Page 157 of Lethal Torture

“Have we got company yet?” I change the subject, more to distract him from the glittering array of celebrity than out of any real need to know, since I have eyes on every inch of the Quartier myself.

“Kozlov hasn’t shown his face yet, but he will,” Paddy says grimly. “Fucker has a hotel room just outside the mile, and at least ten men with him. We’re almost certain he’s going to approach using the sewer tunnels underneath the streets, then come in the private entrance Sophie gave him the code for. We’ll be ready when he does, of course.”

I nod. “We can’t let any of them get a shot off, Paddy. Not one. Nobody at this event tonight can get even the slightest hint of anything going down, or they’ll never set foot inside the doors again. Discretion is everything.”

“Yeah.” He gives me a rather dry look. “I was at the fucking briefing, McTasty. Not that any of us needed you to spell it out. We all know the deal.”

I nod curtly, wincing inside. I know he’s right. And I know that asking the same questions a thousand times over is a dead-set giveaway of my nerves.

I also can’t help it.

This isn’t just another job.

This isZinaidawe’re talking about. The woman whose hair has tumbled over my pillow and whose body I have made my own time and again. And the Quartier is more than just a business. It’s a carefully constructed web of power and intelligence Zinaida has spent a decade weaving into the extraordinary success story it is today. It’s the kind of club thatbelongs more to the magic and mystery of the Regency era than in modern-day London.

And over the time I’ve worked here, I’ve come to love it, almost as much as I do Zinaida herself.

I love her.

I’m honest enough to know what I feel, even if it scares the living shit out of me.

And I know she loves me. I can see it in the shadows behind her eyes, the unconscious curling of her fingers that happens more and more often these days. I catch her surreptitious looks when she thinks I don’t notice, the way her eyes follow my smallest movement. And I can feel the inner debate going on inside her, sense the foundational question only she can answer:can this work or not?

I can’t answer that question for her. Nobody can. And I know Zinaida well enough that trying to influence her decision will only push her further away.

So for now, I can only make my own decisions.

And I have.

Macarthur Securities is my compromise between Mak and Roman’s world and my own. It’s my way of giving SAS veterans somewhere to go, and something to believe in, that will give them more than just a medal and a terrible pension in exchange. Jobs that are actually designed for their unique skills, but which don’t keep them locked into the tension and stress of foreign conflicts.

Most of all, it’s something I can run in alignment with my own moral code, and which I feel proud to invite men I respect to be a part of.

I’m not an idiot. I know that at some point my bratva connections will likely conflict with the objectives of Macarthur Securities. But I also suspect that, more often than not, our interests will align. One of the reasons I fought for Mak, thenRoman, in the first place was because I instinctively knew neither man would ask me to do anything that went against my own moral code. Neither have ever given me reason to doubt that assessment, nor do I believe they will.

Which leaves Zinaida.

But the truth is that I don’t know what Zinaida will decide to do, nor how close our association is likely to be from here on out. I saw her eyes flare when I told her about Macarthur Securities. I could almost feel the cogs turning furiously in her head as she began to work through what this might mean for her, for us.

Some time after tonight, we’re going to have a conversation that will decide how the rest of my life looks.

Until then, I have to keep her alive. Keep her business safe.

And,I think grimly,I have to get her off that bloody stage before that damned orgy starts, and she’s stuck in something neither of us can unsee.

“You’ll stay close to her tonight, then?” Paddy, reading my mind with uncanny accuracy, sends me a surreptitious look. “No matter how well prepared we are for tonight, you know the risk as well as I do.”

Oh, I know the risk, alright.

The risk to Zinaida’s life is one I can control. With my own body, if it comes to it.

But her heart?

Myheart?

Those risks I can neither prepare for, nor protect against.

And it terrifies the fuck out of me.