Page 27 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Russet

T he bed’s cold and empty because Max’s a masochist for getting up early. Sometimes I pop up in bed while he’s getting ready, waiting for him to kiss me goodbye. Then I’m back to bed.

But this morning, my phone on the nightstand lights up, dragging me from sleep.

I jolt out of bed.

It’s the dermatologist's office. The one I went to months ago when I tried to get a message to Marissa. I haven’t been back since and didn’t set up an appointment.

My heart pounds as I consider what to do. I could skip it, and I’d really like to do that.

Or I could tell Max. But that means dragging him into some sort of bullshit. There’s no telling what this is about and I don’t want him involved.

I shower and throw on a dress. It’s that time of summer when the heat becomes stifling. I ask Pavel to get the car ready and force myself downstairs. If I don’t keep going, I’ll lose my nerve.

As we crawl through traffic, I run through Marissa’s possible endgame.

There’s no way she’s bringing me an update on Daisy. Her due date is creeping up and I’ve heard nothing from her.

Things with Max are good so I tried reaching out to her on my phone, but never got anything back. She’s not working and no one ever sees her. Marissa’s keeping her somewhere.

Sergei stays in the waiting room while I’m led back. A nurse takes my vitals, chatting away. I nod when she says I’m here for a rosacea flare up and when she disappears behind the door, I wait.

And wait.

Noise trickles through the walls. Somebody’s getting treated for hair loss. Somebody else for a fungus.

My phone lights up. Daily texts from Elijah and Roma come through. My heart flutters when Max sends me a text.

Max: I thought you might like this.

I melt when I open the link and land on a recipe for cheese danishes. He enjoys savory desserts so I’ve made an effort. Lately, he’ll sit on a barstool and watch me bake.

The door flings open.

“Mrs. Zimin,” Gloria greets with false sincerity, snaking in.

As if warning bells weren’t already going off.

Gloria gets straight to business. “What do you have for us?”

I school my face blank.

“Oh, come on dear. Isn’t the honeymoon over?”

Staying silent is my best move .

Gloria’s eyes narrow. “You think you’re one of the Zimin’s now?”

“I don’t answer by any other name.”

A dry, humorless puff of laugh leaves her mouth. “No loyalty. That’s what’s wrong with your generation.”

“Sure.” I sarcastically nod my head.

“Tell me what you know about the Ghost?”

I can’t hide my surprise. “The Ghost?”

He’s a mercenary. A triggerman. Even before I married people began whispering his name.

“I haven’t heard anything,” I answer honestly.

Gloria’s beady eyes harden.

“If the Zimin’s hired him I wouldn’t know.” It’s a truth told in the hopes it’ll placate her. But it feels wrong to divulge even the smallest of tidbits.

“He’s taking out suppliers throughout the city and you haven’t heard shit?”

“Max doesn’t talk business in front of me.” Thank God.

In a hard voice, Gloria demands, “Get me the information.”

“No.” I stand up, no longer bothering to cower in front of her.

Gloria cusses under her breath. “You don’t know what you’re doing, girl.”

“You placed me in this position,” I remind her. They placed me beside Max. They shouldn’t be surprised when I begin to act like his wife.

“And Daisy?” she sneers.

“You didn’t keep your word last time. You’ll never keep your word.”

Something crosses her face, but I don’t have time to read it.

“So that’s it? Little Daisy left to fend for herself?”

“Daisy’s debt is paid. Tell Marissa to let her go and then come back to me.” I issue the challenge, knowing it won’t matter. Marissa is still pissed at Daisy.

Maybe I should ask Max for help.

“Wearing fancy clothes doesn’t make you shit, Russet.”

“Says the woman desperate enough to track me down for intel on a triggerman who calls himself the Ghost.”

I’m sick of the dramatics. I’m sick of Marissa’s scare tactics.

Gloria straightens her spine, her eyes glinting. If she were holding a knife I’d expect the stab. She even goes so far as to lift her hand.

“Yelena Zimin was the last person to slap me.” Her smirk doesn’t last when I press on. “Max told her if it happened again she’d get a bullet in the back of her head. What the fuck do you think he’d do to you?”

I take some liberties with the story, but it works. Gloria backs off, steam coming out of her ears.

“You spread your legs for a guy in a penthouse and suddenly you believe you’re not a whore.”

“I’m Russet Zimin and if you’re done I’d like to see the doctor now.”

We stare at one another, the air thick with tension. Gloria wants to strangle me, but I know her fury is coming from somewhere else. Whatever’s going on with the Ghost, it’s eating at Marissa and her crew.

Gloria leaves without another word.

