Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Yeah? So?”
“That is correct.”
“You think I don’t check that stuff?”
His smile made his ordinary face quite handsome. “No, I should know better.”
I groaned and bent over, trying to stretch out my back. He touched my shoulder. “What happened?”
“A bullet grazed me, that’s all.”
“Get in. Dimah wants to talk to you.”
I groaned again as I straightened up. “Nope. Food and bed, and that’s it. I’ll grab an Uber.”
The back door opened then, and a man got out and held it open for me. I didn’t know him either, which was weird. I knew almost everyone who worked for our company, even the guys on the docks and the fleet of delivery drivers. The thing was, I was never allowed to introduce myself. It was a Dimah thing. He introduced me to people when he was ready, not before. So I didn’t ask the strangers’ names, and they didn’t offer.
“I’m going home,” I said, directing my words to Pavel.
I was about to leave when I heard, “Come now, Tracy.”
Leaning forward, I saw Dimah in the back seat. “Food,” I whimpered, hoping he’d get the message.
“Da,” he agreed sharply, his hand gesture just as cutting. “I know. Now get in.”
“Dimah, can’t this wait?” I whined, pushing him like I always did. The man was normally malleable. We were good friends, after all. “I just—”
“Tracy,” he snapped, “come here!”
He was acting oddly; he was normally much more lenient with me, had been from the start, let me do basically whatever I wanted, but not at present. Something was different.
I didn’t want him ranting like a maniac, so I took a deep breath and climbed into the car. The guy who’d opened the door was right behind me. As I made my way toward Dimah, I wasn’t prepared for the car to move suddenly, and I lost my balance and fell against him.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I groaned, trying to squirm out of his lap, only succeeding in tangling my legs with his more, my right leg under his left thigh and right knee, more on my back than my ass.
“Sit still,” he ordered, one hand on my upper thigh, the other on my knee.
I froze, and when I did, I realized how warm his hands were and the strength in them as he maneuvered me off him and back to a sitting position. When he bent close, I caught a whiff of cloves and citrus and something woodsy. I inhaled deeply, and he turned his head and caught me.
“Sorry,” I said, biting the corner of my lip.
“No,” he said gruffly, his ice-blue eyes lifting to mine. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
That close, all I could do was stare.
Dimah Mashir had sharp, sculpted features, from his high cheekbones to a strong, angled jaw. His long, straight nose was gorgeous, and he had a full bottom lip and a thinner top one. The scar under his right eye and the small missing section of eyebrow over it gave me the idea that at some point he’d been in a knife fight. I imagined a battle to the death over some woman who had, of course, rewarded him when his opponent lay dead.
I had a pretty active imagination.
“You will tell me from the start as we drive to Menshinstvo for dinner.”
Menshinstvo was his bar off Sixth Street, close to Market and Folsom. It was divey, small, with a kitchen that one of his uncles cooked in only when he felt like it or if Dimah was going to be there. There were always big guys in suits sitting out front, and no one who didn’t speak fluent Russian had any business even loitering anywhere near the place.
Slouched in the back of the car, I explained what happened, the abbreviated version, and Dimah didn’t grill me or try and make me remember more than I did.
“I have already spoken to Kirill.”
I knew he hated to do that. Dimah had spent his life separating himself from his brother and his brother’s world. “You didn’t have to.”
“I did. He had to let those who wanted his attention know that they have mine instead.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yes, and everyone is fortunate that you are.”
“It’s not your job to take care of me.”
“You are my partner. If not mine, then whose?”
Once we got to the bar, the five of us poured out of the Hummer and went inside. A strong aroma of garlic and pepper hit me, making my stomach grumble, and when we all filled up a table in the back, the first thing I got was a shot glass full of vodka.
“I need a soda or I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“Drink,” Dimah commanded.
I threw it back, and he poured me another, but a woman brought a pitcher of ice water and several glasses, so at least I got to hydrate.
Dimah made everyone speak English, which was nice of him, and when the pickle plate was brought to the table, I started in on the cucumbers and mushrooms.