Page 68 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

Dimitri

Fun Dimitri

I rub the healing skin of my chest tattoo to stop it from itching. Fresh tally marks for saving Nicole have now taken the place of the three oldest lines. Every time she sees it, she smiles, which far outweighs any temporary irritation.

“So, what the fuck are we gonna do about Felix?” James asks, placing a glass of vodka in front of me and taking a swig of his beer. He sits in the chair in the corner, leaning back and crossing his long legs at the ankle, accidentally jostling the table with his foot, shaking Wesley’s champagne.

“Oi,” Wesley complains, snatching up the top-heavy glass before it can fall over. Very little spills in a house of men with such quick reflexes.

“Sorry,” James replies instantly.

“First, we must find him,” I point out.

James was angry for days, inconsolable to anyone but Eleanor, and barely released her from his sight.

Though I wanted very much to treat Nicole the same, I had to let her go long enough to submit herself and her story to the police.

Wesley is keeping a close eye on the investigation, and Nicole is a person of interest, but between finding Kyle dead in a pool of his own blood full of cocaine, a sexually assaulted dead prostitute, and the bodies in the elevator, they are leaning towards organized crime.

If it goes to court, she will not be testifying, but we will have access to all the information we need to track down everyone who remains of the Volkevich clan .

It terrifies me every time she must leave to go down to the station, but Wesley watches from hacked cameras inside, and I watch from the shadows of nearby buildings. She also wears twice as many trackers as Eleanor.

“At least now I have a photo to use,” Wesley says, sipping his drink. “That’s one step closer to finding him. He can’t hide forever.”

I nod thoughtfully, taking another deep sip from my vodka.

It burns the back of my mouth, but slides smoothly down the throat just as good alcohol should.

I think of my woman, off with Eleanor somewhere in this house.

Then I steal a look at both of my teammates, my brothers , and consider my life in a way I never have before—with hope and direction.

Disregarding the future was purely self-preservation, to ignore what I believed would be an inevitable violent death.

But Nicole… my med … she is the catalyst for a new kind of thinking, though I am uncertain exactly how to transition from a hitman who lives day to day and expects to be killed in the line of the job, to someone who has a reason to keep himself alive.

I study the glass in my hands as I announce, “I am old for a hitman.”

James chokes on a sip of his beer. “Oh? And how old is that, exactly?”

“Fuck off. Suffice it to say, most hitmen do not make it to my age. Particularly the ones who are on the ground, as I am.”

“Yeah, and?” Wesley asks, sending a meaningful look at James as he places his glass on the table. It makes a faint, high-pitched tinkling noise.

“I am saying that we will finish this business with the Volkevich Bratva , we will track down Felix so I may have my revenge, and then… I do not know what the future will hold. Perhaps Nicole will be content to live here for a time, but… I do not know what happens next.”

A baby. The word echoes in my head and chest, making my heart race.

It inspires fear and hope in equal measure.

All I know is that once there is a child, everything will be different.

To take risks for myself is one thing, but when there is another person, born of my blood…

that is no longer an acceptable recourse.

James claps me on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

In the silence that follows, the sloshing liquid in James’s bottle is the loudest sound. He exchanges a look I cannot decipher with Wesley. After a moment of trading more incomprehensible looks back and forth, he asks, “But until that happens, we can count on you, right, Big D?”

I incline my head. These are concerns for another time, far from now. “Of course. I enjoy this work, and both of you require me to keep you in a line. You will not be rid of me so easily.”

Wesley clears his throat as James rolls his eyes. “In that case, we got an email from the General earlier. Maybe we should move this into my office?”

“This is a celebration,” I observe with a scowl. “At a celebration, we drink; we do not discuss work.”

James gapes at me, and even Wesley is a bit taken aback. “What is happening right now? You don’t want to discuss work? You’re the guy who always kicks off our meetings.”

“You also leave the instant the discussion of work is done,” Wesley chimes in, and I roll my eyes. “And you leave the group chat whenever we get off topic.”

“What is this, some kind of new Dimitri?” James continues, grinning ear to ear at my obvious annoyance. “ Fun Dimitri?”

“I would not say that,” I object. “But perhaps I am… experiencing a shift in my perspective. The past designs us, but it does not define us.”

“Google doc,” Wesley sings.

“Actually, this is something Nicole said,” I inform him, pouring myself another drink.

James groans as he shifts forward to reach into his pocket and retrieve his phone. “Now there’s two of them? Fuckin’ Christ.”

I chuckle. “She is clever. ”

“I think allowances can be made for Dimitri-isms to include the words of his equally wise and poetic lady.” Wesley smirks at me. “And I really do have something I want to show you in my office. Bring your drink; we can keep celebrating in there.”

I do not bother with another round of protests because his insistence is beginning to feel suspicious.

Instead, I grab the unmarked bottle of homemade potato vodka and grip the ring of my glass in my other hand, and follow them down the hallway.

