19. Kat

Chapter 19

Kat

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, wary.

“You’ll see. In due time,” Nik replies, his mouth twisting with a smirk.

“You can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

He grins. “Watch me. Like I was saying before you tried to sidetrack me—again—I know you’re not thrilled to be here, but let’s try to make the best of it.”

"Okay…" I say, wondering where he's going with this—and where I want him to go with this.

“You work for me now, like it or not. And I take care of my people. So, while you’re here, I want you to feel at home. You’re not my prisoner.”

I scoff. Is he joking? This gilded cage is still a cage. He literally had to kidnap me to get me into his home. I'm stuck here, forbidden from leaving or interacting with other men.

My reaction doesn't seem to faze him. “I know we may not see eye to eye, but I hope we can turn this situation around. I know you hate my rules?—”

“To put it mildly,” I interrupt.

“—but you’ll find I compensate fairly for my demands. Besides, you’re welcome to invite A.J. or any friends over. And you’re free to come and go—as long as you check in with me first, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeat, dripping with sarcasm.

He exhales heavily. "Go ahead, call me an asshole, but we’re dealing with a dangerous man. Nobody else is getting hurt on my watch. If that means I'm a controlling jerk, then so be it.”

His worry for me makes me feel uneasy. I'm not used to being taken care of. I'm the one who looks after everyone else. That’s why I'm in this mess.

“Right, so you’ve told me,” I say. “But I’m not convinced you aren’t just getting off on making me do whatever you please.”

Humor glints in his eyes. “Maybe just a bit.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say, smiling despite myself.

He matches my smile, then turns back to the screen. I do the same—or pretend to. Inside, my mind races, trying to process the whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, Nik’s still my enemy. The barrier between me and the future I’ve been working for. And he’s undeniably controlling. But I’m surprised—and maybe even floored—by his concern for my well-being, his attempt to give me some semblance of freedom.

Of course, his rules about how I can use my small amount of freedom are absurd. He may be bossy, but at least it’s for a good reason. He thinks he's keeping me safe.

And his generosity... He won’t miss the money or the Bentley, but he has so much dirt on me that he didn’t need to pay me for my help. The stronzo never did.

“That’s Maxim,” Nik says as a dark-haired man enters the frame—his best friend who was killed the night we met. His thick, brown hair falls in waves over his forehead, and his tall, lean build and chiseled jawline are impossible to miss. Finally, I can put a face to the name, and it's a very handsome one. Even in the blurry surveillance video, his sharp cheekbones and electric blue eyes stand out. I glance at Nik, noticing his clenched jaw.

“How long were you two friends?” I ask, needing to break the silence.

“Practically my whole life,” he sighs, skipping ahead on the footage. “Here it is.”

The screen freezes on a lean, silver-haired man in his early sixties, dressed sharply in a dark suit.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Patrick McGuire. The man we’re up against.”

I turn to Nik, stunned. “Patrick McGuire is the head of the Irish mob.” For some reason, I need to tell Nik that. You know, the guy who's in charge of the Russian mob. Of course there's a third mafia boss in my life. Naturally.

“I’m aware.”

“You never said I’d be helping you take down the Irish mob’s leader.”

“I didn't think it made a difference. You weren’t in a position to refuse me, no matter who the enemy was. You knew what I do before our deal, so it shouldn't come as a shock that our enemy is the head of a rival family.”

He presses play, but I turn to face him, staring him down as the footage plays. He’s not the least bit fazed.

No point in arguing about him keeping McGuire’s identity a secret. He won't budge. That's the extra push I need to get this done faster.

With a sigh, I lean back and rest my feet on the coffee table. As I adjust my head, I bump the bruise on my temple, inhaling sharply at the sting.

Nik’s sharp eyes catch it. “What’s wrong?” He pauses the video again, turning to face me.

I sigh, reaching for the remote. We'll never finish this video if he keeps hitting pause. “Nothing. Just a little parting gift from your man, Boris.”

His face hardens as he reaches out. “Let me see.”

“I don’t think so,” I say, trying to grab the remote. The faster we get through this, the sooner I’m done here.

“What are you doing?” he asks, exasperated.

“You’re hogging the remote, Nik. I'm trying to watch this video, but you keep pausing it every five seconds.”

“Tough luck. My house, my remote.”

“Seriously? Are you really that controlling? Didn't you ever learn to share your toys with the other children?”

He breathes out a heavy sigh. Closing his eyes, he rubs a hand across his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’ll tell you what—because I’m a reasonable man, I’ll make you a deal. Let me look at your head, and I’ll hand it over.” He stuffs the remote in his back pocket.

I study him. I'm fast enough to snag it, but that would mean... touching him. More precisely, it would mean tackling him and fondling his ass. And God only knows what would happen then.

“Fine,” I snap. “But be gentle—it’s tender.” I turn my head, brushing my hair aside.

