War (Romanian Mob Chronicles Book 5) (4 page)

“Yeah. I even forgot about that stuff, and it’s not like I would try anything anyway,” I said, ignoring the fact that only minutes ago I had been thinking just that.

“Because you trust me?” he asked, looking at me, his voice still even, but also incredulous.

“No. It has nothing to do with that. I don’t generally like to pick fights that I’m going to lose. I’m pretty strong, but you’re probably stronger,” I said.

“Probably?” he asked raising his brow.

“Okay. Definitely,” I said as I stepped onto the front porch and unlocked the door. “You’re also incredibly suspicious,” I called over my shoulder.

“Occupational hazard,” he replied.

“I imagine so,” I muttered as I stepped inside.

“Tiff?”

I waited in the doorway, listening as nothing but the sound of silence greeted me.

“I don’t think she’s here,” I said as I stepped farther into the house.

Priest took another step as well, his body again brushing against mine, and I stayed still, not wanting to break the contact.

I was a fucking head case, but after a moment, I managed to gather myself and then continued inside.

He followed and then reached around me to pluck the key from my hand. I stopped and watched him as he closed and locked the door and then slid the chain across it.

“Are you locking someone out or locking me in?” I asked.

“Both. If your roommate comes back, I’d like a little warning,” he said.

“Okay,” I said quietly for lack of anything else to say.

He looked at me again. “Give me a tour,” he said.

“Tour?” I asked, looking at him quizzically. He stared back and then the realization of what he wanted hit me.

“I told you no one is here,” I said, annoyance making me stand up straighter.

“Humor me,” he said.

I turned away from him, not certain if I’d be able to suppress my irritation at the fact that he was insisting on searching the house. It was probably smart on his part, but still, I’d been accommodating—probably too accommodating—and that he hadn’t extended the same courtesy to me chafed. There was nothing for me to do about it, though, so I began walking down the hall.

“Follow me if you want. You get to see Tiffany’s dirty laundry and my unmade bed. How exciting,” I said.

I shouldn’t have added the last, but he said nothing and followed behind me, first into the kitchen and then into the small dining room Tiffany and I mainly used as an office. Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel his gaze and knew he’d taken in every detail.

We left the living room and went to the hallway that led to the bedrooms, the light we kept on there the only illumination in the house.

“First door is mine, and the second is hers,” I said as I stopped and turned to face him.

“After you,” he said, his huge form filling the hallway, his face shadowed in darkness.

I huffed and then pressed my lips together so no other sound could escape and headed down the hall. I stopped at my door, opened it, and then flipped on the bedroom light.

“See?” I said, extending my arm into the room. “Unmade bed.”

He stepped beside me, his chest brushing against my arm as he looked into the room.

“Go open the closet,” he said.

Without speaking, I walked toward the closet and pulled the door open. The closet had an actual door instead of sliding doors, but the space was teeny-tiny, and there was hardly enough room for my clothes, let alone enough space for a person of any size to hide.

“Do you want to look under the bed?” I asked.

“I appreciate the offer, but I can see under from here,” he said.

I smiled despite myself and then went down the hall. “Tiffany’s room,” I said, opening her door and flipping on the light.

As I had promised, her laundry decorated the floor, and in stark contrast to mine, her bed was crisply made. I never understood that, how she could make her bed every morning but not manage to get her clothes into a hamper, but that was just one of the things that made Tiffany Tiffany.

“Open her closet,” Priest said.

“I will,” I said as I walked toward it. I pulled the door open and he looked inside. This was the master bedroom so her closet was bigger, but not by much. Still, Priest entered the room and took a look inside the closet and then opened the bathroom door and did the same.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No garage,” I said.

He nodded, satisfied. “Okay,” he said.

I paused and then looked over at him. “What now?” I asked.

“Now we wait,” he said.

P
riest

S
he looked
at the clock again.

“It’s two seventeen, Milan,” I said. “Approximately one minute has passed since you looked at the clock the last time.”

She froze, seeming startled, and then met my eyes. Something almost like a smile crossed her face. It made her pretty, prettier, as did the way her eyes shimmered in the shadowed darkness of the room. I had turned one small lamp on to its lowest setting, a concession to her, but there was no other light in the room.

“Sorry. I’m a little jumpy,” she said.

“Not how you usually spend your Saturdays?” I said.

“Not exactly,” she replied.

Then she offered a tentative smile, one I found myself returning without thought.

And as hard as I tried, I couldn’t ignore the bloom of warmth in my chest. It seemed simple, a smile, a joke, but my life so seldom—never—offered opportunities for such. But for some reason, with her, it felt natural.

“Do you want to sit?” she asked.

I shook my head.

I had found a corner of the room that gave me a view of the back of the house as well as the front door, and I had stayed there since we’d settled in the living room, ready and waiting.

