Page 93 of Dirty Grovel

And cowards don’t voluntarily take blunt force trauma to the head.

“The cops are swarming around,” adds Artem. “They want to speak to the family.”

I nod. “Make arrangements for a quick departure tomorrow morning. We need to nip this in the bud.” Artem winces, his shoulders stiffening. I frown and ask, “What haven’t you told me yet?”

“I’m afraid the time for nipping things in the bud has passed, brother,” Artem sighs. “There are rumors spreading already. They reek of Martinek influence.”

Now, it’s my turn to wince and stiffen. “What rumors?”

“Thatyouare responsible for the attack on Boris.”

I can only scoff. “Any idiot should know that if I really did launch an attack on Boris, he wouldn’t be in the ICU—he’d be dead.”

“And yet i’s picking up steam, brother,” Artem says soberly. “We need to counteract it somehow.”

“I agree. And we start by moving up our plans to deal with the Martineks. They want a fight? They’re gonna fucking get one.”

“So what’s the next step?”

“We zero in on the Martineks’ independent enforcers. Starting with that shit fuck, Drew Anton. Check to see when and where his last communication with Lipovsky was.”

“Got it.” Artem nods, typing fast into his phone. “I’ll have them ready the jet.”

“Does Oksana know?”

Artem pauses. “No. I steered clear of her until I’d spoken to you.”

I slap him on the back. “Good man. Go see to your family now. Make sure they’re ready for departure.”

Once Artem disappears into the bungalow, I follow voices into the kitchen.

I stop short at the sight that waits for me there.

It’s Oksana and Sutton. They’re sitting at the same table, their backs to me. Both are rigid, a taut kind of formality hanging in the air between them.

But I don’t see any spilled blood, and I don’t sense outright hostility.

Not the kind that usually comes off Oksana in waves, anyway.

“I am happy, you know.” Oksana’s voice is deep as it rings around the kitchen. I step back into the shadows, hesitant to interrupt them. “About the baby, I mean. Despite the circumstances.”

Sutton glances up from her steaming mug of coffee to squint at my mother with suspicion. “Is that your not-so-subtle wayof saying that you’re happy about the baby, just not about the woman carrying said baby?”

One of Oksana’s shoulders bobs in a half-hearted attempt at denial. “I imagined someone different for Oleg, it’s true?—”

Sutton scowls. “If you stopped trying so hard to hate me, maybe you’d see that I’m not so bad. You might be able to see that I’m a pretty nice person actually.”

“I don’t hate you,” Oksana says, so matter-of-factly that even I do a double-take. “And I’m all too aware that you’re a nice person, Sutton.”

Sutton looks truly dumbfounded. “Then why?—?”

“You just might be too nice for this life.”

Sutton opens her mouth, then closes it again. She looks down at her hands, then back at Oksana. “Maybe I don’t want to be a part of this life,” she replies, an edge of fear underpinning her shaky words. “And maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not interested in the politics or the intrigue or the bloody bullshit. I don’t care about the shady deals or the never-ending schemes. I just want to live my life, find something of purpose to work towards, and raise my children in peace.”

“Exactly,” Oksana sighs. “That is exactly my point.” She points one manicured nail at Sutton. “Your naiveté, your innocence… It’s only going to cause you heartache and disappointment, Sutton. This is the Bratva life—there is no such thing as ‘peace.’ And if there ever is, it won’t last long.” She strokes the rim of her mug without actually taking a sip. “That is why I disapproved of this match. It was doomed before it even started.”

“It’s not a real match,” Sutton says softly. “Oleg and I… We’re trying to be friends. But I’m not sure we can be anything more.”

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