Dirty Love (The Lion and The Mouse Book 2) Read online

  “This is ‘The Walk of the Apostles.’” I pointed to the top. “It’s starting now.”

  At the top of the hour, a skeleton sculpture of Death slipped out, corpse white and haunting. He held an hourglass and tipped it over, signaling the end of the closeness to death. Death pulled the cord on the clock’s side. The windows opened. Sculptures of the twelve apostles from the Bible paraded by and stared at the onlookers.

  Once the parade finished, a gold-sculptured rooster crowed. Bells rang. The crowd gawked, holding up their phones and cameras. Emily held her hands to her mouth in utter shock, taking it all in like a kid. The amusement looked so foreign to the usual way she held herself.

  “I can’t believe this clock has been around for so long,” she said.

  “According to local legend, the city will suffer if the clock is neglected.”

  The crowd dispersed as the clock finished its hourly show. Music filled the air. Prague was modernized enough into tourist’s likes, but there was a strong support for chamber music here. With such a baroque space, the music added a dimension of delight to the scene.

  “Are you glad you came?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She gazed down one street and then another. I could tell she wanted to race down and explore. Surely, I wanted to do it with her, see this city from her eyes for the first time.

  But as Death showed us with his hourglass, time was running out and death would always be near, if we didn’t pay attention.

  When the show ended, she turned to the corner on the right. A quartet played outside—bass, violin, accordion, flute. People stood on the cobbled street watching them play an emotional piece I knew by heart.

  “Do you know this song?” she asked.

  “Yes. It’s called Vtlva, named after the river. Many people call this song ‘the blood of the people.’”

  She smiled. “Thanks for showing me this.”

  “I’m glad you love it.”

  “I do.”

  “There will be more to show you.” I began to turn.

  She touched my arm. “Kazimir…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Nyet.” I took her hand into mine and linked our fingers again. “I would destroy the world, if it would calm you.”

  Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  Did she?

  I barely knew why myself as we returned to the limo.

  Three

  Emily

  “I would destroy the world, if it would calm you.”

  My heart hammered in my chest. I climbed into the limo and did my best to breathe.

  I’d already had difficulty with breathing after the fantasticalness of the clock. Then Kazimir had further taken my breath away. Those words shoved the air out of my lungs.

  Memories of how he’d set my body on fire flashed through my mind. I almost curled my toes in my shoes. He’d dominated me. I’d begged for his dick. I’d sucked and licked. I’d moaned. I’d clawed and whimpered. I’d screamed his name until my throat went raw.

  I’d melted in his arms. I’d drowned inside his soul.

  Nothing about life was normal anymore. I’d entered a fantasy realm, some dimension parallel to mine, but very much not my life. I’d become a damn princess overnight. A princess on the run and a down low serial killer, but a lucky woman just the same.

  Kaz had been nothing but perfect on the flight. In the clouds, we were free like birds. Now that we’d landed and our feet had hit the ground, I felt the shift in my body and emotions. We were no longer birds. Now we were beasts, sharpened teeth and blood-stained claws. Ready to tear at other’s flesh.

  Since we’d landed, he’d done his best to keep me calm in the middle of the chaos of tanks, fighters, and foreign cops. Still, we’d left and entered this magical land of Prague where a supernatural scent thickened in the air. Even the wind smelled of magic. Ancient and mystic.

  It was an overcast day. Gray clouds silvered the colorful buildings, but didn’t dull the bold, bright architecture.

  It was an ancient land. Trams and buses rushed by the riverfront. They were the only symbols of modern times. Classical music filled the space. Large puppets dangled in the windows of immaculate buildings.

  And it was so different from Harlem. There was more cobblestone than cement. More gaslights than poles. More white-wigged musicians playing on corners than dealers slinging drugs. More theaters than McDonalds.

  Adventure coursed through my veins.

  I drank it all in. Houses and buildings towered over us as we drove by, blazing goldenrod and carmine. There were gothic steeples and baroque cupolas, capped roofs of red and eggshell blue. Above it all a castle loomed on a hill outlined by gothic beasts. Magical ones. Gargoyles and angels. And when we passed, I swore their eyes moved, following us the whole time.

  “This is beautiful,” I said.

  “They call Prague The Golden City of a Hundred Spires,” Kazimir said.

  “I can see why.”

  Music spilled into the streets, dancing along with the camera-toting tourists. Violinists played on the corners along with accordion players. Colorful pubs decorated the space. Inviting shoppers’ lanes twisted into vibrant farmer’s markets boasting fresh fruits and handmade crafts.

  We stopped at an intersection as tourists walked by. At the corner, a man held two puppets and sang to a large group of people. On one hand, he dangled a lion. On the other, a mouse.

  No fucking way.

  “Kaz.” I nudged him and pointed. “What do you think?”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “Or do you think Sasha did that or—”

  “No, mysh.” Kazimir smirked. “Sasha is not that good.”

  I didn’t keep my eyes off the puppeteer, even as we drove away. Blocks later, I let those puppets leave my mind, pulled myself away from the window, and focused on everyone in the limo.

