22. Hunter

TWENTY-TWO

HUNTER

I don't want to bring Winter to Misha Hroshko's home. First, because it's been a month since we moved Veronica into Amelia Manor, and she hasn't wanted to leave Veronica's side.

Or Summer's. Not that anyone can blame her. The whole house, even August, adores the baby. Winter's taken more middle-of-the-night feedings than is reasonable, even moving a baby monitor into our room.

When I objected, she said, "You're the one who's all gung-ho about having a baby. Consider it real-world practice." She rolled over and went to sleep. Cranky.

The other reason is that while Misha's wife, Luna, has been in the Project for weeks, I have no idea what her progress has been outside the small updates Leo gives me.

Maybe she's better now. Otherwise, I very well may be walking into my murder.

Winter's hand is warm against mine. We're in the back of the G-wagon, but this time, a battalion of armored cars surround us as an escort. She decided to leave Kitty behind to watch over Veronica and Summer. The truth is that Veronica relies on Kitty to keep her grounded more than Winter does these days, so instead of bringing him along, she decided he'd be more useful at home.

Having fifteen guards with us for a simple dinner is probably overkill, but I know that dinner with Misha Hroshko will be anything but simple.

Winter's leg starts to shake. "Don't be nervous, Sunbeam," I say, putting my hand on her thigh.

She inhales and exhales to the count of three. She looks stunning tonight. The scar over her eye is faint, barely noticeable without makeup. With her face made up, I can't see it at all.

She wears a black long-sleeved jumpsuit with a low-cut V-neck. Her ample breasts sit nicely in the bodice, and I want to lick the space between them where a thin gold chain hangs down. Also, she's wearing the butt plug I put inside her before we left the house. It's remote-controlled and vibrates, and fuck if my Sunbeam didn't nearly drool when I presented it to her.

Putting it inside her after I ate her out on our bathroom counter is the highlight of the evening.

When she walked in front of me to get into the car, I had to stifle a groan at how her ass jiggled when she moved.

"I'm not nervous," she says. The tightness around her wine-colored lips tells a different story.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, I'm nervous. It's just...this is a lot of people with us, and it's not every day that you walk into the house of a mafioso." She brings her hand to her mouth to bite her nails, and I lower it, grasping it gently in mine.

"First, don't think of him that way. Just think of it as dinner with a friend of mine and his wife."

She bites her lip. I'm surprised when her lipstick doesn't move at all.

"Yeah, a friend who could put a horse head in our bed if we piss him off," she says .

More like he'd put our heads in our bed. "Baby, you watch too many movies," I say with a small chuckle.

She shrugs. "This is just a strange world."

A few weeks ago, I told her most of the details about Misha—who he is and why we're hanging out with a Ukrainian mob boss.

I half expected her to run for the hills. I didn't expect her to do what she did, which was to say, "So you're telling me you're a bad boy, Mr.Brigham?" before dropping to her knees and swallowing me down.

The memory causes my cock to twitch in my wool slacks. I bring her hand to my mouth, taking a moment to examine her bare ring finger.

My mother's ring should be on her hand. The fact that both Blair and my father have virtually disappeared off the face of the Earth is more than annoying. Blair's disappearance is enraging because a) I want to see her dead too, even though it'll probably cause a political shitstorm if I can't make it look like an accident. And b) she has my mother's ring. The ring that rightfully belongs to Winter.

I know I haven't asked her to marry me despite having everyone call her Mrs.Brigham, much to her everlasting chagrin.

I want Winter to be my wife. She will be my wife.

I just want everything to be right. I have a vision of what I want it to look like when I pop the question. I want to give her Paris again. I want to give her my mother's ring. I want her to be carefree and safe and happy and peaceful.

I can't guarantee any of those things for her right now. She deserves all that and more.

"Just be yourself, baby. Let me worry about the rest." She bites her lip again, and I reach to pull the flesh from between her teeth. "Keep biting your lip like that, and I'm gonna bite it for you. "

Her cheeks turn more pink beneath her blush. I love the gentle smile she gives me.

