8. Ranger

[ 8 ]

RANGER

Asher.

He said my name.

My real name.

The one I’d spent the best part of spring and summer last year ribbing him that he didn’t know. That he’d never know if he didn’t cheat or give me a reason to tell him.

I hadn’t told him. Not cos I hadn’t wanted him to know, but because messing with him had been too much fun. Trying to guess if he was in it for a laugh or if he actually gave a shit. Walking away from him the week before he got took honestly believing he did.

This was the first time I’d seen him since, and as I slowly rose from my perch on his front porch, two things occurred in rapid succession.

One: Viktor Petrenko was more beautiful than ever.

Two: he was high as a motherfucker.

Neither of these things were particularly shocking. Vik had always been gorgeous to me, and Jakov—Jake—had warned me about the rest of it.

“He is not well and I do not know how to help him anymore.”

Ominous words that sent a shiver snaking down my spine as Viktor scooped his dropped strap from the ground and staggered closer, those meadow-green eyes bloodshot, confused, and as full of pain as the tortured scream that had shattered the dawn. The ragged sound that had made Lida whine and paw my leg, her claws raking a new rip in my fucked-up jeans as I’d held her back from bolting to the electric fucking fence.

Viktor came closer. His hazed gaze shifted from me to Lida and back again, hands slowly rising to brace on his head as his bewilderment deepened. “You are not here.”

His splintered voice tore me up. I needed to touch him more than I needed air in my fucking lungs, but I forced myself to stay still. To let him figure this shit out for himself. To let him come to me.

He came for the dog first. It surprised me that she’d remained at my side, but what did I know? About anything, except that it hurt even worse that I’d never seen him and Lida together? That every time I’d been around this dog it was cos Vik was dying.

He’s not dying. He’s sick.

Really fucking sick. He reached us and crouched low, hiding his face, giving me all the time in the world to drink in his copper-streaked hair and golden skin. Except, it wasn’t golden anymore. As the warmest sun I’d ever felt beat down on us, Viktor’s skin was the colour of grey milk.

“Viktor.”

I breathed his name like a prayer.

A plea.

Look at me.

Believe in me.

In the tangibility of my fucking body, at least. I didn’t ride my hog a thousand miles for him to think I was a ghost.

Look. At. Me.

Slowly, he did, raising his gaze from Lida’s chest, treating me to an unobscured view of the bruised shadows smudged beneath his eyes and cheekbones that could cut fucking glass. The weeks’ worth of growth on his jaw was sexier than it had any right to be, but everything else could fuck all the way off with how hard it tossed my gut.

Viktor was still crouching with the dog.

I held out my hands.

He took them but didn’t rise, and I was so fucking scared that if I made him, he’d crumble to dust. Like, evaporate or some shit, as if I was the one out of my mind enough to believe I was seeing things.

“Vik.” I said his name again, a murmur this time, squeezing his fingers—his cold fingers. “Give me something, ay? Or I’m gonna think you’re not pleased to see me.”

Confusion returned to his gaze. For a loaded beat, he didn’t move.

Then he came upright so fast I jumped out of my skin. Icy hands to my face, my throat, my hair, before this fucker reared away like I’d burned him, slashing a fresh wound in my heart.

“Net.” He stumbled back, towards the house. “Lida. Come.”

He was gone before I could stop him, the door swinging shut like a prison cell, except I was trapped in fresh air and warm sunshine, drowning in the scent of blossom and fucking oranges. Cos my subconscious was a gaping arsehole.

Viktor didn’t come back. I reclaimed my porch seat, keeping my back to a side wall, so I could watch the door and the horizon, while keeping an eye on the security phone Jakov had left for me, along with a set of access instructions that had made my brain bleed. Couldn’t fault him for thoroughness, but fucking hell. Bastard could’ve at least left me some tunes to make up for The Krypton Factor adventure I’d completed to use the stupid thing.

No tunes. Be alert, remember?

As if I could forget. I darted a rapid-fire glance between all the things that needed my attention, shifting to ease the pressure on my bruised ribs, enjoying the absence of the killer headache I’d nursed the last few days. I didn’t hurt that much compared to when I’d fought Nash, but I was still glad Cam had made me hang around the MC to recover before he’d granted Jakov permission to recruit me.

