Page 108 of Alexei (Belles & Mobsters 4)

I was emotionally and physically drained. But it was better than this silence. Nothing to do but think about every single detail, while I wore the jacket that smelled like Alexei. I must have lost my mind.

The scent that lingered on it soothed me.

So fucking stupid, but it soothed me and tortured me at the same time.

I should move on to the next big case. This one was solved. The bureau recognized me for work well done, then gave me a sabbatical. A mandatory one. An indefinite one. Apparently, the demand came from higher ups, and I suspected it was one of my brothers. Or all three of them.

McGovan got his promotion. Everyone screamed how the world was a better place now. Yet for me, it was messier than ever.

Just as I predicted, my three brothers went on high alert when they couldn’t get in touch with me. They literally waited an hour before coming after me. I was impressed they waited that long. Using all the resources at their disposal and the security company they ran, they followed the trail that led them to me. It never occurred to them that I went undercover and of course McGovan didn’t enlighten them.

Byron insisted on staying around, refusing to leave me. Four weeks with Byron would drive anyone to drink. He fussed over me like a baby.

My other brothers called every damn day. I hadn’t shared with any of them what I had learned. They moved on from Kingston; I didn’t. So there was no sense in opening old wounds for them. I didn’t want them to relive those dark times.

My phone rang. I reached for it on the little side table and answered, never moving from my spot. The view wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was better than images in my mind. Of my brother’s tortured body. His screams. His cries. In my mind, he was still a little boy who needed help.

“Hello. Hello?” Royce’s voice shouted through the headset that I held. Fuck, I forgot I answered it.

“Hello, Royce.” God, I was tired. Yet, sleeping was even more tortuous these days. My mind wondered wherever it wanted in my dreams. To Alexei, his hands on me, his scars and pale blue eyes. To Kingston and the fear I imagined he felt.

“You there?” Royce’s voice pulled me back.

“What do you want, Royce?” I asked tiredly.

“Is this a way to answer your favorite brother?” he teased.

My lips curved into a soft smile. “Nice try, but you’re all my favorite brothers.”

“But just between us,” he whispered. “I’m your favorite. Right?”

I lowered my voice. “Just between us,” I started, then paused for dramatic effect, “you’re all my favorite brothers.”

He chuckled and I heard Winston’s deep laugh behind him. “She got your sorry ass, Royce.”

“You two are the worst,” I muttered.

“But you almost admitted, I’m your favorite brother,” Royce beamed.

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. What do you want?” His heavy sigh came through the headset and regret immediately plagued me at being rude. They were just worried and all I did was give him a hard time. “I’m sorry,” I added quickly. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you staying in New Orleans?” He knew I was on a mandatory sabbatical. When you had a lot of siblings, keeping secrets was hard. The truth was that there was no sense in staying here. I had no friends here. And the predator that was hunting children was dead. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to continue working for the bureau.

“I don’t know.” Going back to D.C. made the most sense. Sailor and Willow along with little Gabriel were there. It’d keep me distracted from all this. Yet, leaving New Orleans felt like cutting the last thread that connected me to… I guess it was Alexei. Or maybe it was to Kingston. I didn’t know. That hope that I’d find my brother was extinguished, but I wasn’t ready to move on.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Father is having a political dinner.” I stiffened, knowing what was coming. He’d ask me to come. It always looked better when family was around you during those political dinners. I didn’t want to go. He hadn’t called me once during the last eight months. Eight fucking months. “He wants us all there.”

“No.”

“I knew you’d say that,” he drawled. “Do it for us. For Winston, Byron, and me.”

I understood what he meant. He’d nag and blame them if I didn’t show. It never occurred to my father that he was the reason I never went around him. I hated his schmoozing and unscrupulousness to move up in the political world. And the latest discovery made me dislike him even more.

I killed a man that he brought to our doorstep. I didn’t feel remorse for taking a man’s life. Ivan deserved to die, but it didn’t heal this hole in my chest.

“When is it?” I asked.

“In four weeks,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to go either. “So another month to go and let you make room in your schedule for it. And don’t use the excuse of work. We all know you are on sabbatical. Indefinitely.”

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