Page 153 of Nothing More

“An elevator. I went to see the detective, and she said Homicide detectives are looking into the body parts.”

“Homicide detectives?” Misha’s voice hardened, and the sound of it sent goosebumps shivering across Toly’s back the same way it had when he was twelve. “She was supposed to lookherself. As a favor to your club.”

“Her boss found out she took the parts to the lab, so she had to pass the case off to another department. The police are going to open an investigation. There’s nothing she – or we – can do about it.”

Misha was silent so long that Toly pushed the Stop button back in to shut off the alarm; the cab lurched and started climbing again. When he finally spoke, Toly jolted. “She told them, didn’t she? Your woman.”

Your woman. Not dismissive this time. Not an insult, but a threat.

“Told them what?”

“You said she wouldn’t call the police about the finger. The ear. You said she was loyal. And she–”

“She is!”

The elevator arrived at the penthouse level with a polite ding. The doors slid open. Belatedly, Toly realized he’d shouted; that the shout was still echoing faintly in the cab around him. His heart was racing.

The hallway in front of the penthouse was empty save its potted palms, and its side table and vase of greenhouse lilies. He stepped off the elevator and braced a hand along the doorframe in an attempt to ground himself. “Sorry,” he ground out, the pulse throbbing in his ears louder than the alarm had been. “I didn’t–”

“Toly,” Misha said on a sigh. Weary. Overwhelmed by the young one’s folly. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”

A wave of dizziness had him listing to the side, clutching at the doorframe until his knuckles cracked.

Misha sighed again, sounding almost fond. “I should be the one to apologize: I’ve put you in a terrible position, and you’re only doing your best.”

Toly was twelve, hands sweating on the grip of the gun, trying to get his sights aligned so he didn’t displease the man who stood behind him, instructing his first target practice, his long shadow on the grass swallowing Toly whole. ‘What?”

“The truth is,” Misha said, “I have missed you. I miss working alongside you, knowing that you are capable, and can handle yourself without me telling you what to do. You were like my little brother – and then you went to America. And then you ran away to become a Lean Dog.”

It was difficult to swallow, his throat dry and bruised-feeling. “Misha–”

“I have enjoyed working with you again, Toly. And here in America, where my crew is stupid and lazy, and I am having to build it up into something to be proud of, I suppose it was easy to forget that we aren’t brothers anymore. I was giving you orders. Making things hard for you, with your Lean Dogs, and with your – with Raven.”

Misha had never said such a thing. Hell, neither had Maverick, despite his shoulder squeezes, and supportive smiles, and his “son”s and “attaboy”s. He had patched in, and he was an honorary brother, but he’d fostered no bonds, familial or friendly, with his new allies, and no one had called him brother – even more devastating,little brother– and meant it. Not in a way that left his chest aching this way.

Misha was still talking: “I wish the police didn’t know. Now it will be more difficult to deal with our enemy, but I should never have involved you in this. For that I’m sorry.”

He sounded as though he was ending the conversation, and Toly said, “No, wait,” fear spiking at the thought of disconnecting like this, of leaving things this way between them. “Wait, just…wait.”

“I am here,” Misha said, patient, soothing.

Toly checked the gap under the door for the shadow of feet, found nothing, and turned around to put his back flat to the wall. Took a series of slow, deep breaths, reassured by the sound of Misha’s breathing on the other end of the line. He pushed his hand through his hair, held it off his face, gathered at his nape. He had nothing under control, and it was all his fault: secretive, tight-lipped, untrusting. Traits that had kept him alive up until this point, but which had held him hostage, too.

He said, “I went to see Detective Dixon, and I was going to ask her to – carefully – see if she could find anything else about body parts in the mail. But when I got there, Raven had already been to see her. She was angry.” No, that wasn’t right. “She was scared,” he amended. “She could lose her job because she ran those samples at the lab without opening up a case. She can’t do anything else right now, and she said we should keep away from the precinct.”

“Yes,” Misha said. “I agree. What will happen now? With the investigation?”

“I’m not sure. Homicide detectives will look into the disappearance of Antonina Ostrowski. They’ll interview her boss, I’m guessing, that nasty old rich bitch Newsome.”

“You met this Newsome?” Misha sounded curious.

“I interviewed her – well. One of us did. I was there. She said Antonina stole her ring and gave it to her boyfriend to sell.”

“Ah. Nikolai.”

“Yes. Nikolai.” Toly thought of leaving it there, but…little brother…Little brothers could afford to push. To ask questions. They didn’t have to sit and do as they were told all the time. “Did you have him killed because he went against your orders? Or because he was going to get you caught?”

A sigh. “I didn’t have him killed at all. That was Ilya. As I told you: he’s hard to control.”

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