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Sergei waved his hand in a little circle, prompting me to drink.
I lifted the glass toward him and tossed back the vodka with a wince. I’d been on a rum kick for so long I forgot how potent grain alcohol could be.
Sergei nodded his approval and motioned to the girl. She promptly refilled my glass.
Like riding a bike, Reeve. A rusty bike with a wobbly tire, but a bike nonetheless.
I downed the nextnineshots without complaint. It wasn’t until I was ready to puke that I risked Stalin’s wrath by saying “No.” The impossible was suddenly possible — I actually reached my alcohol limit for the first time since I was twenty and hurled a gallon of Tequila Sunrise into a fish tank on Spring Break.
“Look,” I said, retching behind my fist and turning to the side. Once I was sure the vomit was safely contained in my GI tract, I lowered my hand. “I know what you’re doing. I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just drop the pretense and ask.”
The blonde’s hand slipped inside my mostly-open shirt. Her nails raked over my chest and back up to my throat, as if it would somehow distract me from the fact I could breathe fire if I wanted to.
“What are you talking about?” Sergei laughed, spreading his hands innocently. “We’re celebrating.”
I tried to smile, but I knew it was more of a grimace. “What, exactly, are we celebrating?” We passed celebration status five shots ago. Plushewasn’t drinking.
“That fucking dago Marchese is no longer problem. Da?” Sergei’s smile widened, his perfect white teeth gleaming behind his salt-and-pepper beard.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to send a gift basket for all that work you guys did. Did you want bath salts or wine of the month? Jams and jellies?”
He leaned forward, gesturing to himself and then to me as he spoke. “Friends help friends. It’s America, no?”
“Mhmm.” I jerked my head away from the girl in my lap. She’d moved from my chest to toying with my ear. Like a goddamn gnat at a barbecue. “I assume you had no problems claiming your new turf?”
Sergei laughed again, either at my irritation or the question. It was hard to tell. Once upon a time, I watched him laugh, one of those deep belly laughs, two seconds before he shot his cousin between the eyes. “Nyet. Business is good.”
“Wonderful.” So, at least I wasn’t going to die today.
The blonde in my lap ran her hand through my hair and sat up, nuzzling along my jaw. Trying to figure out a polite way to get her off of me, I kept turning away every time her lips came anywhere near mine. She settled for my throat, kissing and sucking different spots like a leech. Her cotton-candy perfume was particularly nauseating in my current state, not to mention I had no interest in providing whatever she was after. Not anymore.
“I want to keep it good. Keep it safe.” Sergei’s eyes narrowed, like a Siberian snowstorm on the horizon. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You were with FBI a long time.”
“I was gone for a while. Out of town, I mean. There was a lot to catch up on.”
His gray brows shot up, sending a chill down my spine.
“Calm down. Nothing about you,” I said with a chuckle, hoping it made me sound at ease, despite the flip-flopping in my stomach. “Implicating you would implicate my partner and I’m not about to see him go back to jail.”
Sergei nodded and leaned back, apparently satisfied. “I heard he was free. I was hoping to meet with him but his schedule is busier than yours, it seems. Both of you have been out of touch for weeks. Coincidence, no?” His icy gaze was back, piercing me to the couch.
“We had, uh, business. A lot to catch up on since he got out. You know?”
“Mhmm. A lot to catch up with yourpartner.”
I didn’t like the way he emphasized partner. My gaze snapped toward Misha. He stood in the back of the room, surveying everything. His expression yielded zero hints as to where his boss was headed with this conversation. But he said I’d get my phone back, which wouldn’t matter if I was a corpse. It wasn’t much to go on in terms of reassurances, but it was all I had.
Sergei continued, gesturing widely. “A lot to catch up with the FBI. A lot to catch up with everyone, it seems.”
“Land the plane, comrade.” I tossed my head, shaking hair out of my eyes and dislodging the suckerfish from my throat. When in doubt, bravado was the best option.
“No one asks questions about us? No more deals for you and your partner at my expense?”
“Nyet.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “Just Marchese.”
“Good.”
“Anything else?”
