Page 47 of Endless Obsession

A tingle of heat runs down my spine, and I push it away. My libido has been out of control lately, and I don’t really want to be sitting across from Agent Adam Bradley with a hard-on.

“I handle the drugs,” I repeat. “And my father knows I don’t like the trafficking. He’s not going to believe me if I suddenly say I want in on it. He knows I’m not particularly motivated by money, and he already considers me a pain in his ass, for the most part, because I don’t kiss it like my brothers do. He’s not letting me in on that.”

Bradley listens to me with the bored air of a man who really doesn’t care what I’m saying, but is going to let me finish. “I don’t give a shit,” he says, when I’m done and the waitress has left again, this time after depositing a cup of coffee in front of me, liberally dosed with cream and sugar. “Figure it out, Karyiev. That’s your problem, not mine. Mine is to make arrests. Yours is to get me the information I need. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

He throws down a ten-dollar bill on the table, gets up, and strides out of the diner.

Shit. I rub my temples, looking down at the plate that’s slid in front of me, my appetite entirely gone. It’s clear the feds are getting impatient. And why wouldn’t they? They’re not going to be skinned alive if my father gets wind of what I’m doing. They’re not going to prison to get a shiv in the kidney if I don’t deliver the information I’ve promised. Nothing is going to happen to Adam Bradley except a good talking-to from his boss, and maybe a reduction in his Christmas bonus.

Meanwhile, I’m staring down the very real possibility of looking at a grave from the wrong side.

I gulp the coffee, poking at the eggs for a minute before giving up on eating anything additional, and toss some cash down on the table with a generous tip for the pretty waitress, before getting up and heading for the door.

I very nearly run face-first into Lev on the way out.

For a second, I think my heart is going to stop. It takes every bit of self-control I have to keep my face schooled into an expression of neutral surprise, and not the bone-chilling fear that sweeps through me at the sight of him, at the thought that he might have been watching. Waiting for me.

At the thought that I might be the one in manacles before the day is out, bleeding onto a filthy concrete floor.

“Lev.” I raise my eyebrows, looking for any hint of anger. Any satisfaction from him that he’s about to be the end of me.

“Brother.” He crosses his arms. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

“Why am I not surprised you’re looking for me?” I shrug, leaning back against the stained wall as I reach into my pocket for a pack of cigarettes. I don’t smoke often, but right now, I feel sorely in need of one.

“Otets has a message for you. He sent me to track you down and let you know.”

That cold feeling in my gut spreads outwards. Once again, it takes everything in me to school my expression into something neutral, that doesn’t give away the feeling churning in my stomach, threatening to send that coffee and two bites of eggs right back up.

I don’t care what anyone says; it’s not cowardice to have a healthy fear of pain and suffering, even of death. And I have far too intimate a knowledge of Bratva torture methods not to feel fear at the thought of them being applied to me.

“What’s that?” I raise the cigarette to my lips and light it, at this point more for the sake of having something to do with my hands and mouth than anything else.

“He has a job for you.”

The fear eases a little. What remains is not because I’ve been caught today—clearly, I haven’t, but because it’s apparent that someone is tracking me. There would have been no reason to know that I was at the diner otherwise.

Lev might have seen Bradley leaving, or he might not. He might have noticed him and later figure out that a federal agent was at the same diner I was, or not. All I can count on is that Lev isn’t smart enough to add two and two together, which I’m grateful for right now. His stupidity often frustrates me, but just now, it’s a boon.

“Okay.” I suck in a deep lungful of smoke, letting the nicotine buzz through my veins. “Spit it out, Lev. I’m on pins and needles here.”

As usual, the expression on my brother’s face tells me that he wants to hit me. The fact that I’m quicker than he is probably the only reason he doesn’t—he lost many a fistfight to me throughout our childhood.

“There’s a charity gala coming up next Friday night. Some nonprofit.” Lev waves his hand, clearly not giving a shit about that part of it. “Petrov’s daughter is going.”

“Yuri Petrov?” I frown at the mention of his name. Yuri Petrov is another Bratva patriarch, the pakhan of a family that my father considers to be his direct rival. The fact that his daughter is already being brought into the conversation sends an uneasy prickling sensation over my skin. “I don’t kill women, Lev. Otets knows that.”

“Ah, lighten up.” Lev cracks a sarcastic smile. “You’re not going to be asked to kill anyone, Ivan. What you are going to do is take Sabrina to the gala, as her date.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?” If it were anyone other than my father requesting this, I’d assume this was some kind of start to an arranged marriage, one I would strenuously object to. Not because there’s anything wrong with Sabrina—I’ve met her before, and she’s a pleasant enough woman, beautiful and tolerable to talk to. But I’m not about to be roped into any union against my will.

I already know it’s not that, though. It’s going to be something worse than that.

“Our father has settled on his revenge for the injuries Petrov has done him over the years.” Lev smiles coldly, leaning against the wall opposite me, as if this were a normal conversation to have outside of a local diner. “She’s going to be taken and sold. And you’re going to ensure that happens.”

Shit. I manage to keep my face blank, but my mind is already spinning ahead. If Sabrina Petrov is going to be kidnapped and trafficked, then I’m gong to have to do something to interfere in that. I have no particular affection for her, but I’m not about to allow her to be sold because of our fathers’ rivalry. But more than that, this is a possible opportunity.

Before my little chat with Bradley, I would have done everything in my power to get out of this. But it’s clear that I need to provide some kind of information that he considers valuable, and soon. This might be a way to do exactly that.

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