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Except, he knew it the second he’d touched her, it would happen. Because he was fixated and fucked up like that. He’d imagined a hundred different ways he would take her if he ever got his hands on her again. Deprived, vile ways. Ways that would hurt her and addict her to his body.
His eyes found Baran, who was waiting in the corridor.
“You don’t let her out of your sight,” he barked, then made it up the stairs, heading toward the library.
He passed several soldiers who were there for the Pakhan’s visit. Even though he got a few sideways glances, the men knew not to ask. Not that he would tell anyone a damn thing. Weaknesses in the Bratva got you killed. If anyone smelled blood, they would go after him like a shark. It wasn’t always sunshine and stars, being Kristoff’s second in command. It came with a lot of lurkers on the horizon, eager to replace him. Apart from their inner circle, he didn’t trust any of the men. After all, the history he shared with the twins and Baran went beyond blood, Bratva, and ice-cold cash.
Yuri, who was talking to a newcomer, greeted him, and then quickly looked away. Smart thinking. It was probably written on his face that he was spoiling for a fight. Instead of going a round or two, he decided to go with option B. He needed a smoke, bad.
He went into the rec room and pulled a pack out from a cabinet. The twins were playing pool, and he dropped into a chair next to a window.
He then sent Vicky a message to come over. He lit a cig, put his feet on the table, and relaxed into the chair. Yeah, this was the good life.
Damon put his cue stick on the pool table. “I thought you’d quit?”
“I have.”
“I can see that,” Angel said pointedly.
He scowled. “How did you ever get the name Angel?” The cocky asshole didn’t have an angelic bone in his body, unless he’d been named after Lucifer.
When Angel flopped down on the chair next to him and tossed one leg over the arm, Viking groaned.
“Funny you should ask. See, our mother, who as you know, was a Mohican medicine woman—may her spirit rest in Mohican heaven—”
Viking cut him a look. “Don’t. I already regret asking. Listen up, I need you two to do something for me. It’s about Vicky.”
They had heard about her by now and had given him grief, like he had expected. He’d been the butt of a list of inappropriate daddy jokes, right until the moment he had pulled a gun on Angel to shut him up.
“You need us to take her from here before Sokolov shows up,” Damon guessed.
“Spot on, brother.”
As always, Damon was two steps ahead of him. As their strategic man, it was his job to look out for any threats. Aside from their inner circle, no one knew about Vicky yet. He didn’t want anyone to. Not until he had tucked her away safely. If his enemies didn’t know she existed, they couldn’t exploit his weakness.
Everyone knew you didn’t go after a Vory’s family. But every now and then, some idiot would show up, trying to establish his name by ignoring unwritten Bratva rules.
They had an issue like that once with Katya, when some Bulgarian up-and-comer thought he could abduct her and use her against Kristoff. He’d been wrong, of course. Dead wrong. There hadn’t been any vodka on the rocks in Kristoff’s veins that day. No think before you act. He’d been coated in fire and blood, ready to tear San Fran apart.
“Artist here yet?”
Given who Viking was, his girl would need a twenty-four-hour security detail. No one was better than Artist in that field. Viking knew the man would take a bullet for his daughter.
“He’ll be here in the morning,” Damon said.
“Good. Tell him to go over to your place. Since it’s on the outskirts of town, it’ll be secluded enough. I want Vicky out of here before Sokolov arrives tomorrow.” He’d already spotted one of the Pakhan’s brigadiers downstairs. “Tell me about Sokolov’s brigadier.” His right-hand man was the one they would have to deal with the most.
“Vasili is a beast. Some say he’s a complete psycho. His strength is that he doesn’t seem to have a conscience.”
“Weaknesses?”
“Predictively enough, women,” Damon said, his jaw set.
“Any particular woman?” Maybe he held a mistress somewhere. That could be useful.
“As long as they’re breathing, young, and mature, he doesn’t discriminate. Others say he has a thing for one of Sokolov’s nieces. Speaking of Sokolov’s nieces, I heard you were getting hitched to one.”
Viking scowled. “How did you find out?” He’d only agreed to it a few days ago.