"You promise?" she asks.

I bring her over the middle console, grabbing the back of her neck to control her movements. Our kiss is hot, energized. I feel her anxiety channel through her lips to mine. When she moans, I break our embrace.

"Be good," I whisper to her. Our noses rub against each other, and it's the most intimate move I've ever done with another woman. My heart trips over its rhythm.

"Five minutes, boss," Rio says. I sit back on my side of the car.

She pulls out a compact to check her lipstick. "This shit is amazing," she murmurs, snapping the mirror shut. The side of her mouth kicks up. "Do you wanna know what one of the reviews called it?"

"What," I say, amused.

"Blow-job proof." Her eyes twinkle, and I'm so happy to see the glimmer there. The image of Winter when I found her in the diner snaps to my consciousness, and I repress a flinch as I recall the deadness in her eyes.

My Sunbeam is coming back. Different. Strong.

"We'll have to test that theory tonight, then," I say.

She weaves her fingers with mine.

"What do you want to do for your birthday, H?" she says, and I can tell she's trying to shift us to a safe conversation.

I raise my eyebrows, my gaze dipping to her cleavage.

"Hunter, focus!" she says with a bright laugh.

"How am I supposed to focus with you sitting next to me looking damn near edible? It's your fault you've got me thinking about blow jobs."

And titty fucking, because her tits in that outfit....

"Hunter. Your birthday? How do you want to celebrate?" She tries to give me a stern look .

"As long as whatever we do includes seeing your smiling face, I'm good with whatever," I say with all honesty.

Her smile grows with every turn of the tires.

"Fine, I'll choose. Be prepared, H. I'm gonna throw you the best birthday party ever," she says. Her excitement grows as she finishes her sentence. "Who do you want to be there?"

I think it over.

"Let's keep it close to home at Amelia Manor. And maybe don't invite anyone besides everyone who's already around, so Leo, Ella, Veronica, and August."

She deflates for a moment before smiling again. It's not as bright as before. "Okay, H. One house party kick-back coming right up."

She moves to bite her nails again, and I grab her hand once more, holding it in my lap until we arrive at our destination.

Misha Hroshko's compound rivals Fort Knox. Literally. Renovated from an abandoned army base, thick concrete walls surround the acres of land he calls home. You can't see his estate from the road leading up to it, but Leo told me he built a 15,000-square-foot mansion at the center of the compound.

Rio drives up to the gate, and Misha's soldiers mill around it, carrying rifles at the ready. Winter's fingers spasm in my hand.

"It's okay, baby," I murmur to her.

Rio speaks to the guards, and we all place our hands on a portable scanner to verify our identities. Or to make sure the pakhan can always find us.

Rolling up to the home, Leo was not exaggerating.

Rio cuts the engine and rounds to open Winter's door.

"Before we go in," I say, "I want you to wear this." I pull a fourteen-carat, princess-cut diamond ring out of my pocket and slip it on her finger.

"Um," she blurts out. "Hunter? "

"This one is just for looks. Soon enough, I'll have my mother's ring on your finger." She stares at her hand for several beats after Rio opens her door.

A kiss on her fingertips rouses her from her stupor.

"Misha will respect us more if he sees we're getting married. Trust me, please." I look into her eyes and notice the far-off, bewildered look in her gaze.

"Fight me about it later?" I ask softly.

She visibly swallows.

We both exit the car and I grab her hand again, comforted by the feel of the diamond ring pressing against my palm.

The reality is that Misha's support in finding Winter was highly unusual. In Misha's world, just as it is in mine, people don't care about girlfriends. They're disposable. That's part of the reason why I was so grateful for his help.

But a wife, however, holds a different place within our society.

Leo follows behind with his detail. He didn't want to ride with us much for the same reason there's Air Force One and Air Force Two.

