Page 6

Rafayel dealt the cards with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, but his face remained calm.

Clicking my tongue distastefully, I leaned backward on a chair, folding up my sleeves. We sat across from each other, the low rumble of thunder muffled in the background. It was supposed to be one of those rare moments when we had some peace, no business to deal with, no chaos to clean up—just a game of cards between brothers—until the clouds gathered.

“It still bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Rolling the cigar stick between my fingers, I trimmed the end with my cutter. “Sometimes.”

“And the dreams?”

I fixed the cigar between my lips, bouncing my feet up and down the rug. “Stopped about a year ago. Stop talking, and let’s play.”

Fucking lying through my teeth. The dreams hadn’t stopped. Not since that night after I was literally tied to a chair and forced to watch one of my father’s techniques for truth extraction. The aggressive thunderclaps, the artistic splash of red on the walls, red flowing on the wooden floor, brown hair, lifeless eyes—all of it had only gotten more real as the years passed by.

“Good to hear. Your move,” he said, tilting back in his chair and shuffling his hand with that same practiced ease he’d had since we were kids. At least, that was one thing the old man didn’t stop us from playing.

Rafayel had always been the talker between us, but like me, he had been deprived of showing emotions as an adolescent. While I was dragged into the old study for unrestricted participation, he watched through the cracks between the doors.

He'd seen it all, been through it all with me: the fucking nightmares, the ice baths I’d had under duress; he was concerned but couldn’t show most of it except through those stoic questions.

Sometimes, though, I wondered…. I’d been the one at the forefront of our father’s madness, but Rafayel managed to be more of the lunatic between us.

The emotion expression limit worked better for me. I was older; I couldn’t have him being bothered about me.

Staying quiet, I focused on the game. Somehow, that didn’t stop him from probing in a different direction.

“So….” He drew the words out, eyeing me over his cards. “it is that time of the year, you know?”

“No.” I played a card. “I don’t know.”

“Allow me to spell it out then. I’m kind of itching to have a sister-in-law.”

I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I laid down my next card, studying the way the corners of his mouth curled into a grin.

It was a joke. At the same time, it wasn’t. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had asked. It came up a lot these days, especially now that I was closing in on forty. In the Bratva, it was tradition for men at forty to settle down, start families, and keep up appearances.

I had better work to do. More important shit to take care of.

I picked up my next card, trying to shove his question out of my mind. But it lingered longer than I expected.

Marriage.

It definitely wasn’t in the plan. A wife, kids…. I mentally shuddered. Fucking N-O. I wasn’t sure where that would even fit in the life I led.

I shrugged casually. “You’ll itch for a while longer. I haven’t thought about it.”

Rafayel’s grin widened as if he knew he’d struck a nerve, though he didn’t press further, just watched me over the rim of his glasses.

“Of course, you haven’t. Always swamped in work.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. “I don’t know, but if you ask me, I’ll say you need some assistance.”

Sucking on the cigar between my lips, I eyed him. “I’m doing just fine.”

“Yeah, sure you are. I bet you jerk off at the sight of spread papers soaked in ink. Am I right?”

Slowly, the corner of my lips tilted upward in the smallest curve. “Fuck you.”

He laughed. “Just think about it, and you’ll realize it’s not so bad. Having a woman to take care of you and ease all that fucking tension rolling off your shoulders. You don’t want to be the last one standing with no one by your side.”

I chuckled softly, though the truth of his words hit somewhere deep. He wasn’t wrong. But I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t the kind of man who could give someone else that kind of life, not with everything else that came with being me.

I placed another card down, avoiding his gaze.

Raf’s dark eyes narrowed, calculating every move, every breath I took. Like me, he didn’t shy away from his competitive side. His lean, athletic frame was relaxed, but I knew better. He was waiting for the right moment, like a predator watching its prey stumble. His fingers hovered over the cards, ready to strike. His brown hair, combed back slick and sharp, gleamed under the low light, but his eyes told the real story—cold, relentless.

I knew that look too well.

