Chapter 5Ivan

5

Ivan

I van slammed his phone down on his desk, hanging up the thousandth call in however many hours. It was an insufferable task he shouldn't have been bothering with in the first place. It should have been someone else in charge of all the moving parts. Someone well below Ivan in the organization. At the very least, it should have been Sergei.

But Sergei wasn't an option right now, so it was up to Ivan to organize all the brutes, wasn't it?

And now he had a headache forming between his brows, sharp and merciless.

Maybe he should have eaten like the incubus had suggested.

The incubus. The fucking incubus.

That incorrigible demon was the reason Ivan was hard at work with an intermittent erection, suddenly turned on by every stiff fucking breeze, like he was going through a second adolescence (not that he'd been allowed to be distracted by hormones during his actual adolescence) .

Ivan had been tempted, after that display earlier—Nix's firm weight on his lap, his mouth hot and searching on Ivan's neck—to take his cock out and jerk off right there. To cover his desk with his cum the way he wanted to cover that demon's stupidly pretty mouth with it.

But Ivan knew, somehow, that Nix would know he'd done it. And then Nix would think he'd won, that he'd beaten Ivan.

He hadn't. Ivan didn't lose, at least not in the long run. Maybe he had to concede in the occasional battle, but never the war.

He was only pent up; that was all. And Nix had whatever sex magic an incubus held on his side, messing with Ivan's head.

So, yes, Ivan's cock was full and heavy every time he pictured Nix's absurdly attractive face, every time his mind wandered to the expanse of skin visible under Nix's sheer fucking shirt. What of it?

So, yes, Ivan wanted nothing more than to slide his dick between those ridiculously full lips, to pluck at those nipple piercings, to order the incubus to suck, order him to behave , until he swallowed down every bit of Ivan's reluctant arousal. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't.

Ivan didn't fuck men.

So Ivan would wait and jerk off in the shower tonight, like it was any other night, and if the demon dared to make any remarks, Ivan would blame it on the regular bodily functions of a healthy male human.

And he'd lock his bedroom door.

The matter decided, Ivan adjusted himself in his slacks and turned on his laptop, busying himself with work for a few more hours as he waited to hear from Sascha that the deed was done. Ivan's brother and his demon were meeting with the Carusos tonight, ostensibly to discuss Ivan's willingness to allow his ports to be used for the Carusos' new shipments of human cargo, but in reality to allow Kai an opportunity to do away with Luca Caruso— the head of the family—and any men he brought with him, cutting their organization off at the knees.

It would have been a tricky maneuver with only mortal subordinates to rely on, but Kai was a warrior demon more than capable of slaughtering the lot of them without allowing any of Ivan's men—his brother—to come to harm.

If Sascha had the gall to summon a demon behind Ivan's back, the least he could do was to put the demon to good use.

But even after the sky had gone dark, hours after Sascha should have confirmed the meeting was over, Ivan didn't hear anything from his brother. He didn't hear anything from anyone. Not until his phone rang, the apartment's security guard on the other line.

"Sergei's here."

Every muscle in Ivan's body tensed at the announcement. He forced them to relax one by one before he spoke. "Send him up."

Nix appeared in the doorway after a mere moment, having obviously eavesdropped on the last (and probably every other) phone call. He leaned his lithe figure against the doorjamb, cocking his head. "Is that wise?" he asked, presumably referring to Sergei's imminent arrival.

(And now Ivan had to be grateful that, at the very least, his unexpected visitor served as a distraction from his own stubborn arousal.)

Ivan gave the demon a blank look. "Why wouldn't it be?" At Nix's unimpressed stare, he waved a hand in the direction of the hallway. "Go. Stay in the guest room until he leaves."

For whatever reason, Nix listened to him, straightening with a sigh and disappearing on quiet feet, the snick of the guest bedroom door shutting gunshot loud in the otherwise silent apartment.

Ivan waited in his seat, breathing evenly, fingers wrapped around a pen so he wouldn't tap at his desk in the meantime. Sergei had known him too long, was too aware of Ivan's tells, for Ivan to allow himself free rein to fidget.

