Page 45 of Craving Dahlia

Until she betrayed me, instead.

I hear my teeth grind together as I close my eyes, forcing the memory of her away. I don’t want it—don’t want the pain, or the reminders of my own stupidity, even if it would be good for me to be reminded of what happened the last time I let myself be played by a beautiful woman.

Dahlia won’t betray me the way Elia did. I know that—she doesn’t have the means or the connections, even if I might have given her the desire by this point, with how I’ve acted. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t lying to me about the baby, trapping me with it, forcing me into a corner so she can take what she wantsfrom me—even though I’m not entirely sure what that might be. Money? Protection? A father for her child? I don’t plan on giving her any of those things, except the most basic financial support if she’snotlying. I don’t want to give her my desire, either, but it feels like she’s ripping it from me every time she’s near me.

Nothing good can come from letting her under my skin. I learned that lesson once, and I have no intentions of learning it yet again, in a different way.

Sooner or later, I’ll find out what trap she’s setting for me. And I’ll make sure she’s caught in it instead.

—

The next day,Dimitri intercepts me in the afternoon, coming out of his office with a frustrated expression on his face. “I need your help, Alek,” he says, his voice ringing out in the space between us, and I stop, frowning at him.

“I don’t work for you any longer. I don’t work for the Bratva.”

Dimitri blows out a sharp breath between pursed lips. “We’ve talked about this,” he says flatly, and I shrug.

“You talked. I told you how I feel.”

Dimitri’s jaw tightens, and I see a muscle in the hollow of it tick. “No, Alek. We haven’t talked about much since you’ve come home. Especially not?—”

“I have somewhere to be.” I start to walk past him, but he steps in my path, and I stop short again.

A part of me wonders why I’m resisting the conversation that I know we need to have so stubbornly. I came here for answers, didn’t I? But once I was actually here, faced with the possibility of those answers, I’ve been too much of a coward to really seek them out. After so much pain, I can feel myself recoiling from the thought of any more—emotional or physical. That painhardened me in most ways, but in a few others, it’s made me vulnerable. Weak, even—and that angers me.

“I need you,” Dimitri repeats. “There’s a job I need to get done. Vik and Gus are on other work for me, and I want Pyotr here at the house. I trust you to handle this.”

I frown at him. As much as I hate it, deep down, I feel a stirring of anticipation at the idea of getting my hands dirty again. Of doing the kind of work that I know Dimitri would need me for.

It might even be an outlet for some of the frustrated rage churning inside of me, one that I desperately need.

“What?” I ask, blowing out a sharp breath. “What is it?”

“There’s a low-level gang that’s been moving some product for us in and out of strip clubs over in Harlem,” Dimitri says. “You knowotetshad business going all the way from the very bottom up to the top, and these guys are pretty close to the bottom. I’ve been considering just cutting them loose. They’re more trouble than they’re worth, frankly. But right now they’re withholding money that they owe us for product they should have sold, and I need either the money or the drugs returned. One or the other. I imagine it will require some…convincing.”

I can feel my blood stirring at that. This is the kind of work I used to do for our father, a familiar kind of violence that I can feel myself already yearning for as Dimitri throws the possibility out there, like an itch under my skin. I have so much anger, so much bottled-up rage waiting to be unleashed, and he’s giving me an opportunity to let some of it out. To be angry at someone that I’mallowedto be angry at.

I’m still just stubborn enough to not let him see how much I actually want to do the job, though.

“Fine,” I bite out. “Give me the address. I’ll go after dark tonight and get your money or your drugs. Like old times, right, brother?”

Dimitri looks at me warily, but he nods. “Like old times.”

Hours later, I’m walking out into the dark, keys in hand and the slip of paper with the address in my pocket as I walk out to my bike. I can feel the cold weight of the gun resting against the small of my back, but I doubt I’ll actually use it tonight. I have other plans, if it goes that far.

The hum of the engine and the sting of the cool night air against my cheeks feels like a balm, the promise of what the night holds making my skin buzz with anticipation. For once, Dahlia isn’t at the forefront of my mind, and I welcome the distraction, the chance to get release in some other way.

I know the roads out to the part of Harlem where I’m headed well enough that I don’t need to check the address again until I’m nearly there. My destination is out in the slums, a derelict brownstone building on a street full of them. I park my bike in a nearby alley, locking the wheels and hoping for the best. If someone fucks with it, they’re going to regret that choice.

The building itself is easy enough to get into. I head down the stairs towards the basement, trying not to breathe in the scent of mold and bad weed that fills the stairwell, and stop at the water-stained door at the bottom of it. Raising one hand, I bang my fist heavily against it, feeling the wood give a little.

“Fuck off!” I hear from inside. “Nobody ordered fucking pizza!”

Ialmostchuckle at that, a rumbling in my chest as I knock again. “Open up!” I growl through the door, letting my accent thicken. “If you want to keep all of your fingers and toes, you’ll open the door,druz’ya.”

“I said, fuck off!” The voice is less certain this time, a little shaky around the edges, and I feel a tug at the corners of my lips. They know they’re fucked, they’re just hoping that the door between me and them provides more protection than it actually will.

“Your funeral.” I rear back, slamming my booted foot into the latch. The door gives immediately, splintering around the lock, and with one more heavy kick, it swings open.

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