Page 26 of Lethal Torture

Mickey’s only response is to raise his eyebrows briefly with a slanted half smile. Pavel, however, Roman’s head tech geek, gives a heartfelt nod.

“Don’t knock the tech geeks.” Bryce, who fought with us in Myanmar, winks at me as he punches Pavel on the arm. “They’re the reason we’re here. Roman laid a bet that Mickey and Pavel couldn’t beat him and Dimitry in a tactical exercise. Then Luis and I trained the geeks so well that they kicked Roman and Dimitry’s asses to the curb, so tonight is our prize.” He high-fives Luis, one of the other crew members, then glares at Roman. “More than a year after we won the bet, by the way.”

“I said I’d bring you here on Mickey’s birthday.” Roman gives them a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t say which one. And eighteen or not, if Darya ever finds out we brought Mickey here, she’ll have all our asses on a plate.”

“Abby, too.” Dimitry points his Scotch warningly at Bryce and Luis. “You two talk, and you’re dead men.”

I laugh into my glass.

Say what you want about the bratva boys—they’re a fucking good time.

“Call us,” says one of the girls, smiling at Mickey. She’s a very curvaceous dark blonde with sun-kissed skin and a mouth thatlooks like it’s had quite the workout. She presses herself against Mickey’s long figure, her lips lingering on his neck, and whispers something in his ear that makes his eyes flare briefly.

“We can meet you after we finish,” says the other one, casting him a demure look that could nonetheless strip paint from the walls. “If you’ve still got any energy left, that is.” The way her eyebrows arch is a definite challenge.

“On the house,” adds the first one, with a slow, suggestive wink.

“Thank you for a lovely night.” Mickey kisses both girls on the cheek.

From the way they look over their shoulders at him as they go, I’d say he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it.

“Huh.” Roman looks between the departing girls and his godson with a raised eyebrow. “Someone clearly made an impression.”

“Pretty sure they’re nice to all their clients,” Mickey demurs, folding himself into a chair and taking the Scotch Roman passes him.

Dimitry snorts. “Not without a gigantic fucking tip, they’re not. Did they get a gigantic tip, Mickey?”

He diplomatically doesn’t answer.

“Not acall us after workkind of tip.” Roman raises his glass in Mickey’s direction. “Looks like you take after Mikhail. Your father always could charm the trickiest of women.”

The easy affection between them is so obvious it’s almost bittersweet to watch.

They’re family.

A familiar, hollow bolt of loneliness flashes through me, there and then gone.

I drain my Scotch and stand, putting my hand out to Mak. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t want to stick around?” Dimitry raises his glass to me, grinning. “The show only gets better, even if us old men aren’t allowed to indulge in it anymore.” He clinks his glass ruefully against Roman’s, though I note neither of them look at all genuinely upset.

“I’m good.”

No show in the world has a chance of competing with the one I just stood through.

Christ, I need to get out of here.

I offer Mickey my hand. “Happy birthday, mate. Enjoy it.”

He shakes my hand gravely. “It’s nice to see you, Luke.” There’s a sincerity in his voice that I find oddly touching. Mickey was just a kid the day we went in to get his sisters, but I saw the killer in him even back then. He stopped being a boy the day his sisters went missing.

Roman claps me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re taking the job,” he says under the guise of a brief embrace. “If Zin is asking for help, then she needs it, more than she’ll ever let on. And if anyone can handle her, it’s you.”

I glance up at the carefully concealed glass window of Zinaida’s office, but I can’t sense her in there as I did earlier in the evening.

I leave without seeing a trace of her again.

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