They Endure: A Stone Hearts Novel, page 17
Lou tossed her hands up and cursed violently in Spanish. Something along the lines of tearing his head off of his shoulders, fishing out his entrails that way and wrapping them into a big fancy bow around his body, then setting him on fire.
Today was not her day. First her father using her mother against her and essentially threatening her, then sending his men after her, then her bike being destroyed, then nearly dying in a car accident and drowning in the bay, and then being drugged and put under penthouse arrest with Bash. Her life was a shitshow—it was getting boring, her ass. She’d never not appreciate the lack of action ever again.
“That time is over and done with!” she shouted. “I don’t know how many times or in how many different ways I have to tell you for it to get through that thick skull of yours! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a boxing match to get ready for and so do you!” Turning on her heel, Lou stomped toward the hall. Her clothes and shit had been brought while they were eating dinner—she just wasn’t sure if Gerry put it all in the guestroom or the master. If he valued his balls, they would be in the former.
“Who hurt you?” Bash asked quietly from close behind her, all his humor and sarcasm gone. It made Lou stop dead in her tracks. He continued. “It’s okay, you know.”
“What’s okay, Sebastian?” she asked impatiently, looking at him over her shoulder.
His gaze was piercing, pinning her to the spot. “To be scared.”
Lou ignored her gut flipping. “I’m not scared and no one hurt me.” Both fucking lies. And the first question—obviously he thought the hurt was from a relationship. It wasn’t, unfortunately.
He pressed, “is all of this shit because of your mother?”
“What shit?” she demanded, getting angry. She wanted to whirl around and yell at him, but that would only prove that he was striking a nerve. What he said was close to the truth, too close. And though what her deal was didn’t have anything to do with her mother directly, the woman was definitely a part of the equation of what happened to Lou. “There is no shit. I. Do. Not. Want. You. I don’t want anyone. It’s as simple as that. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, you’re going to come up empty and be disappointed.”
Baring his teeth, his face teeming with fury, Bash crossed his arms. “You’re full of shit, Louise.”
She turned back around and continued on. “And you’re delusional.”
“Your stuff is with mine,” he taunted after her, his humor back. “See you soon, wife.”
Lou’s form of response was the sound of her teeth grinding together and her bare feet slapping on the fancy floors as she retreated to the master bedroom. Their room, she realized, because when she tried the handle to the guestroom, she found it locked.
Maybe she’d be able to drag him into the ring in between matches and give the people of Remmington a show of her murdering him.
13
Some hair and makeup construction, an outfit change, and a shot of tequila for patience later, Lou was riding shotgun in Sebastian Corinado’s second Aston Martin—one of about ten luxury german-made cars he owned, she learned—and was on the way to the boxing event in Remmington.
As their was no specific dress code this time and it was, after all, a boxing match—one of blood, glory, violence, and sex appeal—Lou didn’t wear a simple LBD, but a SLBD. A sexy little black dress.
Completely backless, just long enough to cover her ass and fun box, the thin spaghetti strapped number was black, obviously, and sparkly like a clear night sky. For shoes she wore simple four inch black block pumps. And since the heels weren’t flashy, she painted her lips fire engine red. As usual, she let her short dark hair fall naturally, but took the liberty of commandeering Bash’s clippers and gave herself a perfectly faded undercut.
Her fake husband and jailer was looking downright delectable in a black suit tailored to every curve and edge of his muscles along with a black dress shirt with the top two buttons left free to reveal his myriad of tattoos. For shoes he wore loafers, which surprisingly—given she loathed them—turned Lou on. Who knew that ankle bones could be so goddamn crotch flooding.
Lust had not just overrun her anger at him, but stormed the bloody castle and set it to flame. Which irked the hell out of her. That being said, she kept her arms and legs crossed and her mouth shut when they got into the car. It was safer that way. She didn’t trust herself when it came to Sebastian Corinado.
Pulling out onto the woodsy highway that would take them to Remmington, Bash broke the silence with an insufferable smirk that made his stupid pretty eyes sparkle. “Come on gorgeous, don’t be mad. The drugging came from a good place, I promise.”