If I could call it that when I’d have crawled over hot coals to get here for free.

I went back to the souped-up phone Jakov had left, figuring it was less sad than staring at the door Vik had shut in my face. A reaction I’d expected cos Embry had warned me about it when Cam had dragged him into our what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-with-your-life huddle.

“It’s going to be a long time before he thanks you for showing up for him.”

Give a shit. I didn’t need anyone’s thanks. I just needed Vik to be okay, cos if there was one thing worse than thinking he was dead, or not having a clue what had become of him, it was knowing for sure that he was in so much fucking pain he’d rather smoke junk than live.

As that cracker of a thought completed, a shadow flitted past a window. Lida, maybe? Vik had looked ready to pass out, but I knew from Jakov that he often spent days and days awake without the stimulation of mob warfare to keep him occupied.

The shadow flitted again.

I rose without making a conscious decision to do so, fingers itching to swipe the keypad and let myself in, utilising every inch of the mind-boggling trust Jakov had given me. More than just a phone, I had access to everything—weapons, the house, the security system for the whole property. A giant pile of emergency cash I’d buried on my way up this fucking mountain.

“I will endure any cost to save my brother.”

Brother. I’d wondered in the past if Vik and Jakov’s interpretation of the word was as flexible as most of the men in my world, but them banging was the last thing on my mind as the lock clicked on the front door and it ripped open like it was caught in a hurricane.

That hurricane was Viktor Petrenko, and you know what? That gorgeous bastard was still hamstered off his box, but this time I recognised the man staring back at me, and the relief gave me fucking goosebumps.

Or maybe it was the barest, faintest hint of the smile I saw every time I shut my damn eyes. “So you are pleased to see me, eh?”

Viktor sighed and opened the door wider. “I have not decided yet, so you had better come in.”

I’d never been in a posh house in my life, even to rob it. Orla O’Brian’s place was as flash as I’d ever been, and her Devon flat was a world away from the house Viktor waved me into.

It was white—very white. The walls and the furniture, with walnut wood fixings and terracotta tiles on the floor. Artwork splashed the occasional pop of colour, but I was distracted by the upgraded version of the sound system he’d lured me to Leeds with. “You jammy cunt.”

Viktor turned and followed the direction of my attention. “I forget how you say such things instead of actual sentences.”

“It’s a sentence.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means I’d have fucking died if you’d told me you had this on top of the other shit you showed me.” I itched to take a step towards the juicy sound system, but the lead in the air stopped me. I wasn’t here to salivate over Viktor’s music taste. Or even salivate over him. “Anyway. Where am I sleeping?”

“Excuse me?”

I turned my back on the sound system and moved closer to where Viktor hovered in a doorway I knew led to a kitchen—cheers for the map, Jakey. “Where do you want me? I don’t mind if it’s outside under one of them tangerine bushes, but if it’s in this fucking mansion, you need to give me a minute to acclimate.”

“Tangerine bushes . . .” Deep confusion returned to Viktor’s face, creasing his forehead, his eyes melting into his fucking skull. He rubbed his temple. “If I did not know, you could not be real.”

“And he says I talk bollocks.”

Viktor stared, unfocused, and I treated myself to the liberty of giving him another once-over. Dressed in cargo shorts and a faded tee, there was no hiding how slim his already lean frame had become, how pale he was, or the scars littering his arms.

Track marks.

I closed the distance between us and claimed a hand, rotating his arm, ghosting my thumb over the old wounds.

No new ones.

Should’ve reassured me.

Didn’t. I already knew Vik wasn’t shooting the junk he was taking, just like I knew smoking that shit was just as destructive.

I found a scar that didn’t fit and skimmed my thumb over it. “What happened here?”

Viktor tuned back into the world. I thought he might take his appendage back, but he traced a fingertip over my split knuckles instead. “You first. Then you can tell me why you are in my house.”

“Jakov sent me.”

Viktor snorted. “Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

He retracted both his hands and gazed at me with that bottomless bewilderment again. “If I am awake, Jake has done something I never thought he could. If I am asleep . . . then I am having better dreams than I deserve.”

