13. Matvey

13

MATVEY

I can't stop feeling her.

The whole car ride to the warehouse, I keep touching my lips as if I'll find her there. Where her warmth lingers like a spell.

April Flowers, what kind of witch are you?

What if I'd kept kissing a little higher? All the way up the smooth skin of her inner arm, and then higher still?

Her neck, long and velvety. Her cheeks, so deliciously flushed.

Her lips.

Get it together , I growl to myself. The last thing I need is to get rock-hard in the backseat of my own limo. You don't get to touch her like that anymore.

A part of me rebels at the thought.

I know it would be the stupidest possible thing to do—falling back into April's arms. With a child on the way, I can't afford to muddy the waters. I can't afford to let April think we'll ever be more than a one-time fling with consequences.

Co-parents. That's all we'll ever be.

So why can't I stop thinking about her?

Yuri meets me outside. He's wearing his usual scowl—nothing strange there—and holding an unusual envelope. Without a word, he hands it over to me.

"An early birthday card?" I joke. "Brother, you shouldn't have."

Yuri's scowl, if possible, deepens. "The DNA test came back. It's a match."

Fuck. Well, that settles that. I open the envelope and run a cursory glance over the information there. Alleles, Doctorese, yada yada—ah, there it is.

99%

Un-fucking-deniable.

"It was a long shot." I shrug, unbothered by the revelation. Probably because it wasn't a revelation at all. Because a part of me knew, deep down…

That child is mine.

Could I feel the unbreakable bond that ran through our veins? Blood is mysterious like that. It was the same with Yuri, all those years ago: the second I met him, I knew .

"Are you disappointed?" Yuri asks me, voice low.

I think it over. "No," I answer truthfully. "I expected this. One more mouth to feed is nothing."

It's not just that. I know it's not. Some primal part of me is already laying claim on that child: wanting to protect, wanting to mold. Mine.

It's not "nothing." Not by a long shot.

"If…" Yuri hesitates. "Did you mean what you said? That if the child hadn't been yours…"

"Of course," I say without missing a beat, even as a part of me despises what I'm saying. Casting out the child. Casting out the mother. Turning my back on the two of them. "Who in their right mind would keep around someone who's nobody to them?"

Yuri flinches at my words, but I don't have time to worry about his delicate disposition. Not when the claim inside me is already extending to the mother of my child. If I want to avoid disaster, I need to nip this in the bud, no matter what.

"Bury this," I order, handing the envelope back to him. "Make sure Vlad doesn't find out. If he asks, the test is still underway."

Yuri nods. "Got it."

I force myself to snap out of it. Thoughts of April's warm body will do me no good right now. No, what I need is a distraction.

Which is why I came here in the first place.

Yuri opens the door to the warehouse. I follow. Already from the stairs, I can smell the stench of blood and human misery.

I walk into a wide, bare room. When I acquired this building, I didn't bother with renovations. For the kind of guests I had in mind, four walls and a roof were more than enough. All they had to do was drown out the screams.

A few men nod with respect as I pass them by. I recognize their faces: Yuri's most trusted, his most loyal.

Good. We can never be too careful.

"Where are they?" I ask, the sound of my steps echoing off the walls.

"We separated them," Yuri informs me. "One in Room A, the other in Room B."

"Prisoner's dilemma," I commend. "Nice work."

Yuri shrugs. "Hasn't yielded results thus far, though. Hopefully, seeing you will scare the truth out of them."

The truth . What a volatile concept. "I'll do my worst."

I fully intend to. With April wreaking havoc on my mind, I need to lose myself in something. Work—but not the sanitized kind. Not the kind you can do behind an expensive desk, earning praise from board members who don't know what their shares are really being used for.

No. I need the kind you do with your own two hands.

I walk into Room A first. One kidnapper is tied to a chair, soaking in a pool of his own blood and fitfully asleep. On a tray nearby, I spy the tools of the trade, still coated in red. Yuri's handiwork, no doubt.

I kick the chair. The guy jolts upright, yanking on his restraints.

And then he sees me. " Blyat' ," he curses, spitting blood on the floor.

One of them was Russian , April's voice murmurs in my memories.

"Brother," I call him spitefully in his own language, tilting his chin up to see him. "Enjoyed the hospitality?"

This—now, this is my scene. Forget sexy baby mamas; this is what I was born to do. Lust is great and all, but it'll never hold a candle to blood lust.

Not for me.

Despite the gore and grime covering his entire face, I could swear I recognize him. I can't remember his name—which is odd; I make it my business to know all my men—but I remember his features. I can tell, without a doubt, that I've seen him before.

If only I could remember where.

The man stares at me like he's just seen the angel of death—which, to be fair, is mostly accurate. His entire body begins to shake. A pungent smell reaches my nose and I look down, realizing he's pissing himself.

If he was ever one of mine, I'm glad he no longer is.

I strike him across the face, hard. Something goes crack with the motion; seconds later, the man spits a tooth at my feet. "Please," he croaks. "You have to protect me! I'll tell you everything, but you have to?—"

I could promise him that. I could pretend I'll ever consider letting him go. With how desperate he is, he'd believe me.

"No," I tell him instead.

This mudak kidnapped my child. He kidnapped April.

He doesn't get to beg for mercy anymore.

I crouch to his level. Like this, his beady eyes are mere inches from mine. "You have two choices. One, you can tell me what I want to know. If it checks out, I'll have my best man put a bullet in your skull. Quick and painless."

He starts to shake his head frantically. "No, no, please?—"

" Two ," I cut him off, "I can pick up those pliers. You've got no nails left, but I can still see a good number of teeth ripe for the plucking." For good measure, I run my thumb along his jawline, feeling the ridge of each remaining tooth through his sunken cheek. "You have three seconds to decide, or I'll do it for you."

One.

"Please, don't."

"Then talk ."

"I can't!" Two . "I can't, please, you have no idea?—"

Three.

I wrinkle my nose. I was looking forward to doing this myself, but the smell has just gotten unbearable. "Yuri," I call from the doorway. "Take care of our patient here."

I hand him the pliers. "Gladly," he hisses, staring at the guy like he's nothing but a shit stain on the sidewalk. Which, considering the stench, might not be far from the truth.

I leave them behind and close the door.

Then I head to Room B.

The setup is the same. Tool cart, blood, restraints. Only this time, the guy isn't asleep.

"Matvey Groza," he spits with an accent I immediately place. "My boss sends his regards."

I don't need to ask any more questions. If I wanted to, I could pick up my gun and paint the walls with this man's brains. This man —the second motherfucker who dared lay his filthy hands on the mother of my child.

Instead, I pick up the pliers. "Really?" I drawl, feeling my face split into a grin. The grin of a wolf cornering its prey. "Then I'll have to send him something back."

I don't think of April again all night.