“Really, you should. I’m in no position to insist, but you should,” she said.

I looked at Milan again, noticed something different about her. She had been holding up well, something I had noted several times before, but I could see she was starting to fray.

Then I realized something else I hadn’t noticed before. From the position where I stood, Milan was under my gaze as well, which probably made her feel conspicuous, exposed.

I hadn’t minded the view at all.

Milan was fascinating, and I could look at her all day, but I feared that if I did, she might lose some of the control she had managed to hold. So it was good, seeing her relax, even if just a little as I sat across from her.

I told myself it was because a panicked woman was much more difficult to deal with than a calm one, and I hoped that was it. But a voice in the back of my head whispered, told the tantalizing tale where I had sat only for the joy of seeing pleasure on her face. The voice also whispered that it wanted to see more.

I was grateful for the darkness. Without it, Milan would have seen the erection that tented my pants, hardness immediate, demanding, and there because of something as ordinary as a smile from her. There was no place for this, and I cursed myself for my weakness, for my desire for her. But it was undeniable.

I wouldn’t act on it, though I knew she would be receptive. I’d seen something in her eyes like what I now felt. She probably wasn’t even aware that her eyes had all but offered her body to me, the way she stood, close but still keeping herself at a distance as if doing so would protect her from the desire that arced between us.

She had been through enough today, was probably more confused and afraid than she had ever been in her life. So as much as I wanted to kiss her, stroke the soft skin that covered the bounty of her body, I wouldn’t.

“How long are you staying?”

Milan’s voice came out timid, low, and she kept her eyes low, heavy-lidded as she watched me.

I didn’t like this version of her, but her words were welcome, had the effect of taking my mind off my cock, where it had no business being in the first place.

“Just until morning. I need to stay until then, see how things are developing out there while I lie low,” I said.

Why was I giving her answers? Why was she asking?

“What are you asking? You don’t trust me?”

Her eyes widened, and then she lowered them. I could see her as she struggled to consider her answer. It was smart, her attempting to be wise, but it made me more than a little uncomfortable. Not that she was out of line to be worried, but for some reason, her opinion of me mattered, though there was no way it could be good.

“Believe it or not, this is not a situation I wanted to put either of us in,” I said.

“You could end it,” she replied.

She seemed to come back to herself and quickly snapped her mouth closed, her full lips thinning as she pressed them tight together.

“And I will. As soon as I can,” I said.

“So how did you end up in this? Wait, don’t answer that,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to know. I’m just going to keep my mouth closed and sit here. I’ll stay out of your hair. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Milan, I’m not worried. You’ve been doing wonderfully so far. Just do as you have been, and you’ll be okay. And you can do that,” I said.

“I can do that,” she said.

Then we again settled and I watched.

Patience had been drilled into me from my earliest day, so I had no trouble waiting, letting the seconds go by as I considered my plan of action.

While I stared at Milan.

I did my best to shield my staring from her, and if she noticed, or was bothered by me looking at her, she didn’t give it away. Even as she sank lower into her chair, her posture relaxing, her face eventually softening in sleep, I still watched.

I couldn’t quite name the feeling that rushed through me, the thoughts when I looked at her, but I felt them, thought them.

Not that I had any basis to think anything, feel anything, and I knew that in any other situation I probably would not have given Milan a second thought.

But I was now, and I couldn’t, in fact, tear my eyes away from her. I felt oddly protective of her, and I also desired her. I wanted the sun to delay its arrival, giving me more time to watch her as she slept peacefully, her face so sweet and innocent in repose.

I’d never felt this way about anyone, never wanted to protect anyone, but I did her.

Now wasn’t the time to try to puzzle out why. Probably never would be.

Once I handled this crisis, I’d slip back into my role, shepherding things along until the next crisis sprung up.

There’d be no opportunity for lustful gazes at a regular woman.

When was the last time I had seen someone like Milan? Talked to someone like her?

I racked my brain as I watched her sleep, trying to come up with an answer.

It occurred to me I probably never had. My entire life, as long as I could remember, had been in service of the business. The school I had gone to had been more of a training ground, the people I had dealt with before and now all somehow connected.

But she wasn’t. Not in the least.

And a part of me craved her for it.

I tried to fight those thoughts and then decided to stop.

Nothing would come of it, so I allowed myself to enjoy the view, feel whatever craziness I was feeling, and when the sun came up, I would be gone.

M
ilan

A hand on my shoulder, warm, gentle, pulled me from sleep. I started to stretch, blinked, and then blinked again, the early morning sun coming through the curtains. And then I looked up and my eyes clashed with brown ones.

I smiled, blinked.

Such beautiful eyes. Eyes I could lose myself in. I started to do just that before something pulled me up short.

Those eyes, that face.

It was him.

From last night.