"Good evening, sir. Madam," comes a weathered male voice to our left. A butler stands at the bottom of the short stone staircase leading to the foyer.

Leo joins us a few moments later. "Ready?" he asks, his voice gruff. I notice without surprise that he's solo.

"Ready," I say under my breath.

"Welcome to my home."

Misha's deep, accented voice echoes once we pass the entryway. He stands on the second-floor balcony. Taking slow, measured steps, he walks down the stairs. When he stops in front of us, the look on his face radiates seriousness. He reaches for Winter, taking her left hand, and his eyes flit to me with a slight, amused smile before he addresses her.

"I see congratulations are in order," he says. Winter blushes but stays silent .

"We'd be married already if I had my way," I reply, pulling her closer to dislodge her hand from Misha's.

"I understand the sentiment," Misha says.

He turns away from our group, and we follow him into a formal dining room.

We take our places around the table and look over when a woman who can't be more than five-foot-even walks into the room. She has soft hazel-green eyes and dark blonde hair cut into a short style that barely reaches her ears. She could be mixed with a few ethnicities—her light-tanned skin doesn't look like it comes from a bottle or a little too much time in the sun. Misha's face completely transforms when she enters.

This must be Luna, his wife. He grabs her hand with a gentleness that seems a hundred percent incongruent with this man's reputation of mass devastation.

"Please meet my wife, Luna," Misha says in a clear tone. She looks good, not at all like someone who has terminal cancer. Winter is the first to move, stepping toward the small woman and offering her hand.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you," Winter says with grace befitting a queen. "I'm Winter, Hunter's fiancée." She trips over the last word only a little bit.

Good girl.

We're all surprised when the more petite woman jumps at Winter, caging her into a tight hug. Winter stands there, bewildered for a moment, before she regains her composure, hugging the woman back.

Then Luna moves to the two of us, intent on hugging us before Misha growls low in his throat.

A warning.

Leo and I both take a step back. Got it. Don't touch his woman.

Luna clasps her hands in front of her body with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes .

"Thank you," she says in a Southern accent. Georgia, maybe?

"You're welcome," Leo says.

"Luna has just shown me the report from your doctor today," Misha says roughly, pulling his woman into his side.

"No evidence of disease," Luna says.

Winter gasps, covering her mouth as tears pop into her eyes too.

Well, thank fuck for that. Project Panacea coming through just removed the hangman's noose from my neck—at least as far as Misha is concerned.

"That is wonderful news!" Winter exclaims. "Tonight must be a celebration."

"Yes. I mean, of course, I need to stay cancer-free, but I'm grateful," Luna says, passing her watery gaze to Leo and me and then back up to her husband. "At least I have a fighting chance."

A bell rings in the hall, and we take our cue from Misha, who sits at the head of the table. The rest of us take our seats.

My hand finds Winter's.

"A toast," Misha says. "To the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership."

We lift our glasses to drink, and I try to avoid Leo's gaze.

We sold our souls, and now it's time to pay up.

Our dinner is well-appointed, but I don't taste the flavors. We've held up our end of the bargain, so things should be straightforward now.

This should be it, but it's clear that I'm getting set up to be Misha Hroshko's bitch boy.

Absolutely fucking not.

I turn when the server is about to pour more wine into Winter's glass, and I put my hand over it to halt the server's progress.

Winter looks at me with suppressed annoyance. "One glass is enough," I say to her in a low voice. A glance at the server has him shuffling away quickly.

"Hunter," she says with a low hiss only for my ears, "I'm not drunk or sloppy. I can handle my alcohol."

I put my hand on her cheek, which only further annoys her. "That's not why, Sunbeam," I murmur.

"Enlighten me," she deadpans.

"One glass is acceptable according to many studies backed by the ACOG."

"The what?"

"The American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology."

She coughs, choking on her spit. "Hunter James Brigham," she wheezes.

"Fight me about it later?" I smile, kissing her hand.