The door to his office is closed as usual, but the usually unoccupied library across the hall has light shining from within.

“Lights are on,” James observes. “Weird.”

They approach the library instead of the study, and I follow in confusion. When I get to the doorway, I pause, impossibly more puzzled by the sight before me.

“Surprise!” three people chorus, in varying depths and tones of excitement.

“What is this?” I demand, gesturing to the decorations with my index finger lifted from the rim of my glass. Vodka sloshes, hitting my palm.

The first things I notice are the small, inflated cows littering the floor.

About the size of cats, they cover the rug and occupy the couch, and James kicks one aside as he moves towards a tray of food set up on the low table.

Next, I notice a string of metallic balloons hanging from the curtain rod over the windows, spelling out Holy Cow, D is 40 now!

“We didn’t know when your birthday actually is,” Eleanor begins.

“Nor will you,” I interject, then nod my head as if to say, go on .

Eleanor grins at me. “So, we randomly picked today. Happy 40th, Dimitri!”

“It was the girls’ idea. Unless you like it, in which case, happy birthday from all of us, big guy,” Wesley says, spreading his arms wide .

I frown at the balloon words as Eleanor approaches me with a tray of appetizers, nearly tripping over one of the cows. I assume now that there are 40 of them.

“They didn’t have enough I’s to spell your whole name,” she confesses, watching me take a dumpling on a toothpick.

I place the pelmeni into my mouth and make a noise of approval.

She has refined her recipe, and they are excellent now—even better tasting than those from the nostalgic memories from my youth.

I glance around, but I do not need to see it to confirm that there is someone very important missing. “Where is Nicole?”

Eleanor winces. “Bathroom. She’s gonna be so pissed. I feel bad. I’m the one who told her just to go.”

“So, you’re 40?” James whistles before popping a pelmeni.

I am not, but I will be sooner than I care to admit.

“And what if I am?” I ask as Wesley hits a button and some light music fills the room—a good backdrop for chatter.

James’s smile is all charm. “Nothing, it’s just that most 40-year-olds I know need a plan for getting up off the floor. I think it’s safe to say you’re subverting the expectations for your age group.”

“I only need a plan to get up off the floor when you are in the way because I have just wiped the sparring mat with your body.”

James is already throwing his head back and laughing when Wesley says, voice full of real admiration, “That was almost such a good joke, Dimitri. The raw material is there, but the execution needs refining.”

“Shit! I leave for 30 seconds to use the bathroom, and I miss the surprise? Guys!” Nicole’s deep voice behind me makes me turn, but her eyes are on James and Wesley, and her expression is full of censure. “I can’t believe you did it without me!”

I turn towards the door and see her long, bare legs first. My mouth goes dry at the sight of so much skin revealed by the frilly, flowery skirt. There is something about a leggy woman in a dress, particularly when she is my woman.

Her look is apologetic, like it is her fault she was not here, as she comes over and fits herself against me for a hug. “Surprise,” she breathes.

“I am not 40,” I say, lifting a brow as I tilt my head down to look at her.

She grins. “I know. But the cows made me laugh.”

“And it is not my birthday.”

She shrugs. “It’s not really about getting older, and I know you don’t want to be celebrated—but I wanted an excuse to celebrate you, and to try to convince you birthdays aren’t so bad. It’s the one day you’re allowed to make all about you.”

“That is a very American way to look at it.”

“Well, unless you’re going to tell me when your actual birthday is—”

“I will not.”

“Then it’s today from now on.”

It is very far from the correct date, but I have no intention of ever telling anyone. I do not need to be celebrated, but since this one appears to be little more than a family dinner and a few blow-up cows, I do not mind. And I like the idea of being reborn after Nicole, by her will.

I lift a hand, and she tilts her head to make room for it at the base of her neck and shoulder—a synchronized call and response our bodies make to each other. “I will allow this—for you.”

“Good, because birthdays aren’t all bad. I got you a present,” she murmurs, eyes locked on my lips.

“Oh?”

“I’m wearing it,” she whispers, brushing her breasts against my chest. Her breath ghosts across my lips, and the blood in my body rushes downward.

Perhaps birthdays have more merit than I thought. “I want to open it now. ”

She grins and runs the tips of her fingernails along the line of her cleavage, tugging down the center of her dress and flashing a hint of red lace. “It’s not really something you open. It’s more something you… remove.”

The blood that rushed south starts to pound insistently. She is going to have me hard in front of my teammates. Wicked woman. I shift my hand so it is less caressing and more circling her throat. Her breath catches, and I watch a wave of goosebumps rise and fall on her skin. “We are leaving.”

She grabs my wrist and pulls so she can shake her head. “Eleanor and I blew up, like, 60 balloons. We’re staying, at least until the food is gone.”

I bend my head down, and she rises on her toes to meet me. Just before our lips touch, she smiles, knowing she has won—that I would do far more for her than delay my raging desire and stay at a silly party, just to know she was pleased.

“As you wish, my med .”