuse for them to sate their physical urges. “Is safe to talk here,” he said, moving to the counter that ran the length of the back wall. “I tell owner Fyodor might want to rent. What is wrong?”

“Stachowicz is dead,” Patrick said, running his hand through his hair. “He was undercover in the Surov organization. His body turned up today.”

“Another policeman?” Alexei’s blood chilled at the knowledge that Patrick could face the same fate if their liaison became known to the
vory
.

“Another detective in Organized Crime,” Patrick confirmed. “I didn’t know him—he was already undercover when I joined the unit, but that doesn’t matter. He was one of ours. No officer in the city will rest until his murderer is found. I know it wasn’t you—he was killed the night I spent in your bed—but I’m afraid you’ll get caught in the crossfire. Have you heard anything I can use to find the person responsible? The only way I know to protect you is to catch the killer as quickly as possible.”

“I know of no police being killed,” Alexei said slowly, though there had been no shortage of bodies in the past several days. “You say he was killed Wednesday night?”

“Yes,” Patrick confirmed, showing Alexei the picture of Stachowicz from the murder board that he’d taken with his phone. “This was him before he was killed. You don’t want to see the shape his body was in when they pulled it from the lake this morning. The ME puts time of death on Wednesday night, but he couldn’t get more specific than that because of the effects of the lake water.”

Alexei showed no emotion as he studied the photo. “I see what I can learn,” he said finally, handing the phone back. “I call you in a day or two.”

“Don’t go yet,” Patrick pleaded, taking a step closer to Alexei. He hated the hesitancy he felt between them. “How are you doing? How is your shoulder?”

“Is fine,” Alexei said, his gaze moving from Patrick to the door.

The lack of answer worried Patrick far more than any declaration on Alexei’s part could have done. “Please, Alexei,” he said softly. “Lyosha. I know we don’t do this, but today has been hell, and it will only get worse until we catch the killer. Please give me a few minutes of peace in your arms.”

“Peace?” A sneer curled Alexei’s lip. “Peace is last thing I offer you.”

“You have no idea what I take away from the time we spend together because you never ask,” Patrick snapped. “Everything and everyone outside this building are trying to tear us apart. I can live with that. I accepted that from the moment we started this… whatever this is. I can live with that because whatever this is, it’s stronger than everything and everyone outside. I wouldn’t keep coming back if it weren’t, and neither would you, so don’t bother lying about it. I can fight all of them, but I can’t fight you.”

“I don’t wish to fight you.” Alexei might war with himself, but the pain in Patrick’s voice was more than he could ignore. He uncrossed his arms, opening them to his lover.

Patrick accepted the invitation eagerly, stepping into Alexei’s embrace and resting his head on his lover’s uninjured shoulder. He stayed there for a moment, inhaling Alexei’s spicy scent, letting himself be held. That wasn’t enough for long, though. He lifted his head, mating his lips to the Russian’s, his tongue demanding entrance.

Alexei’s arms tightened, his lips opening to Patrick’s urgency. The younger man tasted of coffee, and Alexei followed the flavor into Patrick’s mouth, knowing this was a mistake and that he should pull away and get out but unable to force himself to shorten this moment.

Needing more, Patrick pushed against Alexei in search of the desperate passion that obliterated everything else from his thoughts. The counter behind Alexei kept him from pulling away as Patrick rubbed harder against him, the bulge in his pants leaving no doubt of Patrick’s intentions.