"No.I want another glass of wine. I'm not—" She looks around the table, but Leo, Misha, and Luna appear wrapped up in their conversation.

"I'm not pregnant," she says in an even lower voice.

My eyes flick down to her stomach.

"You are insufferable," she adds.

"Sure. You're still not getting more alcohol, though." Then, because I clearly have a death wish, I push her water glass closer to her. "Drink your water and eat your vegetables. You need more calcium in your diet."

The low growl she emits is adorable. As a reward, I snake my hand in my pocket to tap my phone screen. I don't look at Winter when, a few seconds later, a tiny squeak pops from her mouth.

Pulsing the butt plug from the app on my phone while Misha and Luna laugh at something Leo says, I stop when her hands slap on the table.

I give her a reprieve and look at her while I sip my wine.

Based on her flushed, annoyed look, I will thoroughly enjoy the tongue-lashing she's set to give me when we get home .

We finish our meal with silence between us, and I suppress a laugh when Winter spears a piece of broccolini.

"Luna, moya lyubov," Misha says. "Would you like to show Winter our garden? I hear she has quite the interest in flowers." Misha's presence right now is beyond confusing. He's cold and dangerous in every interaction I've had with him. But he's affectionate beyond what anyone would expect with his wife—with "his love," as he calls her.

Luna's eyes light up. "Oh, me too! Let me show you. Our garden is insane."

Winter gives her a genuine smile. She likes her. And I'm glad because the relationship with Misha Hroshko is set to be "long and fruitful."

Fuck.

When the women walk off, Misha raises his hands toward me and Leo. "Let's go to the cigar room. Leo, you're a cigar man," he says innocuously. But it's not innocuous because how the fuck does he know that? He's had us followed or tapped or?—

"Have you ever had Mayan Sicars?" Misha continues as if he isn't verbally flopping his dick out on the table.

"I have," Leo says coolly.

"And you, Hunter?" If Misha feels the animosity radiating from Leo, he doesn't show it.

"Can't say that I have," I reply.

Misha claps his hands once. "You're in for a treat." He gets up without warning and heads out of the dining room. Leo and I finally share a glance, and it's loaded.

Me: We're fucked.

Him: I fucking know.

Me: But what can we do ?

Him: Not a fucking thing.

Making our way down the dark corridor, we follow Misha into the opulent cigar room. It's climate-controlled and leather-bound—not that I'd expect it to look any different.

"Sit, sit," Misha says. "Whiskey, bourbon, or cognac?" he asks hospitably.

"Whiskey for me," I say.

"Cognac," Leo says.

Misha nods and pours the alcohol. Bringing over the drinks, he opens the humidor on the low table separating us.

"Mayan Sicars. Did you know that they began making cigars in the twelfth century? These cigars," he picks one up, examining it in the low, warm light. "They're over six hundred years old. Some people see them as an investment piece."

He's silent for a moment, and then he quickly snips the end of the cigar, handing one to Leo and another to me.

"This one, though." He pulls out a gold-leaf wrapped cigar with… What the fuck, are those diamonds ? "The Gurkha Royal Courtesan. Himalayan tobacco, Fiji water, and Remy Martin's Black Louis XII cognac. Wrapped in gold leaf with five-carat diamonds. How much do you think this one costs, Leo?"

I raise my eyebrow. I don't know why he's so focused on Leo, but it's making the hair on my neck rise even more.

"It's roughly worth a million and a quarter," Leo says in a bored tone.

Misha nods his head toward him. "Very good. You do know your cigars." With no further preamble, he snips the end of the deluxe tobacco and lights it.

Lights a million-dollar cigar.

I see shit like this all the time, but this feels like a particularly disgusting display of power, waste, and greed .

I look away as the cigar smoke whirls around us. I light mine, leaning back in the leather seat, sipping the whiskey.

I can't lie. It's delicious.

Looking around, I see what Misha's doing. He knows we've seen him in a vulnerable state, and vulnerability is a risk.

