Page 38 of Emerald Vices

The high lasts an eternity. When it finally lets us go, her knees are weak. I have to set her down on the window seat. Her clothes are scraps, but she tries to pull them around her chest and her bump.

With every passing second, she’s growing more and more distant. I see it happening.

This solved nothing.

“This nursery wasn’t meant as a manipulation, Natalia.”

She forces her gaze to mine. “No, it was a gift. A gesture. But that’s not what I want. It’s never what I wanted.” A sob bursts from between her swollen lips. “I wanted your time. I wanted you.”

Should it bother me that she’s speaking in the past tense?

Before I can decide, she leaves me with one parting blow. “Maybe I’m not the only one who needs someone to talk to.”

16

ANDREY

Considering I just released weeks’ worth of pent-up desire, I feel strangely dissatisfied.

Shura tries to hide a cigarette behind his back, but I grab it from between his fingers and take a long draw. “We’re a sorry pair,” he sighs as I smoke. “How long has it been for you?”

“Almost a year.”

“Fuck, you lasted longer than I did.”

“What do you have to be stressed about? Your woman isn’t determined to drive you insane.”

Shura laughs miserably. “I take it the nursery didn’t work.”

I throw the spent cigarette onto the ground and grind it into the gravel. “Nothing works with that woman. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.”

Shura snaps to attention. “We have new intel from Yorick.”

“Can we act on it?”

“The Black Brigade is meeting tonight to discuss the terms of Slavik’s alliance.” Shura looks longingly at the mangled cigarette. “Yorick will be at the meeting.”

My spy, Yorick, has spent weeks worming his way into the Brigade ranks. Access to a key meeting is a minor victory in and of itself. Seeing how rare those have become these days, I’ll take it.

“So will we.”

Shura’s eyes snap to mine. “You’re not—We can’t—Shit, are you serious?”

“This is no time to play it safe. I need to make a statement.”

“News of our double murders will make a grand statement,” he drawls sarcastically. “The Black Brigade may have been out of commission for decades, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.”

“Relax, Shura. I don’t plan on underestimating anyone.”

He drags a hand over his face as I walk towards the Escalade. The man looks like he could use a smoke, a Xanax, or both. With a grimace and a muttered curse, he follows.

I get in the driver’s seat and fly down the road. My plan may only be half-formed, but forward movement is better than standing still. I can think of no better way to channel all my frustration than to strangle it and mash the accelerator to the floor.

The adrenaline gives me a sense of purpose. As long as I’m hurtling forward at a hundred and fifty miles per hour, it’s almost possible to block out the image of those bright eyes staring up at me with equal parts longing and disappointment.

It’s almost possible to forget her.

Almost.

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