“I will not break,” she whispered.
And the truth mocked her. She entered her room, sat on the floor, and began to pray as she had never prayed before. Maybe in her time of greatest need, He would listen.
Chapter Nine
Dmitry woke to the mother of all storms. He glanced outside and in the intermittent flashes of lightning witnessed trees swaying so hard their canopies touched the ground. Leaves and dirt spun in every direction and thunder roared in the night sky.
His clock display confirmed it was pretty fucking early—two in the morning. He rotated his shoulder, decided against working out and simply threw on some jogging pants and a T-shirt before heading to the library. He’d just poured a snifter of vodka when Rand walked in, dressed similarly to Dmitry and rubbing a hand down his face.
On his heels was Adam. He had avoided talking with them earlier, telling them only he needed to speak with them soon. It looked like his reckoning had arrived.
“We having a party I wasn’t aware of?” Adam asked as he scratched his chest.
“No?” Dmitry answered the question with one of his own before tossing back the cool, clear liquid.
“You asking me or telling me, Russian?” Adam said, his eyes clearing of sleep instantly.
“Neither. Pour yourself a drink and let’s chat,” Dmitry said. He couldn’t keep the tone of command from his voice.
Rand glanced at him as he poured a shot of bourbon and carried it to the window. “The National Weather Service says the storm is weakening and moving up the coast at a fast clip. We’re in for more storms, but nothing like what we thought,” he mused before he tossed back his bourbon and headed to the bar for another.
Dmitry took a seat near the window and gazed into the tempest. He had resolved himself to feeling more for a killer than he’d ever experienced for anyone else. It wasn’t going to be an easy path, he was sure. Yet he could not shake the feeling she was worth it.
Whether he called her Bone or Togarmah, she was going to be his.
“What is on your mind, Russian, that you’re prowling the halls this early in the morning?” Adam questioned as he took the seat opposite Dmitry.
There was a small light on Rand’s desk that illuminated the room with a soft, yellow glow. Not that Adam required light…the man had a hell of a set of eyes on him.
Dmitry really needed another vodka. He took a deep breath instead. Better to get it over with now. “You are both aware I was Russian Secret Service prior to signing on with Trident?”
Both men, men he considered not simply co-owners of Trident, but also friends, nodded.
“And you are aware that I brought to the table certain information on Joseph Bombardier that led to us capturing at least two of his assassins, thereby bringing us more information?”
Rand and Adam glanced at each other. “We are,” Rand said firmly.
“There is more to the story of how I came to be here with you. I had motivations I have not shared before and would do so now,” he told them plainly.
“Go on,” Adam said in a dark voice, full of warning. If he didn’t like what Dmitry said, he would try to kill him.
All the men of Trident were evenly matched, but Dmitry wasn’t going to die today.
Not today.
“I was born in the Ural Mountains of Siberia. My father, Sacha Asinimov became a prominent leader of the Russian mob and retained his position for years. When I was young, my sisters and mother were taken from us. My father searched but was unable to find who was responsible. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I took up the search myself and it was that search that led me to The Collective.”
He remembered locating a single operative who’d given up information about The Collective and what he’d told Dmitry still had the ability to send chills down his spine. Child prostitution, slavery, death, arms dealing—all of these were the bread and butter of The Collective’s operations and at the head? Joseph Bombardier.
A few years after that encounter a female assassin stood behind him on a London street and told him she was granting him a reprieve but that if he didn’t leave questions about Joseph alone, she would come for him again and next time she would not be so lenient.
It was the same assassin he’d held in his arms earlier that night, tasting and kissing…loving. Dmitry shied away from the word as soon as his mind gave it voice. It was too soon. His heart laughed at the dismissal.
Rand and Adam waited patiently and when he realized he’d simply withdrawn into his thoughts he continued. “I had been trained from the time I was six years old to be an enforcer for my father. I was sent abroad to study among masters. My father was very good at killing, you see, and wanted his sons to be equally so. Unfortunately, even the best become a target. Five years ago he was killed on orders by one of his own, his blood-brother Vadim Yesipov.”