Dirty Damage: Chapter 35

I squint at the seedy strip club through tinted windows as my fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel.

Uncle Boris practically lives here these days, conducting his “business meetings” between lap dances and overpriced champagne.

What a fucking joke.

“Sure he’ll show?” Artem slouches in the passenger seat, looking about as thrilled to be here as I am.

“It’s Wednesday at noon. Prime time for married men to get their rocks off while their wives are at Pilates.” I track another insurance executive ducking through the front door, tie loosened and wedding ring conspicuously absent. “Boris knows his clientele.”

“I still can’t believe we’re reduced to staking out a titty bar.” Artem checks his phone for the hundredth time. “You’ve got that board meeting at three.”

“Canceled it.” Two security breaches in forty-eight hours—one in Palm Beach, another in Miami. The timing is too perfect to be coincidence. I can’t afford any other distractions. “This takes priority.”

“Your mother will be thrilled.”

“My mother can kiss my ass.”

Though he’s not wrong. Oksana Pavlova loves nothing more than to sharpen her claws at the biweekly board meetings. Denying her the fun will have her in a pissy mood, but it’s worth it to figure out what game Boris is playing.

My phone vibrates with a text from Sutton. I scan it quickly. Something about her spa day with Faye being cut short.

I click out of it before I can fully read it, trying to ignore it, even as her name on my screen does things to my chest I’d rather not examine.

“Speaking of complicated women…” Artem is halfway across the center console, reading over my shoulder and waggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying, that contract of yours seems to be⁠—”

“Working exactly as intended.” I cut him off with a growl. “No confusion. No messy feelings. Just business.”

“Right. Because you always stare at your business partners like you want to bend them over the nearest flat surface.”

Of course he noticed. It’s not as if I was subtle at the pool. Sutton pulled her sweater over her head and it’s like my eyes were glued to her skin, tracing over all the places I’d tasted and touched her. The places still left to explore.

“Fuck off.” But there’s no real heat in it. Artem’s known me too long to be intimidated by my bark. “The physical attraction is a bonus. Makes the baby-making more efficient.”

“And after she’s pregnant?”

I grip the wheel tighter, something vicious percolating in my gut at the thought of Sutton swollen with my child. “What about it?”

“Wanting to fuck her might be more of a distraction when you don’t need to get her pregnant. Is that when you’ll finally admit you’re doing it for fun or⁠—?”

“Since when do you give a shit who I fuck? Is Faye putting you up to this?”

Artem holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the suspicious smirk stays on his face. “I’m just looking out for you, boss. Someone has to, since you’re too stubborn to look out for yourself.”

“I’m the only one looking out for anything,” I snap. “I don’t know why I bring you on stakeouts. You’re just a fucking distraction.”

“I’m the damn entertainment!”

I’m saved from him noticing my amusement by movement at the club entrance. Boris emerges, silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, looking exactly like the sleazy bastard he is. His personal car glides up moments later.

“Should we be following him?” Artem asks as Boris is driven away.

“No. I want to see who will follow him out of that club.”

Sure enough, three men in black exit two minutes later, wearing familiar emblems on their jackets.

The same emblems we saw on the bikers who attacked my car.

“Well, well. Isn’t that interesting.”

Part of me actually wants to see Drew Anton among them, as if I need another reason to want to kill him.

“Blyat’.” Artem mutters. “You think he’s working with them?”

“It’s not a fucking coincidence, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You think they’re responsible for the attacks in Palm Beach and Miami?” Artem sounds as dubious about that as I am.

“No.” I shake my head. “Not by themselves, anyway.”

“The Martineks,” Artem confirms what we’re both thinking. “Vol’s intel was right.”

“And the Ristovs.” I memorize faces, movements, the way they scan their surroundings. Professional. Dangerous. “Boris is building himself quite the army.”

“Why, though? What’s his endgame?”

“Getting me out of the way, for starters.” I pull into traffic, maintaining a careful distance from Boris’s BMW. “Those security breaches? Both were reported by his teams. The one man that was killed in the attack in Miami was loyal to me.”

“He’s plotting something,” Artem breathes, pulling out his phone and tapping out a hasty message.

