Page 41 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

Max is even more confused now, while I grow increasingly uncomfortable being in this police precinct. My anxiety levels rise as I notice more and more people looking at me, watching me, trying to listen and pick up on anything that I say.

I’ve captured the attention of every uniform in this place. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; I knew it might happen. But I didn’t expect Max to be here. It will make it easier for the cops to associate us.

“Lyric, where did you get that kind of money?” Max asks in a low voice, a muscle twitching nervously in his square, bearded jaw.

“That is not a story that I can share with you here,” I say.

“What the hell just happened?” Ivan cuts in as two officers bring him over to us. They both look clearly displeased about the whole thing, throwing daggers at my face, while I have the urge to shrink into something the size of an ant and disappear. All of my earlier bravado seems to have fizzled away, now that I see how rattled the vipers’ nest really is. “Lyric?”

“Not here,” I insist before heading out the door, Max and Ivan trailing me in confusion.

I’m nervous and quiet in the back seat of Max’s car, sitting next to an even more befuddled Artur, while Max gets behind the wheel, Ivan in the passenger seat. None of us say anything for a minute or two, the situation still sinking in. It had seemed simpler in my head, even as I analyzed the algorithm’s possible scenarios. Then again, maybe I let my heart lead me with this particular move, finding ways to justify my decision.

“Lyric, we owe you a great debt of gratitude and money,” Artur says, his grey eyes searching my face while I try to understand the emotions that glimmer across his. “The longer Ivan stayed in that cell, the worse it would’ve been. But we obviously need to talk.”

Ivan turns around in his seat. He’s confused. Conflicted. Torn between anger and frustration, yet his gaze remains soft upon mine. “Where’d you get that kind of money?” he asks.

“And cash at that,” Max adds, gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white.

“So here’s the thing,” I begin, trying to find the right words to explain myself and my eerie capabilities in a way that makes sense. “You are already aware that I’m rather good in computer programming. Computer science, to be specific, with a specialization in finance”

“It doesn’t explain four-hundred-and-fifty large in cash,” Artur insists.

“I’m getting there,” I chuckle nervously. “It’s my money. I earned it fair and square. I paid taxes on it, too. It is perfectly legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Max starts the engine and pulls the SUV out into the steady flow of traffic. The farther we get from the police station, the more relaxed I begin to feel.

“As you also know, I insisted on gaining my financial independence as soon as I went away to college, not wanting to have anything to do with my father in that sense. I didn’t want to depend on him for anything. In order to survive throughout college, to buy my own apartment, to be my own person, I needed a hefty revenue stream. I suppose I’ve told you enough about my algorithm project. I used its earlier versions to check odds on several online betting websites.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Artur laughs. “You did what?”

“I went to five major betting sights. I did my research, checked the odds, introduced every megabyte of data into my algorithm, and went over its proposed win scenarios. It worked. I achieved seventy-five percent accuracy. I made a lot of money betting on pretty much everything. Soccer matches in Europe. Football and baseball in the states. Horses. Boxing and MMA fights, including the UFC. I made it as far as Thailand with the higher bets. Over the years, I managed to put together well over three-and-a-half million dollars. That’s how good my algorithm was then. It’s only gotten better since, which is why I’m using it for my doctorate thesis.”

“Holy shit,” Max mutters while keeping his eyes on the road. “Lyric, we clearly don’t know nearly enough about you.”

“I manage on my own. Quite sure I said that more than once,” I reply with a shy smile.

“This is more than managing on your own,” Max says. “Jesus, Lyric, you’re a fucking genius aren’t you?”

“I was approved for Mensa, yes.”

Ivan laughs, looking infinitely relieved as a free man. “Damn. I did not see this coming. I was ready and bracing myself for another night in jail and a heap of bloody trouble ahead. I feel like I’m the fucking damsel in this story.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my man. You’re all my men,” I reply, raising my chin in defiance. “I did what I did because I understand now. I understand the risks you took when you freed Bowman to keep the FBI away from me. Don’t think for a second that I wasn’t aware. All I did was repay the favor.”

“Does your father know?” Artur asks me.

I shake my head. “Not yet. He’ll find out eventually. I was hoping I might be able to post that bail anonymously but the cops weren’t having it.”

“We’re VIPs to those bastards,” Artur sighs. “They were so thrilled to have caught one of us, even though they all knew they didn’t have a leg to stand on. They’ve been trying so hard to get to us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Ivan shoots back. “You’re not responsible for your father’s sins.”

“No, but she very well may have just tanked his chances at the senate by bailing you out,” Artur cuts in.

I cringe. “Yeah, that’s something I’ll have to deal with, I’m sure. Just another great disappointment.”

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