He leans in, his fingers grazing my scalp, light and careful. Still, I wince at his touch.

“Sorry,” he says softly. He probes the area a bit more. “My men did this.

“Yep. Boris’s buddy knocked me around when I fought back,” I say, uncertain if he's asking a question or just making an observation.

“I’m sorry, Kat. He’ll pay for hurting you.”

His cold tone startles me. It’s so easy to forget that, beneath his charm, he’s a ruthless man.

He stands up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll get you some ice and aspirin, and I’ll call someone to come take a look at that bump.”

“You mean like a doctor?”

He gives me a strange look, as if my question is absurd. "Yeah, a doctor, Kat. Head injuries are a big deal. You could have a concussion, or even worse.”

I scoff. Men are so dramatic…

“You're being ridiculous. I’m fine. It’s just a little bruise. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Let’s finish watching this.”

“I don’t think so. Just a minute.”

I can only watch helplessly as he exits the room. True to his promise, he’s back in an instant, with an ice pack and a glass of water in hand.

Nik hands me the drink, then reaches behind his back and pulls a bottle of aspirin from his pocket.

"Go ahead," he says, putting the ice pack on my head.

I humor him, but give him a dirty look. Obviously, I don’t want a headache, but that doesn't mean I like his bossy attitude.

“Thanks,” I mumble, drinking the water.

He watches, satisfied. “The doctor will be here later.”

I roll my eyes. “Nik?—”

He raises a hand. “Save your energy for a battle you can win. You’re seeing a doctor. End of discussion.” He sinks back onto the couch next to me.

I glare at him, furious, but he just keeps applying the ice pack to my head. I snatch it away, ready to throw it across the room. He sighs, grabbing my hand to stop me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Get this wet thing out of my hair. Right now. And hand me the remote while you're at it.”

“Just a little longer,” he says, pulling the remote from his back pocket and handing it over. I snatch it away before he changes his mind.

I hit play. “Do you know any of these guys?” I ask, glancing at him. He isn’t even watching the video anymore. He’s staring at me instead—it’s unnerving.

He glances at the screen before shifting his attention back to me. “Most. The one next to McGuire is his enforcer, Connor Daniels.”

“What makes you think McGuire killed Maxim?”

Nik goes silent. Finally, he sighs. “It’s a long story. McGuire hated Maxim.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“That’s it? Come on, you have to tell me more than that,” I prod.

“All you need to know is I have no doubts McGuire is behind Maxim’s murder.”

This time, I’m the one who pauses the video. I slap away his hand, still annoyingly holding the ice pack, and I turn to face him. “Okay, that’s not going to work for me. At all.”

He raises his eyebrows before dropping the ice pack on the coffee table. He sighs. “Kat?—”

“Nope, you listen now. I'm not walking into this without knowing what I'm getting myself into. If you want my help, I need the full story.”

“It’s not that simple. There are things you're better off not knowing.”

“I’m not asking you to tell me all the bratva ’s dirty secrets . But you need to give me the full story about Maxim and Patrick McGuire.”

He glares at me, his displeasure with my requests obvious. I return his glare, showing him that two can play this game. The silence stretches on, thick with tension, until his sigh confirms my victory.

“Fine. If you really need to know,” he says through clenched teeth, "McGuire loathed Maxim because Maxim was in love with his daughter.”

“That’s it? That doesn't seem so bad. How’s that a reason to kill someone?”

“It’s complicated. She was already engaged to someone else. Her affair with Maxim embarrassed McGuire and endangered the alliance he had worked so hard to create. Let's just say no one hated Maxim more than McGuire.”

His fingers touch my temple before I get a word out. “Does that feel better?”

I'm tempted to brush him off, but his concern is so… genuine. “I’m fine, Nik. Don’t worry about me. The doctor will say I'm in tip-top shape.”

He doesn't seem entirely convinced, but thankfully, he leaves the ice pack alone. I'm glad he's willing to let go of the topic until his fingers brush against my neck. They stop there, and my breath hitches in my throat. A moment of pause, then his fingertips gently graze my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

“You’re so tense. That can’t be healthy for you.”

To my utter dismay, he starts rubbing his knuckles down the column of my neck.

“Well, getting kidnapped does that to a person,” I say, clearing my throat. Maybe my tone will turn him off. God knows I'm too weak to stop him.

He sighs, and I'm both glad and sad it worked. Then, he lowers his hands to my waist, lifts me up, and sets me down in front of him, between his parted legs. His hands find their way back to my shoulders, working out the knots in my tense muscles.

“I’m sorry it came to this. Abducting you, I mean,” he murmurs, his voice too close. “I wish there’d been another way to bring you to me. For what it’s worth, Boris and Ivan will pay for what they did to you. I’ll punish them myself.”

“And who’s going to punish you for having me kidnapped in the first place?”