“You don’t deserve bad dreams, Vik.”

“But if you really are here, then I am Jake’s worst nightmare come true.”

Viktor spun and walked away. From the building plans, I knew he was heading to his bedroom. That Jakov’s room was at the other end of the house.

I also knew the big brown couch in my peripheral was calling my name like a motherfucker. This sunshine, man. It had to be better than the shite Vik was smoking. I already felt like a cat craving a five-hour nap.

Not yet.

I’d left my bag on the porch outside.

I doubled back to retrieve it, then trailed Viktor down the hall, following the pull in my gut rather than his silent footsteps, and I wound up at the door to a room I didn’t need a map to know was his.

That fucking orange-blossom scent. It messed with my head, and I made myself breathe through my mouth as I took in the cluttered space that was all Viktor—from the clothes littering the floor, to the weapons safe dug into the wall.

Vik still carried the gun he’d approached me with.

Doesn’t trust me.

Couldn’t name how that made me feel. Just that changing it went to the top of my to-do list. Adult me loved my own company. A lone fucking wolf. A nomad. But I took my friendships seriously. Vik could wave that Glock in my face morning, noon, and night, I wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless Jean needed me, and she’d made it clear she didn’t.

“Go on with you, boy. Get some sun on those bones. I don’t want to see your face until you’re cooked through.”

That she’d never see my face again didn’t matter. The sentiment wasn’t literal, and she’d have plenty of company while I was gone. Probably trade me in for Nash McGovern, and I didn’t blame her.

“You are thinking a lot.”

I refocused on Viktor. He’d stowed his gun for the sake of the children that lived in the house a little way down the hill. His niece and nephew. Thank the fucking lord he rarely babysat. Trust me, I’d checked before I’d agreed to this escapade.

Like that would’ve changed your mind.

As if I hadn’t been halfway down the continent before Jakov had reeled off the coordinates to this place. “I’m thinking that I never saw your bedroom in your other place.”

“Did you want to?” Viktor punctuated his question by coming closer, a faint, loopy smirk twisting his lips. “Is that why you fell asleep on the floor?”

“I fell asleep waiting for the dinner you promised me.”

“You waited for nothing. It was there all along.”

“Most things are, eh?” He was near enough that I could touch him. Smell him. Feel his body heat, though he still looked fucking cold. “What are you eating these days?”

“More than you, maybe.” Viktor gave me the same once-over he had the night we’d met, but his tired gaze lacked the potency it’d packed back then. I didn’t feel like he maybe wanted to eat me alive. I felt . . . I didn’t fucking know. And it wasn’t important. “You want to eat now? Jakov told me your sister keeps your fridge stocked.”

Viktor blinked. “What?”

“Breakfast. Jakov. Your sister. Which one’s tripping you up?”

Lida slipped by me as Viktor chewed on his answer. She hopped onto his unmade bed and made herself comfortable on the pillows.

His bedsheets were as white as the walls, punctuated by a throw the same colour as the amethyst rock I’d lugged around for the last decade. Call me fucking weird, but as he drifted in front of me, it struck me how beautiful he would look sprawled out on those sheets, that copper-streaked hair. Those green eyes⁠—

Viktor barged past me. He bolted through a nearby door and slammed it shut.

Bathroom.

I’d expected it.

“It makes him sick, afterwards. And this is what I do not understand. The relief is so fleeting for him, shorter every time. And yet he cannot stop.”

Jakov’s voice was distant company. The look in his eye, though, would haunt me forever. Cos it was the same look I’d seen in Rocco and Finch when Folk had got fucked up on Oxy, and it made me wonder if I’d have come here regardless of who he’d been talking about. If I’d have crossed literal oceans without the barbed yank in my chest for everything Viktor.

In the bathroom, the shower turned on, no light flickering from under the door. I glanced at Lida. She licked her paws, watching me, watching the door, watching everything, like she always did. But she seemed calm—content, and I took that for what it was. I’d spent enough time with this dog to trust her canine barometer.

Besides, the bathroom was windowless. And clean. Vik was a fucking mess, but he never brought junk in the house. Jakov had been more sure of that than anything.