A warmth filled me as I remembered him next to me in my car, but it faded some—not nearly as much as it should have, though—when I remembered everything else that had happened.

I watched him as he watched me and saw the realization that played out in my mind play out on his face.

“I’m leaving now,” he said.

My first thought should’ve been relief, but that wasn’t what I felt. I felt a sad disappointment, almost crushing, and it got more intense when he lifted his hand from my shoulder.

I missed its warmth, its strength, immediately.

Last night, I could have blamed the shock for my reaction to him. But I had no such excuse this morning. So instead of examining it, I ignored it.

“I… I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you for not killing me’ doesn’t seem right,” I said.

He chuckled. “It’s good enough,” he said.

He started toward the door, and I reached out before my mind could process a thought. I barely grazed his hand, his skin warm, alive against mine.

He stopped and looked back at me, curious, but not surprised.

My heart boomed, and I could barely speak around it, but I pushed the words out in a rush. “Take care of yourself, Priest,” I said.

He stopped and then retraced the two steps that separated us. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as he leaned forward, his warmth, the masculine scent of his body surrounding me.

My heart stopped, everything inside me going still as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine.

It was barely a touch, only a kiss in that his lips touched mine, but that featherlight touch was enough to set my body aflame and enough to prove to me that whatever I had felt last night, the desire for him had been real.

He broke the kiss and then stood to his full, intimidating height, his eyes on mine.

“You do the same, Milan,” he said.

And then he was gone.

M
ilan

B
y midafternoon
, I had almost completely convinced myself that I had imagined the entire thing. That the shooting, Priest, the whole day had been a particularly vivid dream.

Probably would have been able to if I hadn’t still remembered how I had felt when I’d touched his fingers, remembered the searing heat of his gaze against my skin. Remembered the brush of his lips against mine, the faintest whisper of a touch that still tingled even now, hours later.

So it had happened; there was no denying that. But it was over now and I had a life to live, and I was determined to focus on that.

Around one that afternoon, the dead bolt turned and the door opened as much as it could with the chain slid across it.

“Milan, open up,” Tiffany called through the partially open door.

Ordinarily, she’d come breezing in, but that wasn’t possible now, and she pushed against the door trying to gain entry.

I hopped up from where I had been sitting in silence and staring off into the distance and went to the door and unlocked the chain.

“Why was the chain on the door?” Tiffany asked as she came in.

“I…” I started and then trailed off and looked at my best friend.

She looked beautiful, refreshed, and completely content in a way that I envied. She dropped her bag and grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and threw herself onto the couch.

She nodded and then took a swallow of her soda, seeming to have forgotten her question. “Last night was amazing, Milan! How was your night?” she asked.

“I, uh, I…”

Tiffany set her soda on the coffee table and stared at me, not breaking her gaze even as I came toward her and put a coaster under the damp can. I felt her gaze and her burgeoning worry, but I couldn’t look at her.

“What’s wrong, Milan?” she asked, tension rising in her voice.

I shrugged, still not meeting her eyes.

“Milan…” she said.

“I’m fine,” I replied.

Tiffany could be flighty, impulsive, but she was not dumb, something I was reminded of as she eyed me suspiciously.

“The wedding was that rough?” she asked, her voice still edged with skepticism as she watched me.

It was a reasonable question; some of the events could be a real grind, but when I risked a glance at her face, I could tell she was just fishing. I seldom let obnoxious guests bother me, and on most days, I’d be on to something else, not letting previous events keep me down.

So I knew my behavior was out of character and worrying, but I couldn’t find the words to reassure her.

I shook my head again, not able to muster enough strength to do much else. Suddenly feeling weaker, I went to the couch and sat next to her. My emotions, the fear and confusion of the day before, still made it impossible for me to speak. I hoped that maybe sitting next to her would make her feel better.

I could feel her eyes on me, but I just leaned back and kept my eyes sealed shut, exhaustion I hadn’t really been aware of just moments ago sapping all of my strength.

“You look like hell, Milan,” she said.

The incredulous tone of her voice managed to wring a smile from me, and I pulled my eyes open and turned to her, watched as her frown deepened, going from quizzical to concerned in two blinks of my eyes. I simultaneously found her concern heartwarming and her expression hilarious, so hilarious that I couldn’t contain myself.

The smile that split my face got bigger, and bigger, and soon, laughter began to bubble out of my throat.

But it wasn’t a laugh of humor, nor one that I recognized as myself. This laugh was unhinged, and in it, I heard the stress and insanity of the night before. That sound was more revealing than words would have been.

“Milan?” Tiffany said. She scooted closer, grabbed my hands, squeezing with surprising strength that one wouldn’t expect from her delicate fingers.

“Tiffany,” I said, before I fell into a puddle of laughter yet again.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” she said.

I looked over at her, but I could barely make her out through the tears that clouded my eyes.

