Dirty Grovel: Chapter 35

I find Oleg in the family room.

He’s staring out the window, lost in thought. The stiffness in his shoulders makes me wary.

I wonder if Paul’s death has created more problems than it solved.

I clear my throat. “Hi…”

He glances at me. “Is she sleeping?”

“Like a baby. She’s exhausted.”

“Being held at gunpoint will do that to you.”

I gulp and start to venture closer to him. It feels like there’s a strange, turbulent tension rippling through the air between us. I’m hesitant to probe too close without his permission. “Thank you. For taking such good care of her.”

“She’s your sister,” he says simply. “That makes her family.”

“Speaking of family,” I segue, wondering if I should be asking this question at all, “how’s Boris doing?”

Oleg’s face clenches. “His condition is critical but stable. The doctors are optimistic.”

“And what about the… I guess you’d call them ‘political ramifications’ of his attack?”

He turns to face me fully. He looks almost as tired as Sydney did: eyes hazy, skin pale, cheeks gaunt.

“We’ve taken out Lipovsky, so that should counter much of the gossip about Boris’s attack. But it also means that the Martineks and Drew will be on the defensive. They’ll know I’ll be coming after them next.”

“Is that necessary? What if you just…” I trail off when the familiar flare of anger goes off in his gaze.

“Of course it is. An attack on the family cannot go unanswered.”

Suddenly, I’m fighting my own shivers. If only Paul’s death had served some bigger purpose.

If only his death had come with an end to this bid for supremacy.

If only it made any fucking difference at all.

But it doesn’t.

War is war. It’s got an endless appetite for bodies and suffering.

“I promised I would keep you and our baby safe, Sutton,” Oleg growls. “The only way to do that is to take the Martineks at bay.”

I swallow, but it doesn’t help the dryness in my throat. “Right.”

He sighs. “I want to speak to you about your sister.”

I’m on edge at once. “She can stay here with us, can’t she?” I blurt out, panic-stricken at the thought that Oleg might not want her here long term. “She’s alone, Oleg. She doesn’t have money or property. She doesn’t have any place to go. I have to⁠—”

“Hey, hey.” He strides to me in the middle of the living room, grabs my shoulders, and gives me a gentle shake. “I’m not suggesting she go anywhere, Sutton. She’s your sister. She’s welcome here for as long as you want.”

Only then does the nausea in my gut begin to recede. “Okay. Good. I… Just… Th-thank you.”

“What I wanted to talk to you about is the trauma she’s suffered. She might need professional help.”

“Like a shrink?”

“Not like a shrink,” he clarifies. “A shrink.”

“I have suggested she see one in the past. She’s never really been too keen on the idea.” I chew on my bottom lip. “But I can try and convince her to see one now. Given everything she’s been through, maybe she’ll even say yes.”

“Good.” He nods in approval. “There’s one more thing I need to say to you.”

“Wow, you’re doing a lot of talking today. Usually, I’m the one who can’t put a lid on it.”

He doesn’t smile, though. He just cups my hands in his, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. “I owe you an apology, Sutton. On the flight over here, Sydney explained what happened with the boudoir shoot. She told me everything. I never should have believed Drew, especially not over you. That was my mistake.”

The sigh escapes past his lips with a kind of melancholy I’ve never seen in him before. “I’m not used to giving trust freely. It is still difficult for me, despite… despite everything. Despite you.”

Then he raises one hand to stroke the soft curve of my cheek. “Can you forgive me?”

All thoughts of making him squirm vanish the moment he asks the question.

“You saved my sister. I’ll forgive you anything, Oleg. Thank you for bringing her home safely. Today, you really are my hero.”

He grins. “You’re an angel on earth, Sutton Palmer.”

“I’m a hero; you’re an angel—we’re quite the duo, aren’t we?”

I laugh and butt my head into his chest playfully. “Oh, most definitely. They should build statues in our honor.”

“Is that the kind of thanks you give a hero?” he asks. “I’d prefer something else over statues.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “What does the hero have in mind?”

Teasing glimmers dance across his eyes as he bumps his hips into mine. “Something that involves the angel getting on her knees, maybe.”

I pretend to be scandalized. “Why, Mr. Pavlov! What can you be thinking, asking that of me? I’m a respectable woman.”

He smirks. “Tell that to all those people who saw your boudoir shoot.” My smile drops. I glare at him while he reflects back a sheepish grin. “Too soon?”

“Too soon,” I say. “Way, way too soon.”

Chuckling in that low drawl that turns my indignation to putty, he grabs me and pulls me towards him. “Then allow me to apologize again,” he murmurs in my ear. “Maybe I’ll get down on my knees for you.”

“Hm, I do like the sound of that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, princess,” he growls. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for mercy.”

My heartbeat is strangely enthusiastic about the prospect. “Bring it on, Beast. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

He plucks me off the ground by the waist and I lock my ankles behind his back as our lips melt together.

But he’s only just slipped his tongue into my mouth when a ringtone slices through the building heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, setting me back on my feet. “I’m sorry… I have to take this.”

Just like that, the world reminds us that it is far from tamed. Lipovsky might be dead and gone, but Drew and the Martineks are still big players who are very much on the board. Oleg has to deal with enemies outside the castle walls and also the ones who share his blood.

I watch carefully, looking for clues as he speaks fast Russian to his phone. When he finally ends the call, it’s beyond obvious that we won’t be picking up where we left off.

“It’s okay,” I tell him before he can even say anything. “It’s really not a big deal. You have to go and be the boss. I understand.”

He sighs. “I’d much rather be with you.”

“I know. But duty calls.”

He keeps squinting at me, almost as though he wants to make sure that I’m really okay and not just pretending as though I am.

“Seriously, Oleg,” I insist. “I’m fine. I wanted to go check on Sydney anyway.”

Before he leaves, he plants a kiss on my forehead, his lips send another shiver cavorting down my spine. “Don’t wait up for me. It might be a late night.”

He’s halfway to the door when I say his name. When I do, he stops and turns to look at me again.

“Oleg… will this end soon?”

His mouth turns down at the corners. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. But my goal is to finish this as fast as possible.” His eyes slip down to my belly. “For the sake of our family.”

“What was that call about?” I can’t help but ask.

I can tell he’s contemplating telling me. “I told my men to drop Lipovsky’s body off at the Martineks’ main residence. They were calling to let me know the job is done.”

Immediately, my mind conjures up the image of Paul—face blown apart, black heart stilled, his bloody, broken body speared in front of a wrought iron gate.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does Oleg.

We both know what’s coming and what it might mean.

We both know that none of us will be safe from the fallout.