Children, remember?

I found a wall and slid down it, settling in to wait as my gaze drifted through the open hallway window to the house further down the mountain. It had been locked down for the night when Lida had emerged from it to greet me, but it was coming to life now. A man and woman sitting on the porch, watching two kids play in a pool that looked a lot warmer than the ocean-fed pit Folk pushed me in every once in a while.

High-pitched laughter filtered uphill, a sound that usually ground my gears, but I found myself distracted by movement even further down the rocky hill-scape. Grey-brown smudges with big ears.

Horses?

Ugly fuckers if they were.

The bathroom door opened. Steam escaped, orange-scented, like everything else in this fucking place. Then a pair of perfect feet swallowed my attention. Damp, masculine legs, scuffed kneecaps and a towel, and then a pale, scarred torso that was as beautiful to me as the beefier version that lived in my dreams.

He’s naked under that towel.

I felt naked too, huddled on the floor staring up at him—at Viktor, as he studied me with more tangible comprehension than he had since he’d stumbled down the mountain.

“You are still here.”

“I am.” I propped an elbow on my bent knee. “Was beginning to wonder about you.”

Water dripped from Viktor’s hair, running down his collarbones and ribs, beading on skin that bore the same marks as Locke’s. I zeroed in on one that disappeared beneath his towel. Different to the others. Tidier. More civilised. “That from surgery?”

Viktor glanced at his hip, the one that had separated on the inside, due to blunt-force trauma, exposing the nerves. “No more questions.”

“All right.”

“Is it?” Viktor padded past me, dipping into his room and snatching some clothes from the floor.

Not for my benefit, luv.

“Is what?” With excruciating effort, I fixed my gaze on the tiled floor, letting him dress in relative privacy, though he didn’t seem to give much of a fuck. “You want me to ask you shit so you can tell me to fuck off?”

He chucked the towel at me. Damp and glorious, it landed on my head and I tried everything not to think about the fact that it had been a hairsbreadth from his dick two seconds ago.

But even picturing Folk trying to get me to eat kale pasta couldn’t combat the instant flare in my belly. The shot of heat that had nothing to do with the steam from the bathroom or the blazing sun outside.

I tugged the towel off my head, licking my dry lips.

Viktor stood over me, holding out his hand.

I let him haul me to my feet, taking comfort from the fact that his skinny fucking arms had the strength. Loving the fact that whatever else had happened to both of us since we’d last seen each other, I was still two inches taller than him. Hating the fact that I couldn’t think of a single fucking word to say.

Viktor let go of my hand. “I do not understand how you are here.”

“I can tell you all about it.” I let myself lean closer, breathing him in, before I reined that bullshit in. “I just need you to stop a second and listen.”

“No.”

“No?”

Viktor slowly shook his head, rubbing his temple again. “I would not hear you if you spoke now. I am going to sleep while I can. If you are still here when I wake up, then maybe we will have something to talk about.”

His other hand was still wrapped around mine, but as he backed up, his fingers slipped away.

Letting it happen was another battle, but I won, cos I had to. My job—my life’s fucking work for as long as I was here—was to keep him safe from whatever enemy sought to hurt him. And right now, that enemy was him.

I parked my arse back on the floor and let him drift to his bed, lie down, and pass out in the time it took me to wonder if I should tuck him in.

His breathing was slow, sedated, his body still feeling the effects of the junk long after the high had worn off.

Jakov’s voice haunted me again.

“He does not sleep much, until he does, and then it is my greatest fear that he will not wake up.”

I knew that fear—I’d lived with it before. But I wasn’t naïve enough not to know that this was a hundred times worse than dealing with Folk. Cos I hadn’t dealt with Folk’s addiction. He had. He’d come home for help and told us what to do. Cos as far gone as he’d been, he’d known.

More than that, he’d cared.

I wasn’t getting that vibe from Vik, not even close. The apathy was too strong. Deep and bitter enough that Jakov was right to be afraid.

But he’d been right to call on me too. I was a lazy fucker. A drifter. But my commitment to the few things I gave a fuck about was an unscalable wall.

This wasn’t going to kill Vik.

He wasn’t going to die.

Not on my fucking watch.