Page 17 of Dirty Damage

She leans even closer. “So you’ll do it?”

I take my time answering. Shoot my cuffs, dust invisible lint from my jacket.

Then I meet her gaze.

“No.”

Her face falls. “Oleg?—”

“I don’t like being manipulated, Maman,” I say, straightening to my full height. “And I don’t like being tied down. Not by you, not by Boris, and certainly not by a wife and family. I’ll fund this project on my own and I’ll reap the benefits on my own.”

She shakes her head, disappointment etching lines around her mouth. “Your pride may fill your bank account—but it will deplete your power, Oleg. It’s not a good exchange.”

I turn to leave, dismissing her warning.

Power isn’t something granted by others.

Power is a state of mind.

And my mind is made up.

5

OLEG

Night splays across the water like spilled ink as I push the engine into higher gear.

The speedboat—my latest acquisition—responds with a silky growl that vibrates through the steering wheel and into my bones.

Wind tears at my hair; salt spray mists my face.

This is freedom.

This is clarity.

This is what I need after that clusterfuck of a day.

I know Boris’s little dinner party onThe Anastasiais in full swing now. Champagne flowing, ass-kissing abundant.

Mother’s probably there, too, strategically placing pressure on board members who might be persuaded to my side.

I could’ve attended. Should’ve, maybe.

But the water calls me. Always has.

No matter how much it’s taken from me, it always wants more.

The speedboat slices through the darkness, its hull kissing each wave before launching into momentary flight. I push it harder, testing its limits, testing mine.

The ocean doesn’t give a shit about family politics or corporate maneuvering. Out here, there’s only action and consequence.

Two hours pass in a blur of speed and spray. My mind works through contingencies, strategies. By the time I point the bow back toward the boatyard, I’ve mapped out my next moves.

The lights of Palm Beach glitter in the distance as I ease the boat into its slip, tying her off with practiced efficiency.

My shoulders finally relax. The beast inside me settles, momentarily sated by velocity and salt air.

That peace evaporates like morning dew when I round the corner of the storage facility heading toward my car.

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