Something is going on with Ana. I’m not sure what it is, but for the last three days, she’s withdrawn and seems to be somewhere else. The only time I feel she’s even halfway with me is when we’re fucking. I’ll have to figure it out, but I can’t right now. There’s too much shit going down. Like today.
We’re standing by the grave of one of the few men I considered a friend, listening to some preacher go on about finding a better life in another world. It sounds lame to my ears. The world is a cold, dark place, and having Joe gone just makes it more so. The only warmth in my life is the woman standing beside me right now, crying. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her into me. She buries her face in my chest and I kiss the top of her head, wishing I could take away her pain—fuck, wishing I could take my own. It’s my fault Joe is being buried. He was killed to send me a message, a message I received loud and clear, and one I’m going to deliver twofold on that sorry fuck, Paul Banks.
I have a meeting with Kuzma tonight. I hesitated to go this route, but the old adage “go big or go home” seemed apt. I’m going to make Banks sorry he was ever born. Big Joe deserves that.
The graveside service ends. Ana and I each place a rose on top of the coffin and start walking back to the limo. Robert is standing by the vehicle waiting, and I have two of my best security detail walking behind me. I can’t take a chance with Ana’s safety. We’re almost to the car when Banks and four others get out of a white sedan across from my limo. Ana goes rigid in my arms, and with good reason. I can tell Banks is up to no good, and dealing with him is the last fucking thing I want to do.
“Banks. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Can’t a man pay his respects?” he asks with a cocky look on his sullen face. I clench my hand into a fist and it takes all I have not to level him. The bastard is baiting me. I can see it, and I keep my face unreadable.
“A man probably could. Still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” I tell him, the barb subtle but pretty fucking clear. I know he understands, it shows in his face.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you, Anthes? I think it might be time to bring you down a peg or two.”
“You can try,” I tell him, growing bored with the game. “Ana, go wait for me in the car,” I tell her, motioning for one of the security members to follow her.
“Roman, I don’t think that would be a good idea. Maybe…” Ana starts.
Before I can respond, Banks joins in. “Yeah, Roman, I don’t think that’d be a good idea either.”
Banks thrusts a piece of paper at me. I grab it, moving in front of Ana to protect her from the man. It’s an instinctual move; he’ll never get close enough to hurt her.
“What is this?”
“A warrant. We got a tip you’re carrying drugs in your car.”
“That’s ridiculous, Banks,” I tell him, shaking my head and pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. I need to call my attorney to handle this. I don’t have time for this shit.
“Maybe, but we’re going to need to check your limo out, just in case. Just doing our job, you understand,” he says with a self-satisfied grin on his face.
The men behind him are already moving to the car. Something about the whole situation stinks, and I’m not just talking about the way Banks looks entirely too confident. Instantly, that gut instinct I have comes alive. I look at Bruno behind me. I don’t have to give him the words; he knows what I want. He nods and I know he’ll have a call through to my attorney in seconds if this all goes south, which I’m pretty sure it will. As if on cue, one of the men with Banks speaks up.
“Detective, we found something,” they shout.
My eyes go in that direction as the man in question pulls out a couple kilos of wrapped and tightly-packed blow, as well as two guns. There’s also a closed briefcase. I’ve never seen the shit before, but that doesn’t surprise me in the least.
“Roman,” Ana cries, her nails biting into my arm.
“Ana, my attorney will have this sorted out in no time. You go with Bruno and…”
“That won’t be necessary. Ana is going nowhere,” Paul says, his face telling me he think he has completely control. He better savor this victory; it will be his last, and it will be nowhere near as monumental as he thinks.
“You have no control over me. That’s my car, and Ana has nothing to do with this,” I growl, more irritated than anything. I don’t want this shit touching Ana.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Anthes. Ana here is key in all of it.”
Something in the way Paul says her name and the wait Ana pulls away from me, stiffening, alerts me to a shift in the game. I look down as Ana steps away. There’s tears in her eyes, and she’s ringing her hands.