Page 11 of Wicked Knight
“I didn’t think you’d be doing that now that your Lord Chancellor.”
“They still need me.”
The Knights run the Komarovsky Bratva, and Aleksander Ivanov is the Pakhan. My father helps take care of the finances for the entire organization and assists Aleksander with the more illicit business run by the Bratva.
“I guess it’s nice to be so needed.”
“It keeps me busy. The point is, I’ll hardly be here, so it makes sense to sell the house. Unless you want it?” He gives me a wry smile.
I think about my answer. There are a lot of memories here. Both good and bad. For me, there are more sentiments that I never thought I’d have to say goodbye to.
I think of the boy I used to be and the girl next door. We’re both all grown up now, and so much has happened to drive us apart. But to me, we still feel like those people.
“I’ll get back to you on that,” I decide to say.
“Don’t take too long.”
“I won’t. I’ll get some boxes together in the morning for Tommy’s things.”
His flinty gaze returns. “See you then.”
I dip my head and leave. Like always, his eyes follow me.
I know there was more he wanted to say, but the two of us play the same game where we challenge each other a little at a time. Like we’re playing perpetual chess.
I head up to my room and go out on the balcony, needing some air.
The moment I step outside, the crisp night breeze takes the edge off my mind with the lulling effect of a drug.
Here, I’m directly opposite Mackenzie’s bedroom. Although it’s roughly fifteen feet away, it’s always seemed like I could reach out and touch it. Reach out and touchher.
Our houses are just as big as the other multi-million dollar homes in the Hamptons, but this space here was ours.
I pull a cigarette and a lighter from my back pocket. Seconds later, I’m drawing thick, rich smoke into my lungs. Then I see her.
As if she just materialized from my fantasies, Mackenzie walks into the smaller hall downstairs.
My eyes glue to my former best friend’s lush little body, and I allow myself the pleasure of admiring her from head to toe.
Tonight, she’s got her long honey-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s dressed in a full-black leotard with tiny straps over her elegant shoulders. It makes her look daintier and shows off all the right assets I can’t unsee.
At five feet four, Mackenzie is built like a little Barbie doll and compliments my six-foot-four stature.
Unlike most ballerinas who have a willowy figure and a flat chest, her body is more athletic and sculpted. And she has just the right amount of breasts to make a man like me happy.
She floats into the center of the room and starts dancing. I can just about hear the dulcet tones of piano music. Bach. Her favorite.
I haven’t seen her since we left college for the summer break. The poor thing was stuck in her usual daze, waiting for me to talk to her about our contract.
I’ll admit I’ve been a bastard, dodging the conversation we need to have. It’s astounding—and yes, unfair—that I’ve avoided it for three whole months and kept her like a collectable ornament on my shelf, waiting and wondering what’s happening. She must be going crazy.
The only reason I’ve gotten away with avoiding the confrontation was the two-month summer break. The month before that, I was away a lot for the final trials and Knight training.
In two weeks, when we’re back on campus, I know I’ll have to face her.
Given my father’s warning and watchful eye, it would be safer and more sensible tokeepavoiding her, but it doesn’t feel right.
Until it’s time to speak, I’ll continue watching her—stalking her—from afar.