Page 16 of Red Fury (The Dragon Tributes #8)

F ury

We arrive at a building that is all glass and polished steel. Even the landscaping screams of money.

“Wow,” I mutter as we walk up to the entrance.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Webb replies, his voice tight with nervous energy.

The reception area is just as ridiculous. The receptionist behind the sleek desk is as polished as the rest of the place.

“Good morning, Mr. Webb. Mr. Kozlov is expecting you. Please make yourselves comfortable in the executive waiting area. Someone will be with you shortly.”

We’re led to a waiting room that makes the lobby look modest. There are soft leather chairs, original artwork on the walls – not that I know what I’m looking at, mind you. The place smells of money. Who is this Kozlov guy?

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” A server appears as if from thin air, dressed in a crisp black uniform.

“Coffee would be great,” Webb says, settling into one of the chairs.

“I’m good, thanks.” I shake my head.

The server nods and disappears. Webb checks his watch, then looks at me, narrowing his eyes.

“Before we go any further, I need to remind you about your NDA,” he says. “What you’re about to see and hear is strictly confidential. Not a word can be repeated outside of this building, or you’ll end up in federal prison. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” I reply, though my gut is telling me I’m about to hear something that will change everything.

The server returns with Webb’s coffee, but before he can take a sip, three men in expensive suits, wearing heavy cologne, enter the room. They’re clearly security, despite the designer clothing. Their intent is obvious.

We stand, Webb placing his coffee on the table.

“Gentlemen, we’ll need to conduct a security check,” one of them says in accented English. “Please stand and place your hands on the wall. Please hand over any weapons before we begin.”

I hand over my service weapon without argument, along with the backup knife I keep in my ankle holster. Webb does the same with his pistol. The frisk is thorough and professional, but over quickly.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the lead security man says, pocketing our weapons. “You’ll get these back from reception when you leave.”

They file out of the room, and we sit back down. Webb picks up his coffee and takes a sip.

Then we wait.

And wait.

And fucking wait.

Twenty minutes pass. Then thirty. Webb’s empty coffee cup is taken away, and we wait some more.

At first, I just sit there, and then I decide to Google this Kozlov person.

It’s important I know who I’m dealing with.

It doesn’t take long for the information I need to pop up on the screen, and I start scrolling.

He’s the CEO and main shareholder of Kozlov Enterprises.

There is a list of companies under the Kozlov umbrella, from real estate companies to nightclubs.

He’s on several boards of some major concerns. Blah…blah…blah.

There isn’t much on the man himself except that he seems to have come from humble beginnings.

Born on the Mainland to Russian immigrants.

A real rags-to-riches tale. The guy has no social media presence at all.

He doesn’t engage with the paparazzi. There are very few pictures of him under images.

He’s younger than I expected and scowling in all of them.

The same female is on his arm in several of them.

She’s wafer-thin but quite pretty. She looks older than him.

His female, perhaps? Since he is not married, she must be a long-standing girlfriend.

Other than the business side, there isn’t much on him, which pings my radar.

That isn’t normal. Then again, he is a super-wealthy asshole who deals in arms. He comes across as shady as fuck.

A server walks in as I swipe to close my cell phone.

“All still okay, gents?” She lifts her brows.

“I’ll take that water now, please,” I tell her.

“Of course, sir. Anything else?” She looks at Webb.

He nods, asking for peanuts and a soda.

“I’ll be right back.” She leaves.

He sighs. “This is normal, by the way. Kozlov likes to…to…demonstrate his importance. He likes to show who’s in control.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s so damned childish.”

“You mean he likes to wave his cock around?” I smile.

Webb chuckles. “Something like that.”

The server comes back a few minutes later, and the waiting continues.

Another twenty minutes crawl by before a different man in an expensive suit appears. “Mr. Kozlov will see you now.”

Thank fuck!

Webb tosses his empty soda can in the trash, and we leave.

The elevator ride to the top floor is silent. When the doors open, I note that the entire floor seems to be one enormous office suite, with modern lines and state-of-the-art everything.

We’re frisked again, this time with electronic devices that sweep for bugs and recording equipment. Only after we’re deemed clean are we escorted to a set of doors.

The office beyond is bigger than most people’s apartments. Expansive windows offer a view of Chicago that must have cost millions. It’s impressive, but all I can think about is shifting and flying. It would be amazing from up here.

I pull myself together, getting my first look at the man himself.

Behind a huge desk that could double as an aircraft carrier sits Roman Kozlov. He’s more impressive in person.

Even though he remains seated, I can tell that he’s big by human standards, almost as tall and built as I am.

With broad shoulders, dark hair, and enough tattoos visible at his collar, on his hands and wrists to tell a story.

He has an interesting scar on his neck that mars one of the darker tattoos.

I wonder what happened there. It looks like someone cut him up pretty bad. I’m shocked he even survived.

His suit fits him like it was sewn directly onto his body, and the diamond-encrusted cufflinks catch the light when he moves. The Rolex on his wrist has my brows rising for a moment before I school my expression. I note that his cologne is also on the heavy side.

“ Davayte nachnem ,” he barks to someone in another room who answers in the same language before closing the door.

Based on my Google search of the males, I’m sure it’s Russian. I suddenly wish I’d watched more television. I really do need to immerse myself more in human ways.

“Gentlemen, sit.” He switches to perfect American English. His voice is deep.

There’s no apology for keeping us waiting. No pleasantries. He doesn’t even get up from behind his desk.

We do as he instructs.

