Page 41 of Devious Madness

If it weren’t for me, maybe Nico would still be alive.

“You should have eaten more at breakfast,” Rurik says two hours into the final stretch of our drive home.

He’s sworn I’ll be at Megan’s place by late afternoon, but he won’t tell me why Megan’s place isn’t our apartment.

“I ate enough.” I pull my feet up onto the seat with me and lean my head against the headrest.

“I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“Well, don’t listen.” I am hungry, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing it.

I eye the mini-iPad tucked into the side pocket of his duffel bag in the back seat. After a short searchof the cabin this morning, he found it tucked beneath a stack of dirty magazines sitting on the nightstand.

Seeing what sort of condition the magazines had been in, I took an extra-hot, extra-long shower. I can’t believe we slept in that bed.

“What’s on the iPad?” I ask, after the silence starts strangling me.

“Information.”

“What sort of information?”

“The sort that costs a lot of money to keep safe.” He turns the radio on, switching over to the car play. Opera music fills the car.

I sit up and turn to look at him with curiosity. This guy– this rough-looking, leather-wearing, gun-wielding Bratva enforcer– is listening toopera.

On purpose.

“What?” he snaps when he feels me staring.

“Nothing.” I lean away. “I just didn’t peg you for an opera sort of guy.”

“Why? What does an opera sort of guy look like?” He throws on a forced midwestern American accent when he asks his question.

I think he’s trying to mock me.

“I don’t know.” I fold my arms over my chest. “More like a business guy? Tailored suit, slicked back hair, fancy shoes. You know, like the guy inPretty Woman.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Pretty woman?”

“Yeah, the movie.”

He shakes his head, like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“You’ve never seen it?”

“I don’t watch a lot of television.” He frowns.

I wonder if he ever has any sort of downtime. Does the mafia give paid vacations?

“It’s not TV, it’s a movie. An old one, too. So right up your alley.”

“Old?” He laughs. “I am only seven years older than you.”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“I know a lot about you, Mira Pierce.” He glances at me with this look that sets my insides on fire.

It’s his voice. He’s clearly mastered the deep, dark, and dirty voice that turns my body to mush.

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