He remained in his desk chair even as he heard the elevator door open into the apartment, and a moment later, there was Sergei in the office doorway, a sight as familiar to Ivan as his own father had been. Maybe even more so. He was no artist, but Ivan was sure he could draw from memory Sergei's stocky form, his dark hair now peppered with more than a bit of gray, his nose that had been broken more than once.

The man who'd been in charge of Ivan's education. And, with that, his discipline.

How many beatings had Ivan endured under Sergei's hands?

That was before, of course. Back when Sergei had answered to Ivan's father. Now Sergei answered to Ivan. Loyal to the end; that was Sergei.

What a fucking joke.

He was carrying a white cardboard box, spots of it almost transparent with grease. He set it down on the desk, lifting the lid. The enticing smell of spiced meat wafted to Ivan's nose.

"Piroshki," Ivan murmured.

Sergei nodded. "From the bakery in my neighborhood," he said, his Russian accent subtle but never fully gone, even after all his years in New York. "The good one."

Ivan eyed the little meat-filled pastries, his stomach tightening to the point of cramping. "I haven't eaten yet."

Sergei scoffed in a way that managed to sound fond. "Of course you haven't."

Ivan didn't take one yet, but he did meet Sergei's eye. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, boss."

Boss. It was what Sergei had called Ivan's father. What he now called Ivan, ever since Ivan's father's last breath .

Ivan had never considered it an ironic title, but apparently that only showed how little he'd known.

He sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his midsection. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Sergei took the seat across from him, thumping down with his usual lack of grace. "I've heard whispers," he said as soon as he was seated, cutting to the chase already. "The Carusos were taken down tonight. A major hit."

"You don't say?" Ivan said lightly. "About time."

Sergei didn't so much as twitch, but his dark eyes bore into Ivan's. "There's talk that Sascha was involved."

"Our Sascha?" Ivan's lips quirked into an almost smile. "How unlikely."

"They're saying Luca is dead," Sergei persisted, his tone giving away nothing as to how he felt about that development. "And eight other men, all higher-ups. His stepson, Matteo, is missing, presumed dead as well. And the rest are scrambling."

"We should make sure they don't scramble into any trouble, then," Ivan said. "Tag and Jace are close to the Carusos' main warehouse. Have them clean up any stragglers."

Sergei's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward as far as the desk would allow. "What are Tag and Jace doing close to Caruso territory?"

"Carrying out my orders," Ivan told him firmly, allowing some of his irritation to creep into his voice. "Is that a problem, Sergei?"

Sergei sat back, seeming to realize the fine line he was walking. In an instant, he was the picture of ease. "No," he said with a smile. "Of course not."

He tucked a hand into his breast pocket. Was he about to draw a gun? Maybe Ivan would end the night with a bullet to the head.

What would the incubus do then?

It was a stupid fucking thought to be his last one, but Ivan couldn't come up with anything else. He was too tired, maybe. From the summoning. From life. From Sergei's stupid games.

But Sergei only pulled out a handkerchief, blowing his nose loudly before speaking again. "You know, a deal with the Carusos would have benefited us."

Ivan resisted the urge to scoff. He knew exactly who a deal with the Carusos would have benefited, and it sure as fuck wasn't him. "Would it really?"

"Your father would have taken it."

"My father's dead," Ivan said flatly.

Sergei tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket, making a quick sign of the cross. "May he rest in peace."

"I'm sure the fires of hell are keeping him nice and toasty."

Unsurprisingly, Sergei was unamused. He gave Ivan a heavy, knowing look and heaved a sigh. "I'm worried about you, Vanya."

Somewhere underneath the ever-present rage, Ivan was curious. Where was Sergei going to try to steer him now? Did he already have a backup plan now the Carusos were a dead end? He must have. He was a traitor but not a fool.

"You should take a wife," Sergei told him, with all apparent sincerity.

Ivan was so genuinely surprised by the suggestion he couldn't contain his startled laugh. "I should?"

"Mm." Sergei smiled at him, the picture of a caring older relative. "A good woman, Ivan. A few babies. It'll settle you."

Like it settled my psychopath of a father?

It was the most preposterous suggestion Ivan had ever heard, but he only nodded. "I'll take that into consideration."

Sergei grunted, apparently satisfied with that response.