Lou knew it did, but that didn’t wipe away the fact that he fucking drugged her. Oh, and lest not forget the technical kidnapping. “I told you, I’m not going for the neanderthal Ren tactic of getting the girl by any means necessary. Certainly not by force, asshole. So, yes, I am mad and will remain so. And you aren’t touching me ever again.”
There was that stupefying knowing grin again. “But we’re married.”
“Outside of pretending,” she snapped.
“But we do it so well.” It as in sex, not marriage. If they were actually married, people would mark it in world records as the worst in history. Worse than Henry the 8th and Anne Boleyn, beheading and all.
Lou sent her eyes skyward. Bash wasn’t wrong. They did sex real well. “Did, not do. And I don’t know why you’re going to so much trouble just for a lay anyway. You have no problem finding a willing woman.” Which was true. And he didn’t need to bother looking for them—they always found him. Before Lou pulled her threesome-farewell, anytime they went out, women and men shamelessly threw themselves at Bash despite her being there. Not that she cared.
His green-grey eyes flicked sideways at her, his mouth turning down—something that rarely occurred, not where she was concerned, she learned some time ago. “You’re not just a lay, Lou. You’re family. But most importantly, I like you.”
“You like me?” she asked sardonically with an eye roll. “What are we in the fifth grade?” Lou knew he liked her. She came to the realization months ago—hence why she ran like hell. Bash hadn’t actually verbalized it back then, he hadn’t done anything that would be considered the extra mile to show her either—Lou simply felt it in the space around them, pulsing off of his body at all hours of the day. She even felt that energy when they weren’t together. And it made her chest tight.
Bash snorted. “No, we’re adults who should communicate honestly. But good try with the deflection. You’re not getting out of this, Lou, we’re talking about it. It’s time.”
If it were possible, Lou would have crossed her arms harder. “No, we aren’t.”
He wasn’t deterred. “Fine, I’ll talk and you’ll listen.” When Lou made to turn on the radio to drown him out, he snatched her hand and brought it to his lap. She tried to yank it free, but his grip was unyielding. “I’ll make this clear. I ‘pulled a Ren’ because you are in danger. Whether it’s dragging you to Colombia to force you to take up his torch, selling you, or killing you, your bastard father wants to take you away from me.” He squeezed her hand to the point of pain, ignoring her squirming to try and break free of him. “When I said that you belonged to me, it did not and does not come from a place of fucking.” He blew out a breath. “Dammit, I care about you, Lou. And though I don’t know specifically why, I understand and accept that it makes you uncomfortable. I can work with that.”
It felt as if something had lodged itself in Lou’s throat. She couldn’t swallow. She could barely breathe. Usually when one of the people she’d been seeing for a while got feelings and told her this, she would inwardly roll her eyes—so why was that when Bash said it that she was feeling like she wasn’t getting enough air? And what did that mean?
There was a whole bunch that Lou wanted to say. That he was a liar. That she had no interest in any of that. That she didn’t care about him. That she needed him to pull the fuck over so she could get out of the car and get fresh air, maybe even make a run for it into the woods. That she didn’t want him or his feelings or his caring. But instead of saying any and all of that, she kept quiet and looked out the window at the blur of green foliage, wishing she could smell the evergreens.
“I care about you,” Bash repeated with finality. “And I know you care about me, too.”
Did Lou? Fucking tits, she did. But she wasn’t going to analyze in what capacity or acknowledge the fact any further than in its utmost simplicity. When she looked at him, he squeezed her hand twice—something that Vas did sometimes—and relented and loosened his grip on it, allowing her to take it back if she wanted. Lou did, but she also kept her gaze locked with his for a moment longer than she should have before she looked back out her window and crossed her arms again. “I suppose I would be upset if you were no longer a plague on this earth,” she eventually huffed.
She caught the Sebastian Corinado dazzling smile out of the corner of her eye. “Sounds like the beginning of an epic love story, gorgeous.”