I don’t collapse back on the examination table. If I do, I might not be able to get back up. I exit the room, not caring to keep up the farce of seeing the doctor.

Sergei walks me to the car and because Pavel is so damn nice he stops at the same coffee shop where I met Gloria right after marrying Max.

It’s not like I can say anything, so I make my way inside. But I don’t process what treats are in the display case as I stand in line to order.

While I wait for my caramel macchiato my eyes wander. We missed the morning rush, and a few of the tables are left worse for wear. A stray newspaper remains on one of them and a picture catches my eye.

Seeing Gloria’s face made me hot with anger. The face in the grainy black and white newspaper has ice running through my veins.

No, no, no.

My hands shake as I pick up the obituary.

Nancy Ann Mulligan was received into heaven after a swift battle with cancer.

“Mrs. Zimin?” Sergei’s gruff voice pulls me back to the coffee shop. Concern etches across his face. He holds out the caramel macchiato, his bulky frame at complete odds with the sugary drink.

“I’m fine,” I promise, but the words come out watery and he’s not reassured. I glance back at the obituary. “We need to go back.”

He nods, happy to get me away from prying eyes. I’m not looking to escape, though.

“I need to change. There’s a funeral I need to be at.”

What is it about funerals and cloudy days?

The summer sunshine disappears by noon, and thick clouds increase the humidity. I tugged on a black cardigan over the simple black dress I chose. Black modest heels complete the outfit.

Pavel and Sergei remained quiet during the ride. They weren’t expecting the trek to the other side of the city. Both kept glancing back, trying to gauge my mood .

“Mr. Zimin isn’t joining you?” Sergei asked when we set out.

“He’s working.”

Besides, I’d rather do this alone.

I’m late, so I sneak into the back of the church. Sergei receives a few odd looks, men eyeing up the bodyguard’s broad-shoulders.

Someone starts a prayer and there’s a hymn. I glance over at Sergei in surprise when I realize the beautiful singing voice I hear is his. He avoids my eyes.

I’m glad to be sitting in the back row. It gives me a chance to peek around without others noticing. There’s a man at the front, his shoulders cutting a sharp figure in his tailored black suit. He runs a hand through brown, curly hair and my heart tightens.

When he stands up and says a few words, I shrink back and scoot over a few inches so I’m directly behind the tall person in the row ahead of me.

There’s a graveyard attached to the church. People spill out for the graveside service. Once again I keep my distance while Sergei remains my shadow.

The sky darkens further, the hot air at odds with the gloomy weather.

When people start to wander off, I stay, until there’s no longer a crowd to hide behind. Sergei leaves me be as I step closer.

Tyler Mulligan shakes hands with a few people, nodding his thanks. When he looks up and spots me, for a moment he remains frozen.

Tyler slides his hands into his pockets. He’s still the same lanky, tall guy with a happy-go-lucky smile. “I thought that was you.”

“I’m so sorry,” I tell my former neighbor.

He shakes his head. Dark circles bruise under his eyes, but he tries to remain calm. “It was really quick. Kind of took us all by surprise.”

I angle my head, shooting him a look.

He stubs his toe against the ground, laughing. “Yeah. . . I don’t know what to say. Shouldn’t really be that shocked. My mother did smoke four packs a day.”

My shoulders relax slightly, a smile tugging at my lips.

Nancy Mulligan did love her nicotine habit.

Despite the shitty upbringing, I had Nancy, the next-door neighbor and my one bright spot.

In a lot of ways, she raised me, not my mom.

When I needed to escape her or the crappy men she brought home, Nancy provided shelter. When I went without food, she told me there’d been a buy one get one free discount on bread. She taught me how to use eyeliner and to punch a guy in the throat if he got too close.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again.

Grief lines his face as he nods. “Thank you for coming. That’d mean a lot to my mom.”

“She meant a lot to me.”

“Yeah, she was like that to a lot of people.” A faint smile graces his lips. “Good old Nancy Mulligan.”

“How are you?”

Tyler went away to college and hardly ever came back. Nancy was and wasn’t heartbroken by it. She missed him but wanted better for him. In the neighborhood we grew up in, that meant leaving.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. He’s got more stubble than the last time I saw him. Another reminder that we’re not teens running around anymore. “You?”

His brows lift a little and I wonder what he’s heard.

My hands ball into the sleeves of my cardigan. “Yeah, I’m good too.”

“Strange to see you here without Daisy. ”

As if my heart doesn’t hurt already.

“Have you heard from her lately?” I try to make it sound trivial. Friends, checking in on friends.

But he’s grim. “No. I heard she’s not been around.”