For a moment, it felt like old times. A few months ago, Ivan would have broken out the vodka for them, settled in and talked with Sergei deep into the night. They would have planned for the future, reminisced about old times (always glossing over the brutality, always painting Ivan's father as a calculated leader rather than an unhinged sadist). Sergei would have played the role Ivan had once thought Alexei would fill. The loyal second-in-command.

Was it on one of those nights that Sergei had decided to betray him? Had Ivan let something slip, some tell that had made Sergei decide he wasn't worth following any longer? Shown some weakness he wasn't aware of?

Even knowing what Ivan did, he was still tempted to take out two glasses. It wasn't like he had anyone else to drink with these days.

But Sergei stood abruptly before he had a chance. "I'll see to the men, then. Make sure no stragglers are left to cause trouble, hm?"

He would too. Sergei's play with the Carusos had failed, and he was smart enough to know a losing hand when he saw one. It would take time for him to regroup, if usurping Ivan was still on his agenda.

If that had even been the point of all this.

Sergei pushed the box of pastries closer to Ivan. "Eat. Get some sleep. And think on what I said."

Ivan tipped his chin. "I always do."

He watched Sergei leave. He took the vodka out of his desk drawer, followed by a single glass.

Nix appeared in the doorway of Ivan's office sometime later, catching Ivan in the act of biting into one of the piroshki. He rested a hip against the doorframe. "You sure you should eat that?"

Ivan finished chewing. Swallowed. Washed it down with vodka. He sneered, or at least he tried to. His facial expressions weren't cooperating quite the way they should. "Sergei wouldn't poison me. He'd shoot me point-blank, like a real man."

Nix laughed, low and throaty. "Oh, Vanya. There's so much wrong with that statement I can't even begin."

Ivan shut his eyes. Opened them again. "You sound like Sascha," he accused. "Sascha on one of his rants about toxic masculinity."

Ivan's youngest brother didn't contradict him often—or at least, he didn't used to—but when he did, he always liked to do it with gusto and sass.

"Good." Nix grinned, flashing sharp teeth, his tail flicking out from behind him. "I liked him."

Ivan scowled down at his glass, which was empty again. He wondered if Nix controlled the tail's movements or if they were involuntary. "You only met him for a moment."

"I saw enough." Nix's expression turned thoughtful. "He'll be good for Kai, I think. He's…sweet."

"He was allowed to be."

"So bitter, Vanya."

Nix straightened from the doorway and prowled closer, circumventing the desk to come up behind Ivan's chair. Normally Ivan wouldn't allow someone in that position—letting someone into his blind spot was asking for a bullet to the back of the head—but he was feeling…heavy tonight. Who cared if the incubus snapped his neck?

Then again, Nix couldn't. He wasn't allowed to hurt Ivan, so he wouldn't. It was a simple equation, and he was the only person in the world Ivan could say that about.

If only everyone was held to such constraints.

Ivan picked up another piroshki.

Nix's voice was quiet behind him. "You're softer with him."

"Sascha?" Ivan asked, almost laughing at the thought. Sascha would surely have something to say about such an accusation. To say he would disagree was putting it lightly.

"Sergei."

Ivan paused, the piroshki held to his lips. "He raised me," he said eventually.

"And now he's betrayed you. How tragic." The words could have been sarcastic, but Nix didn't sound taunting. That spiced, smoked scent he carried around with him drifted to Ivan's nose.

Ivan suddenly wished he could see his face.

Fingers carded through Ivan's hair, and he dropped the piroshki in an instant, uncaring where it landed, closing his eyes and leaning back into the touch. He didn't exactly groan, but it was close.

"Is this part of the contract?" he asked, his voice strangely hoarse. "Tending to me?"

The fingers in his hair stilled, then started up again. "Sure. You can say that, if you want."

What Ivan wanted was too difficult a question for the moment.

For now, Ivan needed a moment. Just…a moment, being touched by someone who wasn't cruel, or conniving, or indifferent.

So he let Nix play with his hair, the touch eventually evolving into more of a scalp massage, Nix's fingers firm and confident and perfect. Ivan wasn't sure how long it lasted. Minutes. Hours. Centuries. Nix didn't make it sexual, even when Ivan finally groaned at a particularly firm bit of pressure. When he was done, Nix only patted Ivan's head, then walked around the desk, plopping into the chair across from him, his tail hanging over the side.

