Page 41 of Skin Deep

He looked down at his leg as if he’d forgotten the cuts were there, and then he looked away with a snort. “I can do that myself. Surgeon, remember?”

“I know you can, but it’s my job to take care of you after and you’re going to let me.”

War gave an irritated sigh, clearly a little closer to being back to his normal misanthropic self. “All right, but you have to put up with me critiquing your care. First aid kit’s in the kitchen. Top drawer on the right.”

I nodded and got up to go search for it. “You don’t think they need stitches, do you?”

“Do you fuss over your girls this much every time they scrape a knee?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” I found the kit and brought it back, placing it on the coffee table and flipping it open.

“And dotheyenjoy it?” War asked in a bratty tone.

I smirked, placing everything I needed to see to the cuts on the table. “They hate it.”

War watched me with eagle eyes as I spread antibiotic ointment over the cuts before covering them with an absorbent pad and medical tape.

“I spoke to my father,” he offered quietly, watching me work.

I glanced up at him. “The mobster lawyer?”

War nodded.

“And will Nikita Volkov be getting the police files we need?”

“Yes, but…” He sighed. “Paxton, the Russians aren’t what you’d call progressive people. Especially my grandfather and the older generation. The organization is… intolerant.”

I arched an eyebrow and finished securing the tape in place. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, War.”

“They know about us,” War continued. “I’m not a part of the vory, not directly, but it was implied that my proximity puts you and the girls in danger.”

I clenched my jaw, fire flashing in my veins. “If anyone touches my girls…”

“They won’t,” War promised, taking my hand. “I won’t let them. I negotiated protection for the three of you, but that protection comes at a price.”

I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “Whatever I have to do, it’s done.”

“They want you to kill a man. Bowen Ivanski. Another vory.”

There was a tremble of rage in War’s voice as he said the man’s name, enough to tell me he had a particular distaste for this guy. “What’d he do to you?” I asked, brushing my fingers along his jaw.

He pulled away and shook his head. “Not something you want to hear about.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll accept that, but you don’t get to decide what I want. Give me some context. It’ll help.”

War closed his eyes, and for a minute, I thought he was going to shut me out again. Instead, he pulled the blanket tighter around him, cocooning himself in it. “I had a boyfriend when I was a teenager. My first serious love. He was the son of one of Simeon’s drivers. Not in the vory, not even the son of someone who was. Just someone vaguely associated with them like I was, working a part time job. I thought we were safe. I thought it would be okay. But I was wrong and he paid the price.”

“War…” I took his hand and squeezed.

“We went out for my eighteenth birthday.” His voice had grown distant, his gaze cold, disconnected. “They picked us up as we were leaving the restaurant. Just pulled up in their cars and grabbed us. I didn’t even know they’d grabbed him at first since we were in different cars. Not until Bowen Ivanski put a fucking gun in my hand and they dragged him in all bloody. Bowen put him on his knees in front of me and told me I had to kill him or they were going to kill me.”

“Jesus,” I muttered. “Why?”

War stared at the floor. “I was too bold. People saw us together kissing, holding hands. Word started to circulate. My behavior was seen as disrespectful because we were being so public. Simeon thought he could scare me straight, that it was an act of rebellion that needed to be shocked out of me. He thought I was soft, so he tried to toughen me up.”

“But you weren’t in the fucking mafia.”

His head lifted slowly, and he looked at me with cold eyes. “I’m the grandson of Simeon the Immortal. It doesn’t matter where I go or what I do. The vory is in my blood.He’sin my blood.” He sighed and ran his hand through his damp hair. “But I couldn’t fucking do it. I just stood there, begging for Brandon’s life and sobbing like a fucking child.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve replayed that night in my head thousands of times. Why didn’t I turn the gun on Bowen? Why didn’t I fight? I’d been trained to survive, to fight back, but all my fucking training was for nothing. I froze up because it was Brandon. Because I was in love with him. Because I wasweak.”

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