Fuck.

“She okay?” he asks.

Tyler is one of the few people I could tell the truth to. About how fucked up her situation is. We don’t have time, though.

“You hear about Meena’s sister?” I ask instead.

His eyes harden. “Yeah. Shit’s getting pretty bad they say.”

I see the question in his eye and try to avoid it. “Are you sticking around or. . . sorry, I’m not even sure where you live now.”

“I was in Toronto for a while actually. Just got back. I’ll stay at mom’s for a while, getting it sorted.”

“Toronto?” Color me impressed. “Tyler, that sounds amazing.”

“Not really.” He laughs. “But fuck do they love hockey.”

The smile grows on my face, along with a warmth in my stomach. It’s not quite happiness. More like homesickness, though, I know this will never be my home again.

“And you?” he asks, face creased with worry. “I heard you, uh, got married.”

“She did.”

Max’s voice cuts through the air. I shiver despite the warm air, especially when I turn to find him perfectly handsome in a black suit. His hands are in his pockets, but there’s nothing nonchalant about him.

“Hi,” Tyler says, smiling.

Max nods, stepping forward and snaking a hand against my waist.

“He’s a bit clingy,” I tell Tyler who half-smiles .

My husband’s jaw clenches at the perceived joking, but the worry in Tyler’s eyes makes me nervous.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words are harder to get out. They sound so little in comparison to the blue-gray feelings pressing down on me.

“Thanks for coming.”

Max keeps his arm on me, helping me navigate through the graveyard.

“Hey Russ,” Tyler calls out. He remains by his mother’s burial plot. His hair is more tousled from the hand constantly running through it.

Max remains by me as I turn my head.

Tyler smiles sadly. “Quit being a ghost, you know. You’re always welcome around here.”

I’m pulled toward a black Porsche as Nancy’s voice floats through my head.

“Don’t be a stranger.” A hacking smoker's cough always emphasized the point.

Max is pissed. After tucking me into the car, he slams the door behind him, the Porsche’s engine rumbling.

“How’d you know?” I ask.

“Sergei said you were crying in a coffee shop.” He speeds away from the church, his sports car obnoxious and far too nice for this part of town.

I guess Sergei wandered back to Pavel.

“What about work?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t respond, turning right on red. My head falls against the window. I take in the trash-strewn sidewalks. We pass a store with a busted-out window. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. A group of friends laugh as they walk. Boxes of bright blooming flowers wave in the breeze.

“Who’s the guy?” His voice isn’t hard, but it’s serious.

“His name is Tyler,” I say tiredly.

“Why was he all over you? ”

Check the jealously, please. I don’t have the nerve to say it, though.

“He wasn’t all over me.” If anything he appeared surprised to see me.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He brakes for a red light, stopping slowly. “Russet.”

He takes my hand when I don’t answer, squeezing it until I look over. I expect anger in his eyes, but there’s. . . concern.

“I didn’t know.” No tears creep out but they lodge in my throat. “I didn’t know.”

Nancy used to do everything for me and I didn’t even realize she was sick.

“Who was she?” he asks, keeping one hand on the wheel while his other holds mine.

“My neighbor.” I sniff, wiping at my nose. “Nancy.”

“She meant a lot to you.” He squeezes my hand.

I nod. “Yeah. . .”

“And the kid?”

I roll my head against the headrest to watch him drive. “Could you stop making it sound like I did something wrong.”

“I got a message from Sergei informing me you were bawling your eyes out in a coffee shop.”

That’s a bit dramatic. “I wasn’t bawling my eyes out.”

“And then you traveled across the city to go to a funeral. When I get there you’re talking to a man.”

“I do upon occasion have to talk to other men.”

“Not really,” he snaps back.

I yank my hand out of his. He grabs it back.

“You didn’t call me,” he says.

The city rolls by as we drive in silence. Finally, I say with a sigh, “Okay, I’m sorry.”

Worried eyes keep peeking at me.

“She meant a lot to you?” he says again .

I nod.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

He means it, but it doesn’t help.

The car ride is silent, but my head remains full of that croaking voice. Nancy loved her story-telling, everything wrapped up with a bit of advice.

Any time something went wrong in my life she’d sit me down at her beat-up, round kitchen table. With a cigarette between her fingers, she’d hammer in the life advice.

Her favorite comes back to me now.

“A girl’s always,” she’d croak, cigarette dangling, “always got to know where all the exits are. The only way to stay safe is to think one step ahead. Know the lay of the land, know where the windows are in case the doors are locked. Better yet, know where the fucking dynamite is in case you need to make your own exit.”