Ivan blinked blearily at him, then poured himself another glass. "It took me longer than it should have, to realize who my mole was," he said, even though Nix hadn't asked him.

Maybe it was the visit from Sergei, the reminder of old times, that was making Ivan chatty .

Or maybe it was just the vodka.

"I hadn't been able to fathom it. He's known Sascha since he was a baby."

Nix leaned his chin on one hand, his pretty eyes fixed on Ivan. "Why did he do it?"

"I don't know." Ivan let out a bitter laugh. "I haven't asked. But he was the only one who knew where Sascha would be and when. He thought to frame the driver, but Sascha had sent his driver away the night before without telling us. He'd bribed him to keep quiet about it."

"And does Sergei know you know?"

"Not yet."

"And how long are you going to keep him at your side?" There was no judgment in Nix's gaze, no sign that he thought Ivan was an idiot for not acting sooner. Only consideration.

"Not much longer." Despite his occasionally maudlin thoughts, Ivan didn't have a death wish. Keeping Sergei at his side indefinitely would be beyond foolish. His current hesitation was risky enough.

Nix studied him in that way of his. Like he was seeing through every bit of Ivan, right down to the core. "You don't want to hurt him," he surmised.

"I want to kill him," Ivan corrected.

"Those two things aren't necessarily mutually exclusive."

Ivan didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about Sergei at all. Why had Nix even brought him up? "My brother spoke of using the Book to bond," he said, changing the course of the conversation. "What does that mean?"

Nix shrugged. "Kind of what it sounds like. They're going to bond their souls together. It allows Kai to stay here, even without a contract. Think of it as a marriage."

"My baby brother's getting married?"

Ivan wanted to feel something about that, but everything was numb. At least if Sascha was really foolish enough to love someone, it was someone who could protect him.

"I'd say he's already done it," Nix said lightly. "I don't think Kai could bear to wait."

Ivan stared at Nix. It wasn't fair that he looked so pretty sitting there, even with his usual spark of mischief dimmed. "You're not teasing me tonight," Ivan pointed out.

Nix hummed. "You're much too sad."

Ivan didn't bother protesting. But really, that showed how much Nix knew about human emotion. Ivan wasn't sad. He was never sad. He was just…numb.

"I'm going to lock my door tonight." Ivan tried to raise a brow, but he wasn't sure if he managed it. Or maybe he was raising both of them. "So no watching me sleep."

"Whatever you need to do to feel safe."

Ivan frowned at him. "I'm not scared of you."

Nix flashed him a small grin. "My mistake."

"You made a mark," Ivan told him, suddenly remembering. He touched the tender spot on his neck. Sergei must have seen it.

"Oopsie." But Nix didn't sound very sincere.

They sat there in silence for a while as Ivan ate half the box of piroshki, washing each down with a gulp of vodka. Nix's purple eyes never left him. He barely seemed to blink.

Normally Ivan didn't like people watching him eat—the act was too human, too vulnerable—but he couldn't find it in himself to care tonight. And Nix's eyes were so pretty. Ivan liked having them on him. Liked having his demon at hand.

When he finished eating, he stood from his desk, taking a moment to find his sea legs before he crossed over to where Nix sat. The demon stared up at him, his face for once unreadable.

And then Ivan did what he'd been wanting to do since Nix had knelt at his feet when Ivan was only half-conscious, right after their contract had been made .

He reached out a hand and raked it through that fiery hair, loosening Nix's ponytail and letting the whole wavy mass fall down around Nix's face.

Nix didn't protest. He didn't even blink, his eyes seeming to glow in the lamplight.

Ivan would have liked to say the long, loose hair made Nix look like a woman, but it didn't. The angles of his face were too harsh, maybe, or the line of his chin too strong, even with those damned plush lips.

Or maybe Nix had dug himself too deep under Ivan's skin for Ivan to pretend.

Ivan wound the hair around his fist, tugging Nix's head back. "You'll behave tonight," he ordered, his voice strangely husky.

Nix peered up at him with hooded eyes. "Yes, master."

Whether mocking or sincere, the words were what Ivan wanted to hear. He leaned forward, pressed a firm kiss to that stupid, taunting mouth, tugged Nix's hair once more for good measure, and walked out of the room.