He always tried to play like he wasn’t bothered, like everything was just a game to him. But I could see through it. I always had. Rafayel wasn’t playing for fun. He was playing to win, and he wanted me to know it. He loved the feeling of control, the moment where you realize it’s too late, that you’ve walked right into the trap he set long before you even knew you were in the game.

I clenched my jaw, eyes locked on his every move. He was about to play his next card; I could feel it, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he had me cornered. Rafayel thrived on weakness, and I had no intention of showing any.

“Go on,” I taunted. “Make your move.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, the kind that always made me want to smack it off his face. I wasn’t about to let him win this one, no matter how many tricks he had up his sleeve.

His hand moved, and the door opened.

Arlo walked into the office like he owned the place, all swagger and confidence. He nodded at Rafayel, subtly acknowledging him, before heading straight for me. Dropping the cards, I tilted back in my chair, arms crossed, watching him closely.

“Fuck! I almost had him,” Rafayel cursed, dropping his cards beside mine.

“My apologies, but this is important. Level one shit,” Arlo said, looking anything but remorseful for interrupting our moment.

I didn’t mind because I knew he had something—he always did.

He stopped in front of me, flashing his phone toward me as if I could see the screen. A sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Got updates on the Skye siblings.”

The Skye siblings.

Truly, level one shit.

“Good or bad?”

“Somewhere in between. They barely leave the house. They’re scared. Real scared.”

Satisfied, I approved the update with a nod. Of course, they were scared. They knew exactly what was coming and couldn’t run far enough. But Arlo wasn’t done.

“But that young one,” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, “Jayden.”

“The boy?”

“He’s got eyes of fire. They know we’ve been watching and are gonna try to run. I see it.”

I sat up straighter, grabbing the cards. “Then let them.”

He paused, and Rafayel raised a questioning brow in my direction. Brushing a piece of lint off, he inclined forward, tugging on the hem of his hoodie when his brows creased between his forehead. “Timur?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and glared at an eager Arlo, who pulled a chair closer, his smirk replaced by shock.

“What?”

“You’re willing to allow an escape?”

If this were any other day, I wouldn’t lash out at my brother for prying, but something about this moment and the subjects involved felt private— fucking personal.

“Well, it’s not any of your fucking business now, is it?”

Shaking his head like he couldn’t decipher the most complex code, he shrugged, folding his arm across his chest. “No, you’re not getting off that easy. I can’t remember the last time you showed kindness. What’s this about?”

Rising from the chair, I shoved the center table away with my feet. I fixed my hands in my pockets, staring out the window, my back turned to them. It was unnecessary for Rafayel to poke long when I knew exactly what the fuck this was about, the reason I was willing to let them escape.

The problem had blonde hair and blue eyes that, somehow, got stuck in my mind nights even after I’d shut the door behind me. The problem smelled like fucking vanilla. A challenge like this was new and annoying as shit, having to deal with the burning imprint of a woman on my mind.

That was why I wouldn’t bother if they tried to escape. Her disappearance would do better than having them around.

“I’m willing to bet this month’s paycheck that the reason’s name is Serena.”

My jaw flexed. Arlo wasn’t going to let it slide, and I wanted to put a literal dent in his confidence for fixing her name to the face. It made her more real than the dark fucking clouds flashing with purple lightning.

From the blurry reflection on the glass, I watched Arlo swing one leg over the other as he faced Raf, whose enthusiasm was all over the place.

“A woman.”

“Damn right, she is. Innocent blue eyes, confident…a baker, too. I didn’t taste the cake, but the aroma turned me on. Oh, and she’s sexy as hell. The boss seems to think so, too. He looked at her.”

“Shit, no way!” Rafa laughed. “Eye contact? How long?”

Arlo snorted. “Long enough to make me know he thought she was worthy. Can’t remember the last time he was seen with a woman, much less saw a woman.”

Glaring at me through the glass, with a crazy Rafayel-signature look in those siren eyes, he cocked his head. “And you’re really willing to let her go?”

I ground my teeth deeper into my gum.

“If you’re so fucking interested, go find her yourself.” I pointed at the cards and then at them. “I’m done playing. In other words, you two, get out.”