Devil’s Lair: Molotov Obsession: Book 1 Read online

  And I want him to be that.

  I want her to love Slava even more than I want her to love me.

  Hungrily, I listen to her talk about him, absorbing every word, drinking in every expression. She’s wearing one of her new evening dresses, a pale-yellow number with thin straps that bares her delicate shoulders. Her brown eyes sparkle, and even through the camera, her bronzed skin glows in the golden light cast by her bedside lamp. She’s breathtaking, this sweet mystery of a girl—and mine. All mine. I might not have claimed her physically yet, but it doesn’t change the facts. She was made for me, her light the perfect foil to the dark void inside me, her warmth filling every cold, empty crevice in my heart. I don’t care who she turns out to be or what secrets she’s hiding.

  Criminal or victim, she belongs to me, no matter what.

  When she’s done telling me about Slava, I ask her about her favorite books and music, and we bond over our mutual love of eighties bands and Dean Koontz novels. I’m not surprised that we have things in common; that’s how it often works when you find your other half, the puzzle piece that completes you. She’s my opposite in so many ways, yet there are threads that connect us, that bound us together long before we met.

  We talk for a solid hour, and I find out more about her childhood and teenage years, about her young mother and how hard she worked to raise Chloe by herself. She tells me about hanging out downtown with her friends and vacationing in Florida with her mother, about struggling with calculus in high school and working two jobs for three summers straight to buy her rickety Corolla on her own.

  “It’s almost as old as I am,” she says fondly, “but it still runs. Even after all the miles I put on it driving across the country. Speaking of which, did you ever have a chance to ask Pavel about my car keys? I still don’t have them.”

  I veil my expression, concealing the beast that stirs inside me at the thought of her getting into her rust bucket of a car and leaving. “He said he couldn’t find them. We’ll look for them when we get back.”

  It’s a lie, but I can’t tell her the truth. She wouldn’t understand. I don’t fully understand it myself. All I know is that I sleep better knowing the keys on that furry chain are in my possession, that my zaychik is safe and sound under my roof.

  A tiny frown creases her forehead. “Oh, okay. But he’ll find them, right?”

  “I’m sure he will. If not, I’ll buy you another car.”

  She laughs, clearly thinking it’s a joke, but I’m completely serious. I will buy her a car, something better, safer than the Corolla. It’s a miracle it hasn’t broken down on some deserted road, leaving her stranded with no phone, at the mercy of any murderer or rapist who might be passing by.

  Just the thought of her in that situation makes me break out in a cold sweat.

  “I’ll just call a locksmith,” she says when she stops laughing. “There are locksmiths in Elkwood Creek, right?”

  “I’m sure there’s at least one.” And I’m just as sure he’s getting nowhere near Chloe’s car. The more I think about her driving across the country all alone, the darker my mood turns. Anything could’ve happened to her, absolutely anything—and for all I know, it did.

  Her nightmares could have nothing to do with what happened to her mother and everything to do with some lowlife assaulting her on the road.

  Rage burns inside me as I picture her getting attacked, hurt and traumatized, and it’s all I can do not to demand that she tell me the truth right now, so I can exterminate those responsible. Only the fear that she might pull back and try to leave keeps me silent. That and the recollection of those damaged tapes, the ones that indicate that something more is going on, that she’s involved with someone or something with the resources to conceal her movements.

  Oblivious to the storm inside me, she grins and says, “All right then. You can tell Pavel not to stress about it. I’m guessing he’s upset he lost them?”

  “I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.” And I will. I need to explain the situation and ask him to apologize to Chloe. Right now, he has no clue that anything’s amiss. “As to the—”

  A soft chime interrupts me, and to my disappointment, I see it’s time to head to my meeting. I set an alarm on my phone so I wouldn’t be late.

  “Do you have to go?” Chloe asks astutely, and I nod, buttoning my jacket.

  “This is the meeting I’m here for. The good news is, if all goes as expected, I’m getting on a plane home right after.”

  Her eyes brighten. “Really? What time does your flight leave?”

  “When I tell it to. It’s my plane.” Leaning into the camera, I murmur, “I can’t wait to see you in person.”

  She gives me a sweet smile. “Same here. Good luck at your meeting and fly home safe.”

  “Thank you, zaychik.” Voice roughening, I advise, “Sleep well tonight—you’ll need it.”

  And as her lips part on a startled inhale, I hang up, eager to conclude the meeting so I can be in the air, on the way to her.

  * * *

  I’m already at the table when Yusup Bahori walks into Al Sham, one of the best Middle Eastern restaurants in Dushanbe and, according to Konstantin’s research, a favorite spot of Yusup’s. After the obligatory half hour of catching up on our favorite school memories and discussing our classmates and other mutual acquaintances, I shift the conversation toward our permits and the bidding for the contract with the Tajik government.

  “Nikolai, you know I can’t—” he starts, but I hold up my hand, stopping the bullshit in its tracks.

  “Let’s not play games. You and I both know our product is superior to Atomprom’s. So why were our permits pulled?”