“Thank you so much for changing your mind and agreeing to see us,” Webb says with enthusiasm.

Kozlov doesn’t say anything; he leans back in his seat, assessing us.

“This is one of my employees, Damien Marsh,” Webb goes on, gesturing toward me.

Kozlov’s gaze moves my way before going back to Webb.

“So, you came crawling back, Laurence,” he says. “Why are you here? What does the Secretary need now?” He leans forward in his chair, fixing us with calculating eyes. “You should know that arms are purely a sideline business for me. One I’m considering leaving behind.”

Webb laughs like it’s a big joke. “Come on, Mr. Kozlov. Arms and ammunition are big money. You’d be crazy to leave that on the table.”

Kozlov doesn’t laugh. His expression doesn’t change at all.

“I’m a busy man, Laurence. Get to the point.

What do you want? The last time you placed an order, it got canceled at the last minute.

This caused problems with my suppliers. I looked like a fool.

I hate having egg on my face.” His voice drops to something that makes my dragon stir uneasily. “It pissed me off.”

Webb swallows hard, his earlier bravado evaporating. “Budget cuts, you understand. Government red tape. But it won’t happen again. We have the budget this time, already set aside. We’re fully committed. You have my word.”

“What do you need?”

The question hangs in the air. Webb takes a deep breath, and I can smell the nervous sweat on him.

“Nuclear weapons,” he says. “Something powerful enough to blow up a small country. Or, as it stands, two small countries.”

Crap!

Two small countries.

No!

Shit!

He’s talking about Draig and Mistveil Islands. The Mainland government isn’t just planning enhanced security protocols or biological threat assessments. They’re planning to wipe us out completely. Every dragon, and every human living with us, everything we’ve built.

Mass genocide.

Surely not?

Kozlov laughs quietly, and the sound is chilling.

Webb once again swallows thickly, his eyes widening as he realizes he might have just made a mistake. By now, I can scent the fear rolling off him in waves, and I’m not sure why. This is just a business meeting between professionals.

“Nuclear weapons,” Kozlov repeats. “That’s something. You do know that they’re difficult to source. Almost impossible, I would say. They’re also expensive.” He steeples his hands on his desk.

“We have the cash,” Webb says quickly. “If you can find the weapons we need, we’re buying for sure this time. I swear to god, Roman…Mr. Kozlov, sir.”

“What do you need such weapons for?” Kozlov asks, his tone conversational, but his blue eyes are like winter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kozlov, that’s a state secret,” Webb replies. “I unfortunately can’t divulge the details, but know that it won’t affect you in any way.” He shakes his head, sweat beading on his brow.

Kozlov studies us for a long moment, his eyes moving between Webb and me. Finally, he nods. “I’ll do my best to secure what you need. You need to know that I was reluctant to have this meeting, but I am giving you one last chance. This is it. I won’t be as forgiving if you fuck me around again.”

“Understood.” Webb nods too many times.

Kozlov stands, and we do the same.

Then he moves around the desk. His handshake with Webb is firm but brief. When he turns to me, something shifts in his expression, and I don’t like it.

“Remind me of your name?” he asks, extending his hand.

“Damien Marsh,” I reply, meeting his grip with equal pressure.

His eyes narrow slightly as he squeezes harder. I squeeze back, keeping my gaze locked with his. He has one hell of a grip. My dragon snarls.

He’s just a human.

Relax.

It’s all fine.

“Damien Marsh,” he repeats; his eyes seem to darken. He makes a noise of interest.

“I assure you that Damien is completely above board,” Webb jumps in. “Totally trustworthy. He’s become an invaluable member of my team.”

Kozlov nods slowly, finally releasing my hand. Then he slaps me on the arm, hard enough to knock a smaller man sideways. I don’t budge.

“I like a man who takes care of himself,” Kozlov says, his eyes taking in my build.

“I think it’s important to look after yourself.

It’s clear that you are disciplined. I like that…

I like it a lot.” He steps back, his demeanor shifting slightly.

“You should come to my club. Both of you.” He looks at Webb for a second.

“Bring friends if you want. You’ll be my guests in the VIP section, everything on the house, of course. ” He looks my way.

“Thanks for the offer, but—” I start to decline, but Webb cuts me off.

“We’ll be there for sure,” he says, nodding some more, a wide smile on his face. “Thank you, Roman…um…Mr. Kozlov. This is… It… We really appreciate it. I appreciate you agreeing to see me.”

Kozlov nods once, then dismisses us with a gesture. “My people will be in touch.”

The elevator ride down is silent, and then we quickly retrieve our weapons. The moment we step outside, Webb practically vibrates with excitement. His smile is a mile wide.

“Holy shit, that was perfect,” he says, loosening his tie. “Kozlov has never invited me to his club before. This is a positive sign for our business relationship.” He hits me on the shoulder. “I’m glad I brought you along. You handled that perfectly.”

I nod, “Thank you, sir.”

“Call me Laurence. We’re going to be drinking buddies after tonight. I knew he’d like you. I was right,” he mutters the last to himself.

I force a smile, but inside I’m reeling. Nuclear weapons. Two small countries. They’re going to kill us all.

My dragon is clawing at my skin, desperate to shift, to fly, to warn our people. But I’m stuck in this human form, in this human world, watching them plan the complete annihilation of my species.

Having said that, I need to be sure that’s what they’re planning. What if I have it wrong?

I don’t.

I know I don’t.

I need to talk to Shadow. We need to talk. To compare notes. We need to figure this out.

We.

Since when did I think in those terms?