Page 75 of Wrath
“Most likely, Dimitri found your phone and lured him in, pretending to be you.” His jaw hardened. “Obviously he wants reassurance that you’ll turn up tonight. He’ll get a nice surprise when we all come in your place.”
“But what would he want with Alek?” What he always wanted. A display of power. Control. Pain. “Is Alek okay? Do we know if he’s okay?”
“Not yet.”
Another wave of nausea rolled over her and she slammed the heels of her palms into her eyes, holding until she heard Wyatt’s calm voice. “Come on, we’ll go down to the basement. The others are already down there running through a plan.”
Wyatt walked ahead, but Grace stopped Misha with a hand to her shoulder. She leaned in to speak quietly. “I heard vomiting.”
“It must have been breakfast. Nothing to worry about.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Wyatt’s cooking? Somehow I doubt that. Are you sure you’re okay? He mentioned you needed tampons. I have some in my bag.”
Misha checked Wyatt, and he moved to the exit to wait for them outside in the hall. When he was at a safe distance, she confessed: “No, I don’t have my period.”
A pause. “You’re late?”
Dammit. “It’s not what you think, I have the implant, plus, Wyatt mentioned he’s not… um, you know.”
Awkwardness flittered over Grace’s face. “They’re only sterile before they meet their mate. Apparently it’s a security measure to stop them passing down unbalanced genes. Is your implant in utero? They’ve been known to fall out. Have you checked for the string?”
Her queasiness rolled, and every instinct in her body screamed that Grace was right. That the implant had somehow fallen out. Misha felt different. Her breasts were tender, her moods were weird, and Misha and Wyatt had never used protection. No. She was imagining things that weren’t there. She was sick, that was all. She went to move, but Grace held firm.
“Grace.” Misha’s tone held a warning in it.
Grace let go. “I’m a doctor, Misha. Anything you tell me will be confidential.”
Misha kept walking. She had other worries. Alek needed her. The last thing she needed to think about was having the same condition that killed her mother.
Thirty-Five
The basement operationsroom was crowded when Misha arrived with Wyatt. It still boggled her mind that they fit all this underneath two very popular cultural establishments in the city. Right above was the restaurant Heaven, and somewhere above and to the far right was the nightclub Hell. Misha had seen a weapons room, a workout room and a medical room as she passed from the elevator. There were more hidden places, but she’d not had the chance to inspect the place.
Following Wyatt, Misha stood near the entrance, hand on her quivering stomach and inhaled deeply to center herself. Activity in the room focused on a stranger standing near the glass cabinets containing suited mannequins. The tall stranger rotated as though he was on display. His bald head shined under the halogen lights, as did his long nose and pink tips of his big ears. His plaid brown suit came straight out of the seventies. The hastily tucked shirt barely containing a pudgy beer gut.
Most of the family were there. Evan and Griffin—both wearing their Deadly Seven combat gear—poked and prodded the stranger as though he were a museum artifact, or something under a microscope. To the back of the room, in the corner reserved for the workshop, Flint and Mary looked on with veiled amusement. With her arms folded, Liza watched the stranger from a safe distance.
Upon seeing their arrival, the balding man hooted at Wyatt. “Check me out, bro.” And then his eyes slid to Misha, and he grinned, big ears shifting. “Misha, doll. Haven’t seen you since Hell opened. Come here and give me some sugar.”
Oh my God. It’s Tony.The lady’s man and current Hollywood heartthrob? She didn’t recognize him with all that makeup on, but his buttery voice was unmistakable. And come to think of it, the shape of his square jaw, the little dimple in his chin… that cocky twinkle in his eyes. She tried to smile. She wanted to smile… but couldn't.
Wyatt stood in front of Misha.
Was he trying to protect her? “It’s Tony. Don’t you recognize him?”
Tony stood there with arms wide, waiting. “How good is my makeup artist, huh? I feel like I was born to play this role. Babe, I had no idea you worked as a stripper.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed, but he stepped aside.
“Exotic dancer,” she corrected.
“Yeah. That. Serious, no wonder you pulled all the right moves on the dance floor.” Tony made some gyrating dance moves as if to prove his point.
It all looked rather strange in his getup.
“This isn’t a role in one of your movies, Tony.” Wyatt scowled and stalked to where a uniformed Parker was at the strategy table, concentrating on something on a laptop computer screen. “It was serious reconnaissance, but things have changed. The recon mission is now an extraction.”
“He’s right,” Parker confirmed, his voice a deep base. “You’ll be needed in combat gear. There’s likely to be conflict.” He arched his brow at Wyatt. “Have you tried your new suit on?”