  He blinks, not expecting me to be that direct. “Well, there were safety concerns and—”

  “We’ve never had a meltdown or a leak. Our safety protocols go above and beyond any government requirements, and best of all, our reactors can provide cheap, clean energy to every settlement and village, no matter how inaccessible or remote.”

  He sighs, pushing away his half-finished kebab. “Look, I don’t know the particulars, but if our inspectors—”

  “Are these the same inspectors that greenlit Atomprom’s bid? If so, for how much?”

  He has the grace to flush. “We’ve just begun the investigation of last night’s accident,” he says stiffly. “If it turns out there was any improper conduct, we’ll take appropriate measures. We don’t tolerate corruption and bribery. The safety of our citizens and the environment is of utmost importance to us.”

  I nod, picking up my fork. “Which is why Atomprom was never the right company to partner with you. Their safety record is abysmal.”

  Calmly, I eat two bites of falafel, letting him mull it over, and I’m not the least bit surprised when he says abruptly, “Fine. I can look into the permits for you. Maybe some inspector did get overzealous.”

  “That would be much appreciated. And if it does turn out there’s been a misunderstanding, we would be grateful if you reversed the decision and put in a good word for us during the bidding.”

  He licks his lips. “I understand.”

  Of course he does. Gratitude from the Molotov organization is a very lucrative thing. As is gratitude from the Leonovs—but he’s already received it.

  His new mansion in Khujand is proof of that.

  It would be easy to point that out, to use the evidence of corruption Konstantin’s hackers have uncovered to get him to do what we want, but unlike Valery, I believe in waving the carrot before grabbing the stick.

  Things tend to go smoother that way.

  Goal achieved, I return to neutral topics, and the rest of the meal passes in pleasant conversation. He doesn’t bring up the specifics of our “gratitude,” and neither do I. Let him have plausible deniability when our payment lands in his offshore account; it doesn’t hurt us in the least.

  When we’re done, he heads out to his car, and I stop by the restroom before the long drive to the small airport where
my jet is waiting. I’m washing my hands when the door opens and a tall, athletically built man about my age steps in.

  A man I instantly recognize.

  “Well, if it isn’t the missing Molotov brother,” Alexei Leonov drawls, leaning against the door and folding his tattooed arms across his chest. “Fancy running into you here.”

  39

  Nikolai

  I casually wipe my hands on a paper towel and drop it in the trash. In the process, I scan my enemy for any visible weapons. None are in sight, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could have a gun strapped to his ankle or tucked into the back of his jeans. And there’s definitely a knife or two in his biker boots.

  Alexei Leonov is known for his appetite for violence.

  “Coincidence is a funny thing,” I say calmly, preparing to reach for the Glock strapped to my chest under my jacket. “What brings you to Dushanbe?”

  He grins sharply. “Same thing as you, I imagine.” Uncrossing his arms, he pushes away from the door and approaches me. Stopping in front of me, he asks, “How’s life in… where is it you are these days? Thailand? The Philippines?” Even up close, his dark brown eyes look almost black, matching the hue of his hair.

  “Life’s great. How’s your old man?” If he thinks I’m going to blurt out my location after all the trouble Konstantin’s gone through to hide it, he’s got another thing coming. “Still alive and kicking?”

  His smile is all teeth. “You know how these old men are. Practically indestructible. You have to really try to get them to croak.”

  I don’t take this bait either. “Say hello to him for me. And to your brother.”

  His eyes glint harshly. “Not my sister? Oh, yeah, she’s fucking dead.”

  It takes everything I have to keep a poker face. “I’ve heard. I’m sorry.” It’s a lie—Ksenia deserves to rot with the worms—but anything more than the most neutral response may tip my hand, and he already seems to harbor some suspicions.

  His savage grin returns. “Speaking of sisters… how’s my intended?”

  Now this I can’t let slide. I hold his gaze, letting him see the ice in my eyes. “Alina’s not yours. Never was, never will be.”

  “That’s not what our betrothal contract says.”

  “That contract was voided by my father’s death, and you know it.”

  “Do I?” He leans in until we’re almost nose to nose. No hint of humor remains on his face, stamping his hard features with an unmistakable patina of cruelty. In a lethally soft tone, he says, “Tell Alina it’s time. I’m done being patient.”

  And stepping back, he exits through the door.

  * * *

  Red-hot fury still burns in my chest when Konstantin’s Tesla pulls up to the plane.

  “Thanks for waiting,” he says, climbing out. “I figured it’d be better to give this to you in person.” He hands me a flash drive.

  “Chloe?”

  He nods. “It’s a doozy. You were right to have me dig deeper. The girl isn’t who she seems.”

  Fuck. “Mafia?”

  “Maybe. Watch the video. My guys are doing their best to learn more.”

  Motherfucker. I want to demand all the answers, now, but the plane is ready to depart, and I need to fill him in on my encounter with Alexei. Swiftly, I do so, and when I get to the part about Alina, I see the same fury reflected on his face.

  “I’ll kill him if he so much as breathes her way,” Konstantin says savagely. “If he thinks we’re going to honor that fucking medieval contract, made when our sister was barely fifteen, he’s—”

  “I doubt he was serious. Most likely, he was trying to provoke me as payback for the explosion at their plant. Either way, he doesn’t know for sure she’s with me. He was shooting in the dark.”