So he wants to show who's in charge. And it isn't us.

"I don't need what your father has," Misha says. He isn't looking at me. Instead, he's looking at the cigar, analyzing the smoke curling from the end of it. "Honestly, I don't need to intervene in this issue."

The issue of my father trying to kill me and the people I love.

"And while his business is," he tilts his head from side to side, searching for a word, "problematic, to say the least, I have more than enough here." He puffs on the million-dollar cigar. "So why should I help you again?"

My eyes narrow on Misha, and I can sense Leo's jaw grinding out of my peripheral vision.

"We did everything you asked us to do. Your wife would not be alive if it weren't for us," Leo says with barely concealed agitation.

Misha nods. "That's true."

He's silent, and Leo doesn't fill the space. In unison, we take a pull from our cigars. "I'm thankful for your assistance," Misha says.

Misha watches the smoke dissipate for a moment before adding, "And yet I think you fail to appreciate how much it will cost me to shield you and yours from the fallout of your father's removal. Ultimately, many lives will be lost until I can gain control."

I've thought about what it would mean to topple my father from his throne, and the reality is that I'll have to be hypervigilant for the rest of my life. My father works with some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. His influence is massive, and his existence makes a lot of people a lot of fucking money.

So his removal will impact the bottom line for many people, and people tend to get trigger-happy when you start fucking with their money.

Suddenly, I feel very, very tired.

I sigh. "What more do you want, Misha?" I ask with a long exhale. Misha smiles.

"I'm happy to help you with your problem, Hunter. You have, after all, saved my wife's life. And yet, helping you will mean continued effort on my end. Your assistance was merely opening the door to something you already had lying there."

I can see his point. Fucker.

"Again, what the hell do you want?" Leo asks with weary delivery.

Misha cuts his eyes toward Leo, taking a long draw from his cigar. "Isla Cara," he says simply.

"What about it?" I ask. I try to go for an unaffected tone, but I don't know if I'm successful. I feel a headache generate between my eyebrows.

"There are some things that I need from Isla Cara. I think you know where they are."

I raise my eyebrow. "Isla Cara is sixty square miles. You're going to have to be a little more specific."

Misha's face is bland for several moments before a slight tick of his jaw breaks the glare.

"You know, I remember you, Hunter Brigham. From your father's island," he says.

My jaw clenches.

"I've only been there once. The Russian president was there often, if you didn't know," he continues.

I tilt my head down a fraction.

"I remember you being there. You were in the shadows. Always on the sidelines. Watching. I have a feeling you saw many things, Hunter. "

He's right. I saw so much. Too much.

I look at Leo.

Leo stares at Misha. Hard.

"Your father hides all his secrets on Isla Cara. I want to know all of them." His tone is dangerous, direct. I know if I deny any part of his statement, he'll likely kill me where I sit.

My brain goes back to my father's vault and the side of the house that he would never let anyone into.

"Why do you need this?" I bring my glass to my lips and resist downing the entire thing.

"Are you really in a position to ask questions, Hunter?"

A stare-off.

"Fine," I say to Misha. "I'll go to Isla Cara. If you're looking for secrets, I have a good idea where he kept them."

The sound of the clock ticking is the only noise for several moments.

"Wonderful," Misha replies, smiling wide. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"You will leave for Isla Cara tonight," he says.

"No," I say, the syllable quick and firm. At Misha's challenging look, I say, "My fiancée has planned a birthday party for me the day after tomorrow. She would be devastated if I were to miss it. So, I won't."

His eyes don't move from my face for several long seconds. "Very well. Family is everything," he says. I try to not absorb it as a threat.

"By the end of the week. Three days," Misha says darkly.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Got it," Leo says, looking away.

"End of the week. We'll be ready," I say as I stamp out my cigar.

Misha raises his glass. "To a long and fruitful partnership," he says again.

Leo and I raise our glasses, but while Misha takes a sip, Leo and I empty our drinks in one gulp.