Fight Dirty, Daddy

Little Hellcat

CHAPTER 7

SLAV

The line was secure, or so Keyes claimed. Blin, in my world, lines were never truly secure. They just had different degrees of being compromised.

"I have doubled the men," Keyes's voice crackled through the speaker. "You know the arena's people are loyal, Slav. They're being paid to watch faces, and no one gets near the private entrances or the locker rooms without being vetted at least twice."

I stared out the floor-to-ceiling window of my study, the city sprawling below like a chessboard. Somewhere in the streets of Havana, Renner was lurking there, sulking about a game. A single game. Some losers do not know how to lose graciously. "And Renner's people? Did they grow brains overnight and decide to stay home?"

Keyes sighed, and I could just imagine him running a palm down his face. "Look, they're out there; there’s nothing I can do to keep them from coming to the arena or skulking around like skunks, but they're being watched. My guys have eyes on them. They won't get close to you tonight, Slav. You're not even fighting tonight, just overseeing. It's a show of force. Let them see The Viking is untouchable in his own house."

Da. A show of force. It was always a show with these people. Threats, pissing contests, measuring who had the biggest guts and c.o.c.ks, I had left Oslo to get away from this life of constantly looking over my shoulder, not to become a bigger target. "Keep them away from my family, Keyes. That is the only part of this conversation that matters. Carol and Jasmine are not to be touched. Ponyatno?"

"Understood. They're ghosts. No one knows who they are; no one will ever find out. Your name is the Viking, and that’s all anyone needs to know."

It was not enough. It would never be enough. The door to my study opened with a soft click, and I didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Keyes," I grunted, my eyes still on the bright orange and pink skyline outside the window. "I will call you back." I ended the call before he could protest, placing the phone face down on the desk.

Carol leaned against the doorframe, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips while her grey eyes bore holes into me.

My wife. I never knew I could settle down to have anyone to call that, ever.

"Was that your super-secret person?" she teased, swiping her hair away from her eyes, wiggling her brows at me.

I turned in my seat to fully face her, leaving the window behind me. "What do you need, Carol? Is something wrong?"

Her smile widened as she pushed off the doorframe and glided further into the room, a white folder held in her hands. My back swayed back, making the heavy wooden chair I sat on creak with the movement. Despite the chair being quite large, my entire frame seemed to swallow up the furniture, and it squeaked for mercy under my arse.

"You look pleased with yourself."

"I am!" She beamed, coming around to my side of the desk, hopping excitedly on her feet, her pixie-cut brown hair adorning her face. "I just finished the final detailing on your property acquisitions for the quarter. I'm about to file the taxes, but I wanted you to see the returns first. Your buildings made an insane amount of money last year, my love."

She laid the folder on my desk, flipping it open to a page covered in numbers and charts.

I looked at Carol, not the paper. This was why I had married her. Not just for friendship, though that was there- oh, it was. And certainly not just for the family she offered, though I craved it. I married her because she was a goddamn wizard with numbers.

She took my raw, brutal cash earned from punching the guts out of people and turned it into a clean business empire. I trusted no one else with my finances except her. She was the best solicitor I knew, and like a man with better sense in the head, I had to make her my wife.

My eyes scanned the page. The numbers were good. Very good. "They look adequate."

"Adequate?" She laughed, shoving my shoulder. "Slav, these are phenomenal. We should celebrate."

I allowed a small smile to curl at the corner of my lips. They were worth celebrating indeed. Perhaps I would reserve that French place that she loved. "We can. Tomorrow night."

Her face fell. "Why not tonight?"

I sighed. "Carol. Please. Not tonight." I did not want to explain about the arena, about Renner, about the bloodshed, or how I made my money.

Carol could never know about the Viking, even if she had her suspicions. I wanted her to stay in her world of numbers and vanilla perfume, where I was just Svyatoslav Erikson, real estate businessman and not the Viking.

I wanted normal. I did not bathe through blood in Oslo just to come down here to Havana and do the same. I wanted a normal life, and I would have it.

She studied my face for a moment, her eyes softening as she took in a deep breath. "This is about Jasmine, isn't it? Cause of the spat you two had this morning?”

Ah, right, the hellcat.

"Nichego." My hand shot up, waving dismissively. "I am getting used to her jabs. The girl has hated my guts since I first walked through the door." It was true. The little hellcat looked at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe. And yet...

An image flashed in my mind. Jasmine storming out of the dining hall this morning, the baggy hoodie unable to hide the unnecessarily furious sway of her hips, her young body coiled with a tension I found... intriguing.

Da. Intriguing was the better word for it. Those dark blue eyes, the color of the midnight sky, flashing in anger at me, her plump lip curled in anger. I would bet they’d flash even more in anger if those lips were stretched around-

Bozhe moi.

My d.i.c.k hardened instantly, a thick, insistent pressure against my trousers. I shifted in my seat, pushing the thought away in disgust. I would not go there. That was a line even I would not and could never cross.

I needed a distraction. I needed that girl from the club with the gold mask. I needed to bury myself in that tight, virgin heat and forget about my stepdaughter's lips or her ass rolling in those f*****g shorts.

Carol sighed, patting my hand. "Alright, tomorrow night it is. I have a few stops to make for my boss at the office anyway, some errands to run downtown."

I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a sleek car key, handing it to her. "Take the Maserati. The weather is good."

Her eyes lit up. "You're spoiling me," she laughed, snatching the key from my hands and slapping my chest playfully. "Don't get into too much trouble without me." With a final wink, she strutted out of the study, the scent of vanilla lingering in her wake.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over Keyes's name. Before I could dial, the screen lit up with an unknown number calling my work line. The Viking's line.

Now what? Only a handful of people had this number, and they were all in my inner circle. I answered the call, keeping silent.

"Viking," a nasty, familiar voice called from the other end. I would know the slimy motherfucker’s voice any day. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

My jaw tightened. “Renner. Have grown an extra set of balls, perhaps?”

Renner laughed hoarsely. “You’re funny as always, man. That Russian accent is comical and ridiculous for someone named Viking. I just wanted to congratulate you on your continued success. Three years undefeated. It's impressive.”

I said nothing, letting the silence hang. He was fishing, and I was not about to bite the bait.

"You cost me a great deal of money, you know,” Renner continued, his voice getting harder and losing its silky edge. "When you refused to dive, Callahan. A man should honor his debts."

"I have no debts to you," I stated flatly. "Your bet was your own foolish mistake."

"Come on, don’t be like this, Viking," Renner hissed. "You can’t keep hiding under that helmet. You either pay me the millions I lost or I go digging.”

“Like a dog?”

He cursed before hissing. “Everyone has a past, Viking. Everyone has a dark place that they came from. I will find where yours is, and then I will destroy everything you’ve built, you pompous flea-ridden Russian bastard-“

I ended the call. It was no use listening to the raving words of a madman, especially when he could be trying to track the call to get my location. As long as my identity stays secret and Carol’s connection to me remains the same, it would have to be enough…Da?