THE SOLDIER

Kayla even gets a hug out of Oleg, our giant, silent enforcer.

Un-fucking-believable.

“That’s Oleg,” I explain as the big guy bends down and gives her a half-hug with one giant meaty arm. “He doesn’t talk.” A month ago he probably wouldn’t have moved, but he has his girlfriend Story now, and she has changed him completely. Where his silence was like a weapon before, now he attempts to communicate more. We’re learning sign language, and he’s joining conversations. He gives her the sign language salute now, which means hello.

“I guessed as much. I used to live with Sasha,” she explains, even though they knew that. “And Pavel’s not mean.” She returns safely to my side, and I unclench my fists.

“Agree to disagree,” Nikolai quips.

“All right,” I say, tugging her backwards. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

“Can you guys stay for dinner?” Kayla asks brightly.

“No,” I snap. “They can’t. They’re heading back to Chicago. Say goodbye.”All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

Kayla lifts a hand and waves. “Bye guys. Nice to meet you.”

I walk Kayla back across the street and through the front doors of the Four Seasons. “Be good. Enjoy the spa.”

A furrow creases between her brows. “Are you guys going to-”

I stop her with a finger on her lips. “Go upstairs, malysh. I’ll see you when I get back.”

She hesitates a moment, like she’s going to argue, so I raise my brows. “Yes, sir.” She lifts her face for a kiss. I brush my lips over hers. The darkness of what I’m about to do already shrouds me, makes me want to keep my distance from her. To not sully her brightness with what I am.

I should let her go, I tell myself for the hundredth time.

Never, a new voice answers. A dark voice. The one that wants to consume all that Kayla is. Claim her and keep her forever. Suck everything out of her until she’s dry.

Never.

What can I say? It feels right to be so wrong.

Pavel

“All security cameras have been put on loop and the locks are open,” Dima says, his fingers clicking over the keys on his laptop in the back of the van.

Nikolai puts the van in drive and coasts forward the remaining half block until we reach the iron gates that close the entrance to Blake Ensign’s home.

“The gate is… now open.” Dima reports just before the gates swing wide to let us in. “I brought masks. They’re in that bag.” Dima doesn’t look away from his screen; his fingers still move across the keyboard, clicking away. I have yet to see anything the guy can’t hack with enough time.

I open the bag and stare at the ski masks. Part of me doesn’t want to wear one. I want this fucker to see my face when we’re talking. But I can always take it off. I pull mine out and toss out the rest to the guys.

“He lives alone?” I ask Dima.

“Yep. How else would he get blowies from all the women he casts?”

My lip curls, and Dima shoots me a look over the top of his laptop before he snaps the lid closed. “He definitely picked the wrong actress this time.”

He did. “I promised Kayla I wouldn’t kill him,” I warn my brothers. “So don’t let me take it too far.”

“We’ve got your back,” Nikolai promises, turning from the front seat and pulling on his knit mask.

Dima taps the lid of his computer. “I have ways to hurt him that don’t even require bloodshed.” He pulls on his as well.

Oleg already wears his, his size and silence making him the most terrifying in appearance of the four of us.

“Brat’ya,” I address my brothers in Russian, “Spasibo.” Thank you.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the fucking world,” Nikolai says easily, sliding out of the van. “Let’s do this thing.”

I palm the revolver I found in the bag with the caps. Nikolai also pulls one out. Oleg prefers to rely on his hands, which are capable of snapping a man’s neck with a single twitch. Dima brings the laptop along. I can’t fucking wait to hear what damage he holds in there.

I do the polite thing and ring the bell. I hope to fuck he doesn’t have servants in the house at the moment-scaring the innocent isn’t my thing.

A mid-fifties asshole with salt and pepper hair pulls the door open, then tries to slam it shut when he catches sight of us. Oleg catches the door and shoves it in.

I point my gun in the center of Ensign’s forehead. “Hey asshole. I have a few things to say to you.”

“What the fuck is this?” He’s not scared yet, he’s pissed. The man wears entitlement like it’s a second skin.

Oleg grips his throat and lifts, using his superior height to lift the bastard off his heels.

He chokes, his face turning purple, eyes bulging. Oleg knows exactly how long to hold him. Long enough he starts thinking he might die right here in his entryway.

When he releases him, Ensign collapses in a heap on the floor. Nikolai kicks the door shut behind us.

“What-” Ensign coughs and sputters, holding his throat with one hand as he drags himself back up to his feet.

“Should we take him somewhere?” Dima affects a bored tone. “Is there a nice rug we could ruin with his blood?”

“Wh-who are you guys? What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Adjust his tone.” I make my voice as cool and bored as Dima’s but don’t quite succeed. I sound invested in his pain. I am invested in his pain.

Oleg delivers a couple choice blows-one to his gut, one to his jaw, knocking him backward onto his ass again.

“We’ll take him to the casting room. I want to see the couch where he takes his dick out.” I deliver a sharp kick to his ribs. “Where is that?”

“What?” He’s still more angry than scared. His face contorts with belligerence.