He stops to take a swig of vodka and I mimic the motion. “But you weren’t scared of him?”
“Hell yeah, I was. How do you think I got this fucking terrible thing on my face?” he jests, pointing at his gnarly scar.
I blink hard and take another drink, smaller this time, as I wait for him to explain.
“I was a stupid, arrogant kid who thought with my dick first, heart second, and brain third. That night, I got her to sneak off with me into an empty room, and I kissed her and told her she was mine forever,” he continues with a faraway look in his eye, like he remembers every single thing about that moment. “She laughed at me, but the next week when I snuck in her room and claimed her properly, she knew she was too. We saw each other secretly for almost a year before her dad caught us together. Of course, it had to happen when I was butt-naked and pinning her against her bedroom wall with my cock, leaving me completely unarmed.”
“Oh, my God!” My hands fly to cover my open mouth. “What did you do? What did she do?”
Raze downs the rest of his drink then gets up to refill it before resuming the story. “The question you should ask is what did he do, because neither she nor I were in the position to do much of anything. You think you had a crazy father-in-law,” he shakes his head as he lowers himself into the seat, “but you have no idea what that word really means.”
“Okay.” I take the bait. “What did he do?”
“He jerked me away from her by my hair, splitting my scalp with the force he used, and put a knife to my throat. Then, in the calmest voice you can imagine, he asked Darya if she loved me and wanted to marry me. She answered yes, but before she could even finish the word, he moved the blade up to my temple and dug into the skin, dragging it down an inch or so. Then he asked her again if she still loved me and wanted to marry me. And again, she said yes, this time as she watched blood trickle down my cheek. So he carved a little bit more and asked a third time. Then a fourth and a fifth.” I’m not even sure he realizes it, but as he relives the story, he traces his fingertip over the red, jagged mark.
“To her credit, she didn’t flinch, cry, or beg even once while he did it. Instead, each time she answered, her voice grew more confident, more assertive, until she was practically screaming ‘Yes!’ Once he was convinced of her sincerity, he stopped and released me then kissed my cheeks—open wound and all—and welcomed me to the family. Six months later, we were married, and for anyone who ever asks me if it was worth it, I tell them all the exact same thing. I’d do it again a hundred out of a hundred times. She was worth every fucking second of it. I was a lucky son-of-a-bitch to be loved by a woman as incredible as Darya Stoliyaski.”
Now it’s my turn to take a gulp of the strong stuff, not sure if there’s even a proper response to a story like that. I’m not sure whether I’m more horrified at what he had to endure or impressed by the intensity of his love for her.
“That’s how he feels about you, ya know?” He tilts his head to the side and reaches out to place his large hand over my small one. The gesture is warm and heartfelt. “Though your boy, Madden, may be reckless and foolish, he does it because he loves you fiercely. He’ll take his chances marching up on Vincent Ricci’s home turf and allowing a crazy-looking fucker like me to blindfold and drive him to the middle of nowhere, knowing damn well he could be tortured or killed. But he’d rather die than be without you.”
“Is that how you feel? Would you rather be dead, now that you’re without her?” The questions tumble off the tip of my tongue before I think about what I’m asking, but instead of seeing grief or sorrow darken his striking blue eyes, I see a spark of something. Hope? An idea of some sort? I’m not sure what exactly, but it’s definitely something that brightens his thoughts and puts him in motion.
After briefly glancing down at the laptop pushed off to the side, he stands up and grabs both of our glasses, taking them to the sink. “It’s late, kotyonok, and you didn’t sleep much last night with your guest here. You need to get some rest. We’ve got busy days ahead of us.”
I don’t mention the fact he completely ignored my last question, seeing as how I basically asked if he had suicidal thoughts, but my ears perk up at his comment about busy days, reminding me of what he’d mentioned yesterday morning before he left to get Madden.
“Oh?” I question, following him into the kitchen. “Is there more news on the talks between Vincent and Anatoli?”
He turns to me with a tight-lipped smile. “Things are going as hoped. It should be soon, which is why it’s important for you to rest well. You take the bed. I’ve got some work to do out here.”
Nodding, I spin around on my heel and shuffle off, but right before I disappear into the bedroom, I twist and look at him over my shoulder. “For the record, Raze, I think she was the lucky one to be loved by a man as incredible as you.”
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE HE took you to see her. I don’t get it. What was his motive?” Jae narrows her suspicious eyes across the booth at me as she picks up the steaming cup of coffee and brings it to her a mouth, taking a long sip. I’ve just finished recapping the past thirty-six hours to her, from the moment she dropped me off at LAX yesterday morning until now, late Saturday night, at a local ma-and-pa-type diner, and honestly, I’m still somewhat in disbelief myself.
Shrugging, I glance out the window to my right, quickly perusing the cars in the parking lot, then look down at my watch, wondering where the hell Easton is. He was supposed to be at my house, pretending to be me until I returned, so my federally-appointed shadow, Lance, would think I’m spending the weekend holed up at home, nursing my injuries. Instead, when we pulled up in my driveway a little over a half hour ago, Easton, my car, and the annoying FBI agent were all gone, and inside there was a two-word note left on the refrigerator. Be back.
That’s all it said, with absolutely no explanation on what in the fuck could be so important that he would need to leave the house and put all of us at risk of getting caught in this scheme we put together. I’m irritated. I’m exhausted. And I’m nervous about going back to my house now in case he comes driving up with Lance in tow, blowing all of our covers. Despite my assistant Caroline’s claims that my brother has suddenly become Mr. Responsible and Dependable at the office in my absence, it’s clear he’s still the same old Easton I’ve always known. A liability and a selfish prick.
“I don’t know,” I finally respond. “I don’t get it either, but Blake seems to trust him, and obviously with good reason. He’s not mistreating her. She’s got plenty of food to eat, a shower to bathe in, and a bed to sleep in. She didn’t have any bruises or contusions—self-inflicted or otherwise—and she seemed to think he brought me there on his own doing, without any of his people knowing about it. But I’m not sure how she’d know that or not, since she had no idea I was coming.”
“Do you think he’s gonna k-kill her, and he was giving her a chance to say goodbye?” She visibly shudders when she says the word kill, and I can tell she’s struggling to keep her composure at the thought of Blake dead.
Sadly, that exact thought has crossed my mind no less than a thousand times since Raze dropped me off under the fast food icon this morning—the exact place he’d picked me up less than twenty-four hours before. As a matter of fact, since I stepped foot off the flight from Reno this evening, it’s been the only thing I can figure that makes sense. But still . . . why do that for someone you’re holding captive?
My shifty gaze scans the restaurant, looking for people overly interested in our conversation. I’m already pretty sure either the FBI, the Italians, or the Russians—and quite possibly a combination of all three—have bugged my place of residence and office, so it’s no longer a safe place to discuss important matters. But I wouldn’t put it past any of them to have someone eavesdropping on me out in public either. Or maybe I’m becoming a paranoid freak.