Page 113 of Her Darkest Possession
"Not every day I get to hold one pakhan captive while killing another one," he muses. "Makes a man wonder about his place in history."
"Pretending to hold a pakhan captive," I correct him.
He smirks. "Just want to make sure this looks convincing."
I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension in my muscles. Fake restraints bind my wrists loosely. It's fool Taras and Mother when they arrive, but still easy to slip out of when the time comes.
"Don't get any funny ideas," I warn him, keeping my voice low. "Remember our arrangement."
Killian chuckles. "Funny ideas? Christ, Baryshev. We're going to be partners soon." He takes another sip, studying me. "And before you say anything, I'm more concerned about pissing thatwife of yours off more than I am about doing something stupid to you. She must be an extraordinary woman for you to come to me twice now in such a short amount of time."
He's not wrong. But I won't give him that satisfaction just yet.
"You're probably more concerned about the men I have positioned all around the Shamrock," I counter. "Just in case we need to shoot our way out."
He smiles, unfazed. "Won't need to worry about that. It'll be quick and easy." Killian leans forward, his eyes suddenly serious. "But still. When thisisover, I get what I want. Taras' Brighton Beach holdings. Every last one of them."
"You will," I tell him without hesitation. "I'm a man of my word."
Killian nods, seemingly satisfied. His phone buzzes and he fishes it out of his pocket.
"Looks like they're pulling up, Baryshev," he says. "Both of them, just like you said."
No, I think.Just like Indigo said.
"Ready to put on the show of our lives?" He asks me.
"Let's just get this over with so I can go home."
A few minutes later,one of Killian's men walks into the office with Taras and Valentina following closely behind him.
I can't help but bristle when I see the two of them.
Despite his age, Taras is still a dangerous man. Unlike other pakhans who have let years of boozing and womanizing turn themselves into a fat slobbering mess, Taras has kept himself fit and strong. Even now in his early 70s, he still looks like he can out run, out lift, and out fuck someone almost half his age.
But it's Mother who draws my attention and anger. She still has that haughty look in her eyes.
And when her eyes see me, they hate.
This woman once sang lullabies to me in Russian helped send men to burn down my home where my pregnant wife was. I wonder if she feels any amount of sorrow for the death of her favorite son.
Or if Vassily was just another pawn to be discarded when the time came.
My hands flex against the fake restraints, and I have to consciously stop myself from breaking free and lunging at her throat. Not yet. This has to be done right.
Taras steps forward, his weathered face scanning the room before settling on Killian.
"O'Shea," he greets with a nod, his voice carrying the gravelly weight of decades of command. "Thank you for arranging this meet."
"I caught this piece of shit coming to me earlier this morning. Said he needed my help after what happened last night." Killian raises his glass toward Taras. "Well, as it turns out, he wasn't in much of a position to make requests these days. And I figured you wanted first crack at him."
If I didn't know that he was already on my side, I might almost believe that he's ready to hand me over to Taras.
But truth be told, there's just something a little too oily in the way Killian talks. It sounds almost too convincing, and a drop of doubt rolls down into my stomach as I test the restraints again just to make sure that they're still breakable.
Taras grunts.
"Don't act so fucking generous, O'Shea. We have a score to settle as well." He takes a step forward, voice dropping dangerously. "I haven't forgotten the part you played in my Grisha's death."
