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“Something’s happening, and no one will give me specifics,” she griped. “But it’s a big enough deal that Aleks sent Max up to San Francisco to check on some things, and I can tell he’s on edge.”
I was horrified. Did she find out about Lev and me? No, how could she? She only wanted to vent, something we used to do all the time. As sisters, we’d shared everything with each other, even before our parents died. Our bond only became stronger after that, but it had dropped off ever since I cut ties with them financially and was so busy trying to keep secrets that I barely spoke to her anymore.
It was awkward and heartbreaking, but the least I could do was lend an ear, even though it made my stomach churn. Since she didn’t know anything, I didn’t learn anything new, only that there might be a real reason to worry about Lev. I couldn’t even ask about him in passing because I'd never met him as far as Katie knew.
“I miss you,” she said after she wound down a bit. “I want to plan a vacation, just us. Maybe Nat, too, if she’s around. She’s been warming up to me again.”
“That’s nice,” I said stiffly, holding back tears. I missed Katie, too, terribly. But I had to hold her at arm’s length, didn’t I?
“Please don’t make up excuses why you can’t,” she pleaded. “It’ll be chill. A spa weekend or something. Once the baby is born, I’ll be swamped, and then it won’t just be us.”
“I’ll try to clear my schedule,” I said, hanging up before I started crying.
My sister needed me, and my husband was probably in danger. But I was supposed to be pissed at Katie and was trying to destroy Lev, so why was I so upset about either of those things? Emotions I could no longer contain battered me like a storm, so I slid off the chair and rested my head on the seat. Sobbing, I wished Lev would hurry up and get home, or never come back.
I needed to figure out which one of those things I wanted, but it seemed an impossible task.
Chapter 27 - Lev
After a month of so much peace and quiet, the shit hit the fan all at once. I was called out of bed at the crack of dawn by one of my guys and had to head into the city so fast I could barely say goodbye to Jenna. It was clearly planned, with multiple attacks happening in quick succession. My people were spread thin, and they’d already managed to destroy a small grocery store by the time I was on my way.
When I got to the bar where the second attack took place, we rounded up the perpetrators and stuffed them into the trunks of a few of our cars. The one who was still conscious decided it would be in his best interest to tell us where the third attack would take place, and we headed over there just in time to catch them breaking into an upscale nightclub I’d purchased recently.
That pissed me off since I had planned to keep that place a legitimate business, and no one should have even known I was involved with it. I was used to keeping tabs on my enemies, and it seemed my enemies were keeping tabs on me, whoever they might be.
We managed to learn from the guy we kept from knocking out that they were Russian, like the last crew who’d attacked my bars. But these weren’t lone wolves; they were working for an organization up in Portland that was eager for a spot in my city. We took the group who were breaking into my nightclub by surprise and tried to get them to take their buddies and head back home. They couldn’t be reasoned with and decided to go out the hard way.
It had been a while since I was in a real, knockdown, drag-out fight, and it felt good to hit something more substantial than the heavy bag in my new home gym. The frustration athaving to leave my wife before the sun was all the way up made me go harder than necessary.
Things had been great with Jenna since we moved into the new house, better than great. I had been enjoying married life immensely and didn’t appreciate this interruption to the routine we’d fallen into over the last month.
Once we finished up with the new crop of intruders, I let my second-in-command take them away for either further interrogation or disposal. No one was going to be reporting back to the big boss in Portland. If that person wanted to discuss boundaries, it would behoove them to make an appointment to talk, instead of wasting good men on these petty attacks. Having to replace some shelves and windows was only annoying me and getting on my bad side.
Sliding into my car, much later in the day, I groaned at the stiffness in my back. I glanced at my appearance in the rearview mirror and winced. Not at the pain, which was something I was used to, but at the split lip and a burgeoning black eye. I’d enjoyed myself way too much in the fight earlier and I had the battle scars to prove it. This wasn’t going to go over well with Jenna, but she should be in a class when I got home, which would give me time to ice my bruises and think of a story that wasn’t too alarming to hear.
I didn’t want her to worry or ask to get involved. I’d promised to answer any questions, but if I could keep her from asking, then I could keep her from getting too upset. We’d been getting along so well, it was almost like she’d forgotten what I did. Why remind her?
It was a shock to come in the door and find her pacing restlessly from the big, open living area, across the entryway andback again. The second she heard me come through the door, she whirled on me, her face set in tight lines and her eyes stormy.
“Where have you been all day? And why didn’t you answer any of my messages?” she asked, racing up to me and gripping my shirt in her fists. “And oh my God, what happened to your face?”
I couldn’t tell if she was concerned or angry. “Did your class get canceled?” I asked.
“I skipped because I was too worried to concentrate anyway,” she snapped. “And do not try to deflect my questions.”
I rubbed my aching jaw and sighed. “It’s no big deal,” I said. “I’ve had worse injuries from sparring at the gym. And you should see the other guys.” I grinned through the pain and tried to smooth her hair off her cheek. “No, actually, scratch that. You probably don’t want to see the other guys.”
My attempt to make a joke didn’t go over well, and she shook her head in dismay, then dragged me toward our bedroom, about to boil over. I tried to tell her I was completely fine; it was nothing, but she shoved me into the bathroom and slammed open the cabinets until she found the first aid kit.
“Look at you,” she said, twisting my face toward the mirror. “It looks like you got run over by a lawn mower.”
Jerking the top off a bottle of rubbing alcohol, she poured some into a cotton ball and mashed it into a cut near my eyebrow. Then she pressed it hard against a nick near my jaw, which I didn’t even think had anything to do with the fight, just me shaving too fast the day before.
“Take off your shirt,” she said, frowning so hard I thought she might pull a muscle. “I’m sure you probably didn’t just get hit in the face.”
Sure enough, I had a couple bruised ribs, and she huffed air out of her nose as she grabbed for the alcohol bottle again. She worked in silence except for her snorts of displeasure, and really made sure to scrub the alcohol into every cut, then slap on the bandages with barely contained fury. I finally grabbed her hand to stop her.
“You’re hurting me more than the punches,” I said.