“If…” I said, and then I inhaled, gasped around the laugh that wouldn’t stop. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, Tiff,” I said.

Tiffany twisted her face into a confused expression, her eyes narrowed, her nose lifted like she smelled something foul.

I laughed still, and began to hiccup, and soon the hiccup turned to a sob.

All at once, the strength left my body and I collapsed down, laughing, crying, doing both as Tiffany watched me and held me.

It took me a while, I don’t know how long, to gather myself, and the whole time Tiffany sat with me, arm around me, holding me.

“So,” she said, looking down at me where I sprawled on her lap. “You calm now?”

I swept at my face and then sat up.

“As calm as I will be,” I said.

“So what happened?”

I wasn’t surprised by her question. One of the few things I’d managed to do was watch the news. There had been only the barest mention of the shooting, an offhand aside at the end of the newscast about an “incident” at a local church. Nothing more, though I had expected wall-to-wall coverage.

It was strange, really strange, that the shooting hadn’t gotten more attention, but these past days had all been strange, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by this one other thing.

“Milan…” Tiffany said, her wavering voice breaking the spell of my thoughts.

I glanced up, locked eyes with her, and in her gaze, I could see how much she cared for me. Seeing her reminded me I had friends, a life, and the tears that shimmered at the corners of her eyes made me realize how relieved I was I had survived last night. The day before had been almost like a dream, something that felt like it had happened to someone else. Looking at Tiffany now brought home how real it had been.

“There was a shooting,” I said flatly.

“Here?” she said, looking around the room.

“No, at the wedding.”

“What! The one I made you cover? Are you okay?” Tiffany shrieked, her pretty brown eyes bugged out of her face.

I nodded, and her expression fell, and she looked stark, the blood draining from her face, leaving her looking shaken.

Seeing her crestfallen face, the way her knees wobbled, I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “It’s not your fault, Tiff. And I’m fine.”

She looked at me skeptically, shock and surprise warring with disbelief on her face. “What happened? Was anyone hurt?” she asked.

“I-I’m not sure,” I finally said, embarrassed I didn’t have a better answer.

“What did the police say?” she asked, dropping her brows.

I shrugged. “I haven’t talked to the police.”

“What?” she said. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“They didn’t take a statement?”

“I haven’t actually seen them. Haven’t seen anyone,” I said. I left it at that, unwilling to add more. I couldn’t explain what I’d been doing for those long hours, couldn’t explain Priest, so silence was the only alternative, unsatisfying as it felt and as surprised as Tiffany looked.

“What the hell, Milan? What do you mean you haven’t seen anyone?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said for lack of anything else to say.

“Did you leave or something?” she said, her shock becoming suspicion.

“Yeah,” I finally said, though I still didn’t expand.

“Milan…” Tiffany trailed off again, but she didn’t sound worried anymore. Instead, she was perplexed and teetering on pissed.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said.

“Try,” Tiffany said, looking at me as if she dared me to not speak.

I huffed. “I didn’t plan to go, but someone got into my car with me, so I drove him,” I said.

She frowned. “What the fuck? You got carjacked?”

“No. Yes. Sort of,” I finally settled on. The word didn’t fit, had a violence, a viciousness that hadn’t at all been my experience with Priest. But explaining that to Tiffany was out of the question, especially since I didn’t understand it myself.

“Oh my God! Milan, no one gets ‘sort of’ carjacked. Who was it? Did he hurt you?”

“No!” I snapped, feeling the need to defend Priest. “It wasn’t like that,” I said.

“Tell me how it was, then. What the hell happened?” she said, her expression unyielding.

“Tiffany, slow down,” I said. It was my attempt to forestall her onslaught, an attempt that was an utter failure.

“I can’t slow down,” she said without missing a beat. “My best friend just told me she got carjacked. She seems really fucking mellow about it, and she hasn’t talked to the police.” Tiffany had a full head of steam now, and she glared at me like aliens had just landed in our living room.

“He told me not to worry,” I said, my voice going quiet as I finished, the utter silliness of what I was saying becoming more apparent as Tiffany’s eyes got wider.

“And you believed him?” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” I said, my voice stronger now.

“Milan.” Tiffany shook her head, her eyes bugging out again with her disbelief.

“What?” I said shrugging, feeling defensive and stupid and also knowing Tiffany was right but not being able to reconcile that knowledge with what I was feeling, with how much I believed him.

“You have to go to the police,” she said.

“I don’t know anything,” I said.

“You let them decide that.”

“Tiffany—”

“Tiffany nothing. Get up. We’re going to the police station,” she said.

I wanted to argue, but I didn’t have it in me, didn’t have the strength, so instead I took Tiffany’s offered hand and stood on my feet. I was dressed and ready to go in under fifteen minutes and Tiffany was beside me every step of the way. In under a half hour, we were walking into the police station.