  Konstantin takes a breath, visibly composing himself. Of the three of us, he’s closest to Alina, having spent time babysitting her during school holidays and summer breaks. I never had that luxury; our father had decided early on that I was the son best suited to assume the mantle of leadership in our organization, and all of my childhood and teenage years were spent learning the family business.

  “You’re right,” he says in a calmer tone. “He’s pissed, and he wants to piss us off. Just in case, though, tell Alina to be on her guard.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s been… having some trouble the last couple of days.”

  His eyebrows pull together. “The headaches are back?”

  I nod grimly. “Lyudmila says she’s been hitting the medications pretty hard while I’ve been gone. Pot, too.”

  Alina thinks I don’t know about that last part, but I do—and I’ve asked Lyudmila to keep her company whenever she wants to smoke. I’m not a fan of mind-altering substances, but I know why my sister needs it, and weed is preferable to some of the prescriptions in her bedside drawer.

  Konstantin’s frown deepens. “She’s spiraling again.”

  “Let’s hope not.” But if she is, that’s another reason for me to hurry back. Though Alina and I barely get along, something about my presence keeps her on an even keel—maybe even the friction that exists between us. It gives her an external focus, a distraction from her inner turmoil.

  With me, she has a clear and present target instead of the shadows lurking in her mind.

  “Listen,” I tell Konstantin, “I have to go. I’ll let you know how she is when I see her in person. Just tell your team to keep doing what they’re doing—Alexei can’t find out where we are.”

  His jaw tightens. “Don’t worry. He won’t.”

  “Thanks.”

  With one last glance at my brother, I board the plane.

  * * *

  Pavel is waiting for me on the couch in the jet’s main cabin, a laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. Wordlessly, I take a seat next to him and stick the flash drive into the computer.

  There are two files on it, one titled “Updated report” and the other “Store camera, Boise, July 14.”

  My heart rate picks up as tension pervades my body.

  That’s the same day she applied to be Slava’s tutor.

  I click on the video.

  The grainy recording shows a nondescript street with a few stores, a coffee shop, some parked cars, and occasional pedestrians. The time stamp in the corner tells me it’s just after ten in the morning.

  At first, it seems like nothing is going on, but after about thirty seconds, I catch sight of a familiar slender figure. Dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, Chloe is walking briskly down the street.

  She’s passing by a clothing boutique when it happens.

  With a sharp pop, the display window to her left explodes.

  Pavel emits a startled expletive, but I ignore him, all my attention on Chloe’s small, frozen figure. Every muscle in my body is locked tight, fear and fury pulsing through me in sickening waves. Even on the blurry video, I can see the shock on her face as her wide eyes scan the street uncomprehendingly. Then screams about gunshots and 911 begin, and she lurches into a sprint—just as another pop! rings out and more glass around her goes flying.

  Within seconds, she’s gone from view, and the video cuts off.

  “Motherfucker,” Pavel mutters, but I’m already opening the other file.

  The updated report.

  40

  Chloe

  I don’t sleep well. At all. Who would, with that kind of warning?

  Sleep well tonight—you’ll need it.

  I can’t think of anything Nikolai could’ve said that would’ve been less likely to make me get my zzzs. He might as well have told me that he intends to fuck me to exhaustion as soon as he returns home.

  Actually, he did tell me that, more or less, before he left. His dirty promises have provided ample fodder for my wet dreams and shower masturbation sessions—including the lengthy one after our call last night.

  I figured a couple of orgasms might relax me, but they actually made things worse. The entire ti
me I played with myself, I kept thinking of what he’ll do to me when he returns… how his hands and lips will feel on me… how his cock will feel inside me. My imagination went wild, painting all sorts of X-rated, non-PC scenarios, and they’re still playing in my mind now, in the bright light of the morning, dampening my underwear and keeping my pulse racing.

  It doesn’t help that Alina is again nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t come down for breakfast or lunch, and when I ask Lyudmila about that, she tells me Nikolai’s sister has another headache.

  “Does she get these a lot?” I ask at lunch, concerned, and Lyudmila nods, her face tight as she averts her eyes.

  I wonder about that, but Lyudmila isn’t exactly chatty around me, so I decide against questioning her further. Instead, I spend the afternoon teaching Slava and counting down the minutes until dinnertime, which is when Nikolai is expected to arrive.

  My student is equally impatient. Lyudmila must’ve told him that his father is coming back today because he keeps jumping up and running over to the window as we’re reviewing the alphabet.

  “Do you want to surprise your daddy?” I ask when he returns from his expedition for the fifth time. “Make him happy?”

  Slava’s brows furrow. “Happy?”

  “Yes, happy.” I draw a smiling face with a yellow crayon. “Do you want your daddy to be happy?”

  He nods, plopping down on the floor next to me.

  “Then repeat after me: ‘Hi, Daddy.’”

  Slava is silent. He knows both of those words from the books we’ve been reading, and he’s been repeating phrases after me when I request it, so I know it’s not a comprehension issue.