Page 23 of Enemy of Ours 1
“What do we all want?” he asks in a thick, deep Russian accent, his light blue piercing eyes holding my gaze before shifting over my left shoulder as Gemma snorts softly.
Oh, fuck. Here we go. Goddamnit, Gemma.
I don’t turn around to glare at her, but I do drum my fingers on the back of the couch and hear her squirm in place. She knows she just fucked up. You don’t talk unless spoken to in meetings like this, and now Victor’s eyes are roaming up and down her body. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Gemma, standing at a mere five feet two inches, is incredibly petite, akin to a pixie. Whereas Victor, standing at a height of approximately six feet seven inches, appears as if he could crush your skull with his massive hands. He’s looking at Gemma with blue eyes that aren’t blinking and his pupils expanding. I don’t like it one bit.
I clear my throat loudly, and he slowly looks away from her until he’s gazing at me with a raised brow. If they hadn’t taken my gun away from me at the front door of the club, I would have already put a bullet between his eyes. My patience is wearing thin.
“You want power? Money? Drugs? Respect?” I ask unhurriedly, putting sarcasm into my tone because I know it will annoy him.
“Yes, but that isn’t just handed into your palm. You have to work for it, steal it, or kill for it. Don’t we?” he questions, his gaze flickering once again to Gemma before settling back on me. “I think we could help each other, you know? We could put fear into the people who want to take our control away and hurt our loved ones.” He holds my gaze for a long moment and raises his arm behind his head, snapping his fingers until his lackey places a folder into his outstretched palm.
He slides it on the table between us, waiting for me to open it, and I’m tempted to tell him to shove it up his ass, but based on the pictures earlier of one of his men following me, I can’t take the chance. I lean over and try to stay calm as I flip through the enlarged photos that make it clear who they were watching.
I see photo after photo of Iris, including pictures of her walking in the park, me following her into our building, and her looking out her window with her scars visible. My fists grip the photos tightly, wrinkling the edges just before I throw them on the coffee table.
“I can help you protect her. I know why she has those scars. Everyone who knows where to listen hears the whispers of what happened to her.” He shakes his head in pity, and I swear I’m seconds from jumping over the table between us and slowly watching the life drain from his eyes with my hands around his neck.
“What does that mean for you? Why would you want to protect someone you’ve never met?” Gemma asks, her tone curious, and I grind my teeth as she speaks up. She shouldn’t have come if she can’t hold her tongue; it’s just going to interest Victor more.
Point proven when he pins his gaze on her and wets his lips, a smirk spreading across his mouth.
“Because what happened to hiswifeshould have never happened if we didn’t have weak men trying to take control of our city. I want to annihilate those men from the face of the earth, and I need his help to do it.” Victor looks back at me, his gaze suddenly holding deep pain, and I have to wonder who he lost.
“What’s the catch?” My voice comes out hard and deep because I’m fucking tempted to take his offer.
Danny O’Connor is one of those weak men who sacrificed his daughter for his church, men who don’t even know one first thing about running a business in this city. Victor knows; his smirk says it all.
“While we negotiate, to make sure no one starts killing each other, I want a trade until the deal is done,” he says matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders but still wearing that shit-eating grin like he won something.
Fuck.
“What trade?” I growl out, climbing to my feet as things start clicking into place.
“I can either take Iris back with me to Russia for a few months so I know you won’t screw me over, and then you can have her back once you follow through with our dealings.” He climbs to his feet too, buttoning his suit jacket and grinning until all his white teeth are showing around his cigar.
“What’s option two?” I hold his gaze, imagining a bullet hole through his forehead as he threatens to take away what’s mine.
I’ll peel off layers of his flesh with a vegetable peeler after I pour boiling water over him, making my knife slide through him like butter.
No one, and I mean no one, takes my Iris from me.
“I’ll take her instead.” He points at Gemma, who sucks in a surprised breath behind me.
“And if I don’t?” My body tenses, ready to kill this motherfucker, club rules be damned, until I feel Gemma lay a hand on my jacket sleeve.
“Don. He doesn’t have to take Iris,” she says softly as she comes around the couch to stand between Victor and me. “I’ll go. I know you won’t let anything bad happen to me, and it gives you time to proceed with the negotiations without having to worry about Iris.” She holds my gaze with a blank facial expression, but I notice a gleam of challenge in her eyes, and I almost feel bad for Victor.
My shoulders relax, and it takes everything inside me not to smile. Of course, Gemma would offer to play the innocent baby cousin who has no choice but to go. A pretend damsel in distress. Victor doesn’t know he’s standing in the room with Vixen, a deadly killer that most men fear and compare to the boogeyman. No one knows Gemma is Vixen, and this is the perfect opportunity for her to kill this motherfucker for even daring to take pictures of my wife.
“I can’t ask this of you—” I begin to speak in my most caring voice while maintaining eye contact with her, and she winks at me before turning to face Victor.
“Do we have a deal?” she asks him in a quiet voice, gazing up at him through her lashes as he stares down at her with a raised brow like he’s trying to figure her out.
Good luck with that.
Victor holds her gaze for a long minute, his mouth set in a rigid line, before he glances up over her head with a single nod.
“Da.” He agrees and steps over towards me, his hand outstretched for me to shake to seal the deal, but I don’t grab his palm.
