Page 59 of Darkest Deeds
Ava
“I needto go to Seven today.”
Niko stops dead in the doorway, the sweat on his forehead dripping over his narrowed eyes. He’s holding a bent shovel in one hand and is covered in mud from the lower half of his ripped T-shirt down to his caked brown work boots. I don’t have to ask where he’s been. I know. He left three hours ago, determined to make it look like Milton Jennings never existed. I’ve been pacing the floor ever since.
Dropping the shovel on the porch, he bends down and lets out a low laugh while unlacing one of the boots. “You need your head examined.”
“Niko, come on!” I beg, squatting beside him and untying his other boot. “What am I supposed to do, hide out in this house for the rest of my life while you travel around the country doing hits for Arthur Calthorpe?”
“No, we’re leaving today.”
I lift my head to find him staring at me, his jaw locked and his hands fisted by his side. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding. You said yourself I’m supposed to be dead right now, and you’re supposed to be supplying the proof. My father won’t let this go. He’ll turn every contact you have against you, including your precious Calthorpe.”
“We have to leave thanks to your phone call last night. Your little FBI boyfriend is probably on his way here now.”
I leap to my feet, positive I heard him wrong. “I made sure not to stay on the phone more than a minute. It takes at least three to trace a landline.”
He lets out a sardonic laugh and rises to his feet as well. “Yeah, maybe in 1982. You watch too much television, Ava. Everything’s electronic now. All he had to do was dial fifty-seven and it triggers a request to the phone company to trace the call. Normally, with the FBI involved, it’d be instantaneous, but since it seems your boy toy has gone rogue on this one, I highly doubt he name dropped Uncle Sam. For the rest of us, it can take up to forty-eight hours.” Letting out a harsh breath, he kicks off his boots and tosses them on the porch beside the shovel. “I’d say pack your shit, but you don’t have any.”
“Where the hell are we going to go?”
His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ll find out when we get there.”
I’m about to open my mouth for a rebuttal when he reaches a hand over his shoulder and pulls his shirt over his head. My mouth hangs open, completely disconnected from my brain as my eyes trail down the defined V sculpted in his lower abs. In my stupor, all I can manage to do is repeat my request.
“I need to go to Seven first.”
The anger in his voice is palpable. “After all this, you want to sneak into your father’s club, get your counter-blackmail, and meet your boyfriend in two days. Is that it?”
“Will you get over yourself?” I yell. “Ethan is not my boyfriend! Before those gray eyes turn any greener with jealousy, no, he’s never touched me. It’s not like that.”
“I’m not fucking jealous,” he grumbles, pushing past me toward the shower.
Following him, I cross my arms and glare at him as he unbuttons his jeans. “What would you have done if I’d said we’d slept together?”
Niko looks up, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. “Buried him alive.”
“I rest my case.” Risking waking the monster, I take another step and place a hand on his chest. “Look, I need to end this. I’ll take care of what has to be done, talk to Ethan, and we’ll be free.”
“That doesn’t mean Arthur still won’t kill me when he finds out I lied.”
“Let me go to Seven. Trust me. There’s a whole house of cards inside that club waiting to fall.”
He shakes his head and twists to turn on the water. “We won’t get within fifty feet of that place.”
Okay, plan A failed. Time for plan B.
“Dmitry doesn’t work during the day,” I say, unbuttoning the first two buttons on the oversized men’s shirt I’m wearing. “He hired a new daytime guy.” Two more buttons, and Niko’s eyes darken as I part the shirt and reveal his artwork. “I can say I’m auditioning, and then slip into the office while you keep everyone distracted.”
“That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Or, I could wait for Ethan to track us down.” Dropping the shirt to the floor, I press against him and slide my hand inside his jeans. A guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he picks me up and carries us both in the shower, pants and all.
“You’re going to need a disguise.”
* * *
I domy best to act nervous. I know these guys. They get off on the fresh faced—I have to take my clothes off to pay the bills, but I can still suck a dick like a Hoover—act. Whether it’s true or not, that’s what sells around here, so I toss a shy smile over my shoulder and grasp the pole.