“Your uncle stole from us. He hurt her. That doesn’t mean Hana had anything to do with whatever happened to him.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs. “I think it does. And you've come to me, knowing full well what I’m seeking.”
“Because Trip told me.”
Leaning back again, he exhales a laugh, revealing too many teeth. “You Americans have loose tongues and no loyalty. I follow the old ways. My people don’t allow our brothers to go down unavenged. No one gets in our way, no man… or woman.”
His black eyes glitter, and ice shoots through my veins. Old ways? His people? What the fuck? All at once, I realize I need to get out of here. Now.
“You're one of them.” My voice is barely a whisper. “What is this? Russian mafia?”
“There’s no such thing as a Russian mafia.” He stares at me with the coldest eyes, and my stomach dips.
He’s saying it, but I’m not stupid enough to believe it.
A shudder moves through me, and I step backwards to the door. Rising to his feet, he holds me in a death glare as he closes the space between us. His hands rise, and I think he’ll grab me when the double doors part, and a deep voice breaks the moment.
“I’m here to collect my client.” Hutch catches my upper arm, pulling me to his chest. “Sorry for the disruption.”
He holds me firmly as he leads me out, wrapping his thick wool topcoat over my bare shoulders to hide my shuddering. The temperature inside Gibson’s is eighty degrees. I’m not shaking from the cold.
My coat is forgotten as Hutch moves with purpose, sweeping me from the back room through the main bar and up the stairs to a silent, waiting black SUV.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you more time.” His deep voice is quiet, but I’m not worried about his interference.
My mind is swirling, and as much as I search for a way out, I can't find one.
This is bigger than gambling debts. It’s bigger than blackmail, and I can only think of one way it will end.
22
Hutch
Blake’s gaze is fixed on the glittering night scenery flying past her window in my black SUV. She doesn’t speak, and I think she’s finally coming to terms with the danger of her situation.
My driver stops at the entrance to her apartment building, and I wait, unsure if I should follow her out or leave her at the door.
“You should come up,” she says softly.
I step out of the vehicle, pausing only to tell my driver I’ll call him if I need him.
We walk into the lobby in silence. It’s a beige circular room with a desk and a doorman who tips his hat.
Elevators line one wall, and a small room to the right contains the mailboxes for the building. Blake goes straight to the elevators, and a short, gray-haired man in a green uniform opens the doors.
“Miss Blake,” he greets her, and we step inside.
We’re silent in the small box, and her eyes are downcast. Even though her confidence has taken a hit, I can see she’s doing her best to regroup, and I can’t help admiring her fortitude, even if I believe it’s misguided.
I know from experience there’s only one way to handle men like Greg Peters, and it’s with brute force. His kind only responds to the biggest dick on the block, which he’s going to learn is mine.
The bell dings at her floor, and she steps forward to touch the elevator operator’s arm. “Take us to the roof, Rusty.”
The older gentleman nods, and the doors close again. He turns a key and we rise higher, stopping inside a hooded metal cage. The doors open, and he steps out, parting the shaky metal gate.
“Just buzz when you’re ready to come down,” Rusty says, and she nods, giving him the faintest smile.
The doors close, and we’re alone. She reaches out and takes my hand, leading me across the slab of concrete as wide as the building below.
“You showed me your favorite part of Hamiltown.” Her voice is quiet. “I’ll show you my favorite part of New York.”
My shoulders relax, and I let her lead me. “I’d love to see it.”
I want her to tell me what Peters said tonight, but more than that, I want things to be the way they were between us, before the fighting.
The roof is lined with a shoulder-high ledge of beige clay tiles. She walks to where a planter stands holding a pot with viney leaves spilling out of the top and leans her forearms against the barrier looking out.
Glancing back at me, she motions for me to join her, and I walk to where she stands in her sexy black dress that shows off all her gorgeous curves. Her arms are crossed, and I can’t tell if she’s cold. The wind sweeps her long, dark waves away from her shoulders, and when I look out, the view of the skyline is breathtaking.
The city streets are far below, and straight ahead, the lights of New York ripple out like a magic carpet of glittering white and neon. Skyscraper upon skyscraper is illuminated in a mosaic of gilded yellow squares. One way looks out to the Hudson, the other, to the East River. It’s a panoramic view of the city that never sleeps.
“I used to think I was a part of it.” Her voice is resigned. “I used to think this was my town. I was Carrie Bradshaw or Gossip Girl. I was a fool. This town belongs to the men with the money and the hate to run it. I’ve only ever been one wrong step from being a victim here.”
My brow furrows, and as much as I dislike the corruption, I’m not sure her words are entirely true. She’s feeling overwhelmed, and I’m here for that.
“What can I do?”
She lifts her pretty eyes to mine. “What if I told you I killed a man?”
Pulling my chin back, I arch an eyebrow. “I’d find that hard to believe. You’re controlled, and you’re very strong. You’ll do whatever it takes to keep your family safe, but you’re not a killer.”
“What makes a killer?”
“Determination, resolve… Uncontrollable rage. Passion, belief in some greater good. A million different things.”
“Have you killed anyone?”
“Yes, in the military. I didn’t know their names or their faces. Still, it took a piece of me.”
She’s quiet, not looking up, still holding the doors partially closed.
“I can only carry you so far, Blake. At some point, you’re going to have to tell me everything.”
Her eyes lift slowly to mine, and she blinks several times. “They’re after Hana for more than porn. They think she murdered a man… Or somehow participated in his murder.”
Stepping back, I slide my hand over my mouth. This is news, and it makes partial sense, knowing what I know of Hana. But I’d as soon believe Hana is a murderer as I’d believe Blake is one. “Do they have any proof?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Her eyes fall to the ground. “But they know what happened to her, what Victor did.”
“How could they know that? Did she tell them?”
“Trip implied Debbie told them, but I don’t believe that.” Anger sets in her jaw. “He probably bragged about it. She’s a beautiful young girl. I’m sure having her was an ego boost, a testament of his virility… or his cruelty.”