Ha, love.
Lou had been to her fair share of boxing matches and all other kinds of martial art events, so she knew what to expect. The wealthy of Remmington chose a traditional setting; an old abandoned warehouse—but outfitted it to the unbelievably over-the-top degree. Beginning with the valet parking that had been set up—something Bash opted out of and parked the car himself—it only got fancier from there. Those string lights you saw on balconies and shit were strung up all over the metal structure and whoever was in charge of these ridiculous things had little garden lounges set up around the front and sides of the place with quite a few outdoor bars and food stations.
Lou snorted derisively as she and Bash walked up hand in hand. There were even white carpet runners. “Boxing matches are supposed to be dirty and dingy, smell like piss and sweat, and have stale beer,” she said quietly to Bash as a server appeared with a tray of champagne that Lou declined. She hated the dry crap.
“I doubt anything here will be stale,” Bash replied with a laugh, taking a champagne flute for himself. “But I can certainly get you a beer. He took a sip of the bubbly then whispered in her ear, “I can also provide the dirty if you want to find a dark corner with me.”
Lou’s traitorous vagina practically shot off fireworks at the words and the huskiness to his voice. “I’m armed,” she informed him with an award winning smile, the perfect picture of an adoring wife madly in love. She had her trusty switchblade strapped to her thigh again.
Bash’s eyes briefly flicked down to his crotch. “So am I, lover.”
Lou was under no delusion that he meant a weapon other than one of the phallic variety, so she kept her mouth shut in lieu of berating and hitting him.
The inside of the warehouse felt more massive than how it looked on the outside. The ring was in the dead center—obviously—with lighting that had definitely been installed for the event. All around the room were the fancy spectator chairs with the cushioning and even VIP lounges of sorts at the front.
“We’re in a lounge with Thato,” Bash said to her as they nodded and smiled at people they met at the polo match. “Our European friends, too.”
“How the hell did you guys manage that?” Lou asked, thoroughly impressed. And were Bash and Thato actually speaking outside of this or was Ren handling everything? And why the fuck hadn’t she been kept in the loop?
“Thato’s suggestion to bring me on board to build a flesh jail must have intrigued the European douchebucket,” he said with unbridled disgust. “This could potentially turn into a business meeting, so likely you and his mistress will need to be making nicey-nice and pretend like you’re oblivious.”
Lou had absolutely no problem with that. A laugh escaped her. “Douchebucket?”
“I’m hanging around you and Vas too much.”
Fair enough.
Thato and the Russian douchebucket in question were already in their little lounge—which consisted of a white quilted sofa, two love seats, end tables, and a coffee table, all of it set atop a Persian rug. Dear fucking god, these people. What was the point of going to a sporting event, especially one with blood and violence, if you were just going to take away from it with obnoxious finery?
“Davies, my man!” Thato greeted, shooting up from his seat on one of the loveseats and not excusing himself from the conversation he had been having with Mikhail Zaitzev. This earned knotted brows and a thunderous expression from the Russian. His mistress, however, grinned into her wine. Both men were in black suits, Thato’s with the top three buttons undone, revealing his delicious golden chest that Lou had licked many sweet foods off of as well as something salty and a little more organic. Good times.
Tatiana Levin was also wearing a short dress, though hers was burgundy with a halter neck. The redhead had piled her riotous curls on top of her head, which had Lou practically drooling over the huge gold hoops she wore in her ears. There was just something about hoops that made her tingle in all the right places.
While Bash shook Thato’s hand and then Zaitzev’s, Tatiana got up and crossed to Lou. “I’m so glad I get to see you again, we didn’t get to chat at all at the polo match” she greeted as she and Lou did the double cheek kiss thing. Tossing her wine back, making Lou raise an amused brow, Tatiana gestured to the nearest bar. “Care to get a drink with me?”
Oh, this was so a business meeting—and just like Bash predicted, Zaitzev, who had given Tatiana the slightest nod of approval, did not want the woman folk to hear it. It rubbed against Lou’s skin like sandpaper but a girl had to do what a girl had to do. Besides, maybe she’d be able to get useful information out of Miss Tatiana Levin.