I nod. “And using the Martineks and Ristovs as his attack dogs while keeping his hands clean. If it works, he regains control. If it fails, he has convenient scapegoats.”

“Crafty old bastard.” Artem’s tone carries grudging respect. “Here I thought he was just a washed-up drunk.”

“Get eyes on him around the clock. I want to know every move he makes, every person he meets.” I switch lanes, heading toward my penthouse. “And arrange a sweep of my properties. Starting with the apartment.”

He flashes his phone at me. “Already done. Debugger should be there in twenty.”

I grunt approval. Artem’s efficiency is why he’s my right hand. That, and he’s the only person besides my sister who never took my shit.

“The boatyard next,” I add. “Every yacht in my fleet needs checking.”

“Expecting trouble on the water?”

“I’m expecting trouble everywhere.” The memory of motorcycles surrounding my car, Sutton’s terrified face, flashes unbidden. “The home front has to be secure.”

Artem’s knowing look makes me want to punch him. “The ‘home front.’ Right.”

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it loud enough.”

He grins, unrepentant. “Can’t help it if I’m Team Sutton.”

“There are no fucking teams.” I park in my private garage, killing the engine with more force than necessary. “And if you value your teeth, you’ll keep it that way.”

I scan the penthouse security feed before entering, a habit as natural as breathing. Everything looks clear, but these days, I trust nothing at face value.

The debugger is wrapping up his methodical sweep of each room. He’s a professional guy. Even as we pass in the hallway, he gives me a tight nod and keeps working, head down. He doesn’t ask questions, which is just the way I like it.

Once he’s done, Artem and I head to my office.

Artem sprawls in one of my office chairs, kicking his feet up on my desk. I shove them to the floor as I pass, ignoring the middle finger he flashes my way.

“So what’s the play with Boris?” he asks, watching me pace.

“He’s given us no choice. If we don’t strike first, he will.”

“We’re not exactly swimming in proof here.”

“No, we’re not. That’s the problem. We need someone on the inside.” I drop into my chair, mind already cycling through possibilities.

“You thinking of planting a mole? ‘Cause nose fucking goes, man.” He taps the end of his nose. “Faye is a grouchy pregnant woman and she’ll kill me if I try to leave in her third trimester.”

“He’d recognize you, dumbass.” I roll my eyes. “Plus, we don’t have the time and he’s smart enough to be paranoid. He won’t trust anyone new right now. What we need to do is find someone close enough to matter but weak enough to flip.”

“His inner circle’s pretty tight.”

“Everyone has a price.” I learned that lesson young, watching my father’s empire crumble from within. “Boris treats his men like shit. One of them’s bound to be holding a grudge.”

“Want me to do some digging?”

“Get them drunk. Get them talking.” I rub my temples, fighting the headache building behind my eyes. “We need solid intel before making any moves.”

“And if we find what we’re looking for?”

“Then we bury him,” I snarl. “Before he can bury us.”

“Copy that.” Artem is already on his phone, doing what he does best.

I push to my feet with a yawn. “I’m making coffee. Want anything?”

“Coffee with a shot of something a little stronger.”

I arch a brow. “It’s not even noon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, brother.”

I huff out a laugh as I leave, head filled with thoughts of bribes and snitches.

I’m so lost in thought I almost miss the flash of movement around the closest corner.

Sutton.

She’s supposed to be at her spa day with Faye. It’s the only reason I hadn’t bothered closing my office door, the only reason I’d been so loud with my plans.

But she’s here now.

She stands frozen in the dim light, face pale as milk. Those big, blue eyes are wide with something that looks too much like fear.

“Sutton.”

She flinches like I’ve struck her. “Got back early,” she mumbles. “I’m tired. Excuse me.” She scurries backwards down the hall and disappears into her room.

Blyat’.

The innocent little daycare worker was never supposed to know the ins and outs of this part of my life. She’s not here for power plays and betrayal, the bloody business of staying alive in a world where trust gets you killed.

I’ve kept her carefully walled off from all of it—but I just inadvertently dunked her in the deep end.

On the heels of regret comes annoyance.

Whether she was eavesdropping on purpose or not, I need to know whether she can keep her mouth shut.

Whether I can trust her…

Or whether she’s just another problem I’ll have to take care of.