Page 77 of Kept in the Dark
I do not know how James does it—he controls his urges well enough around all of us. He does not embarrass himself or walk around with an erection, like an untried teenage boy.
Perhaps that is because he is getting true relief with a partner.
I have painted the walls of the shower enough times, but it is a temporary respite, only enough to take the edge off for a little while. An empty orgasm is not what my body truly wants, especially as I lay near her every night, breathing in her scent and filling my hands with her.
I grit my teeth and refocus my attention on the weight hovering above my nose. 10 minutes later, with a final, forceful exhale, I rack the barbell. Sweat pours down my face as I sit back up on the bench and reach for the towel and water bottle on the floor.
There is a shuffling noise over by the doorway, and Wesley strides in for a workout, dressed in loose sweats and a sleeveless shirt, his head down and attention buried in his cell phone. His headphones are on, though only one is covering his ear.
He shoots me a friendly smile as he crosses over to the bench, and I pull my sweatshirt on. “All done over here?” he asks, gesturing to the bench and barbell.
“Yes, let me remove the weight—”
“That’s all right, mate, I’ll rack it up… Jesus, 320? I would have been your spot.”
“You were busy,” I say dismissively. In truth, I had not checked if he was free.
He cocks his head at me, and his eyes drop to my waist. “Guess this means you’re all healed up, then? Can’t imagine our nurse would’ve cleared you for lifting heavy otherwise.”
Our?I suddenly need to clench my fists to keep my arms at my sides, as the urge to strike at Wesley’s face rises and falls like a wave through me. “Well enough to begin assisting James with his surveillance duties tonight.”
After James located the Volkevich base of operations, the routine of Viktor Volkevich was a simple thing to chart. If we wanted to kill him, James could easily have managed by now with a single shot betweenthe eyes. Viktor is complacent. Careless. So far from the men who call themselvesPakhanin my home country.
Wesley pockets the clips from the barbell and slides off one of the circular plates. I do the same on the opposite side to assist. “You’re taking nights? How’d he rope you into that one?”
It is no secret that I maintain a rigorous personal routine. It is not just a meticulous course of diet and exercise, but also a regimented sleep schedule. I prefer not to stray from my routine.
In this matter, however, there are many reasons I agreed to assist at night. For one, I am making amends to my team for the critical mistakes I made at the wedding. For another… my will is proving to be much weaker than I expected, and I worry that another night spent next to Nicole will be the final test of it.
She never even fought me about sharing a bed, though every night she constructs a wall of pillows between us that end up on the floor as soon as I join her. I know she still suffers from nightmares from the trauma she endured, but she always calms in my arms.
“I am not made of snow or ice—I will not melt or break from a change in my environment. I can make adjustments to my schedule.”
“There was a time I would have argued themade of icepoint,” he chuckles, but it becomes hollow as it echoes around us.
I give my brow a final mop with the towel before tossing it into the hamper by the door of the gym and reach for my water bottle. “Any updates?”
“A few. No word from Felix—I’m assuming he’s in the wind, now—and no movement at Nicole’s place.”
“If they have not gone looking for the USB there, either they know she has not been back, or they do not know she has it.”
“Difficult to say which is more likely. I’ve got an alert up for her picture in the usual online places, in case they hire someone to find her.”
I shake my head. “It is notBratvastyle to hire out that kind of work. Or any, really. That is what soldiers and enforcers are for.”
He nods tersely, and I understand his frustration. It is easy for him to find things online, but not everything leaves a digital footprint. And when something does not, he is rendered ineffective.
“I’ll keep the alert up, just in case.”
“What else?” I ask, sensing he has more to update me on.
“Well, turns out Kyle might actually be alive.”
I nearly spit out the water I had just sipped. “You are just saying this now? Why was it not your first statement?”
“I don’t know for certain yet,” he says carefully, sliding 20-pound plates where my 50s were and replacing the clips to keep them in position on the bar. “Something Nicole said made me look into it, and I finally found something interesting in my digging. Seems the coroner who signed the report is receiving sporadic payments from more than just the county—Kyle might have bought a false report and faked his death.”
“Nicole caught this?” I ask, chest swelling with pride.