Smiling at her ‘husband’ adoringly, who winked at her like he knew just how burned her ass was at not being able to sit in on the meeting, Lou looped her arm with Tatiana’s. “I’d love to.”
“So I’ve heard just about everything there is to hear about you from the gossip mill,” Tatiana said after they ordered their drinks—quite a few vodka shots and a wine for her and a beer for Lou. “Tell me something different.”
Lou gave the lady her most bedazzling smile and took up her first shot and saluted her. “I love boxing matches and just about every sporting event that involves blood and violence.” She slugged her vodka back. “Tag, you’re it.”
Tatiana gave a throaty laugh that made Lou want to get her to the dark corner Bash had mentioned. She loved confident women. The world needed more of them. In fact, all women should be confident—they were beautiful. Every single one of them, magic. “I do as well.” She looked around conspiratorially. “I hate just about everyone here and loathe these kinds of people and their ridiculous displays of their wealth at these gatherings. I’d much rather be home with a good book,” she said in her delicate Russian accent.
Well that was interesting. Lou had watched the redhead at the polo match. Tatiana had blended with the socialites so effortlessly. Aka, she was a skilled liar. Lou smiled at her as she watched her take her shot. “I feel the same exact way, only I’d be cool with partying with the riffraff.” She leaned against the bar. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Spill your secrets, how did you end up the mistress of such a man?” she said with a fake appreciative nod at Zaitzev, who was deep in conversation with Bash and Thato. She wasn’t going to ask what Zaitzev did, just let her think that Lou thought him powerful. It was then that Lou noticed the Russian’s nearby bodyguards.
“I like you,” Tatiana said with a musical laugh. “All the other women here don’t comment or ask about my relationship because they’re trying to pretend their husbands don’t have mistresses.” She sighed. “I was working at a strip club in Miami. Mikhail came in, saw me, and arranged a private session.” She gave Lou a wicked smile and a wink. “To put it plainly, I was also a whore on the side.” She shrugged. “Anything to make ends meet, am I right?”
Lou really liked this woman.
“Anyway, he arranged the private session and there was no sex to be had. Turned out he just wanted to talk to me and ask me on a date. With his looks and charm and obvious wealth, I said yes. The next year was a whirlwind romance. He bought me nice gifts, took me to places I only dreamed of seeing, was adoring and doting, moved me into the apartment he kept in Miami, and told me I didn’t need to work ever again.” She rolled her eyes. “And then I found out he was married.”
“And what happened from there?” Lou asked, not invested in the story, but how this woman really felt about her Russian mafia boyfriend. If it wasn’t all sunshine and roses, Tatiana could be the key to knowing how to take Zaitzev down.
Tatiana took not one, but two more shots. “A nasty fight, refusing to speak to him for a week, and him begging for forgiveness and promising he would leave his wife. Needless to say, he did not leave his wife—the marriage had been a peace cow arrangement back in Russia and the poor girl's family doesn’t care if Mikhail isn’t faithful, just that the marriage remains and there are grandchildren.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which turned out to be okay with me because I don’t want rugrats.”
Lou saluted her and took another shot, enjoying the burn in her throat and surge of heat in her belly. It was making heat flare in funner places too. “Welcome to the club. It doesn’t bother you that he’s still sleeping with his wife?”
Tatiana shrugged. “It used to, but I’ve got a good thing going and if and when he cuts me loose, I’ll be well taken care of. That and the sex is great. My moral compass hasn’t pointed true north since I was a child, anyway.”
Lou contemplated that all while Tatiana took her remaining two shots, all without making a face—Russians loved their vodka. Lou wondered if the redhead’s situation was more about money now than love. Great sex aside, if she didn’t love the man anymore—which it sounded like was the case—could payment move her to betraying Zaitzev? With a promise of protection of course. Lou would have to talk to Bash and Ren, but first she needed to see if Tatiana was the kind of woman who would do that. And how could she find that out?