  In the time of the clock and riding away, Maxwell had clearly been drinking. He laughed and joked with Valentina as they did impressions of the other’s accents.

  Maxwell deepened his voice and looked scary. “Dis is de vay…Russian man talk. Look. I veel show you. He moves his head and does dis and dat.”

  Valentina roared with laughter. Kazimir and Oleg didn’t appear amused.

  Really, Maxwell? This is why I didn’t want you to drink yet. Because you think you’re funny, and others end up shooting at us at the end of the night.

  “Okay. Okay. Check this out.” Valentina batted her eyelashes. “Aw am Bey-key from Man-hattan and Aw lawve the football.”

  “What?” Unable to control myself, I laughed.

  “I have no idea what you said.” Maxwell furrowed his brow.

  Valentina shook her head at us like we were crazy. “I said, ‘I’m Becky from Manhattan and I love the football.’”

  X wagged his finger. “Your drinks are heaven, but your American accent needs work.”

  Valentina looked at me. “Emily, is that true?”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged. “But, Becky from Manhattan is not talking like she’s from Alabama.”

  Valentina rolled her eyes. “How would you do it?”

  “Yeah, show her.” Maxwell grabbed a glass, giving up on pretending to follow our rule of no drinking on the job. “Emily does good accents. She has a good Russian one.”

  “Oh really?” Kazimir turned to me. “Let me hear it.”

  Swallowing, I tensed as all the attention to turn to me. “Should I do Russian words or a Russian person speaking English?”

  Valentina blinked. “You know enough Russian to do an accent now?”

  “Kazimir taught me some phrases during the flight.”

  “Interesting.” Valentina winked. “That’s what you two were doing in my suite? Learning.”

  Kazimir still hadn’t moved his gaze from me. “Let me hear you speak Russian.”

  Valentina lifted her glass to drink.

  I waved at he
r. “Privet. Menya zovut, Emily. Shob tebe deti v sup srali.”

  Valentina came close to spitting out her drink.

  Maxwell eyed her. “What did Emily say?”

  Valentina coughed in between laughter. “She said, ‘Hello. My name is Emily. I hope your kids shit in your soup.’”

  Kazimir did his best to keep a straight face. At the corners of his mouth, a smile came and then left.

  “Really, brother?” Valentina shook her head. “That is not survival Russian at all.”

  “I’ve taught her other things,” Kazimir said.

  “Tol'ko vy mozhete pozvonit' mne, chto,” I said to prove his point.

  Maxwell held out his hands. “What was that?”

  I replied, “It means, ‘Only you can call me that.’”

  “Call me what?” Maxwell asked.

  “Whatever she wants,” Kazimir answered.

  Valentina giggled. Maxwell made some funny comment that was lost on my ears, right as X cheered his second drink to a straight-faced Oleg. All the while, Kazimir watched me with an intensity that sank down to my bones.

  That look made me uneasy. For the first time in my life, it made me want things that I’d never considered. My heart hammered again just like it did at the astronomical clock.

  “I would destroy the world, if it would calm you.”

  Turning from him, I gazed out the window and focused on breathing. Everything was happening so fast. For the first time in my life, I felt a devout closeness to a man. I loved Maxwell and X, but we were no more than family. With Kazimir, it was something else. I would die for Maxwell and X. This was true. But for Kazimir, I would ruin myself. I would shed my skin and rip out my organs. An intense feeling had been blossoming. He’d learned the truth of who I was and didn’t bat one eye. He’d found out how damaged I’d been, and he found kinship in it, instead of running away or hurting me more.

  In a small amount of time, I’d found a devout closeness. One that was deep. Heartfelt. Religious, even. I hadn’t experienced anything holier, anything more sacred.

  And maybe it was all in my head. I’d killed several men and blocked it out of my mind, only thinking about it through dreams. Kennedy had just passed. Daryl had killed her and any relationship we had.

  So much was going on, and this man looked at me, and I felt like everything would be okay. Suddenly, faith flowed in a dark, hopeless soul.

  I can’t think about this now. Focus. Someone’s trying to kill him. Keep the man alive, and then you can think about what you want to do with him.

  I exhaled and took in the surroundings running by the limo’s window.

  Everyone else chattered. Even Kazimir joined into the discussion. X had tons of questions about Russian traditions and culture. We all knew that Prague was just a short stop. Moscow would be the true test of our survival.

  “Using both the first and last name is polite and official, especially if you’re younger than the person. But age can matter.” Kazimir continued, “If a woman is around fifteen years older than you, then you would say, Hello, Mariya Sergeevna. But if she is at least forty years older, then she would probably prefer Aunt Mariya which is a polite and unofficial form.”

  “Valentina said that we are going to your Uncle Igor’s castle,” Maxwell said. “Is this your actual Uncle or is it like this polite way of talking to people?”

  “In a way,” Kazimir said. “He is not my uncle by blood, but he is my uncle in blood.”

  “He helped raise us, and took care of our mother,” Valentina chimed in.

  “I get that,” Maxwell said. “It’s like X is our uncle.”

  “I’m not your damn uncle,” X replied. “I just can’t run fast enough from y’all. No matter what.”

  “Don’t listen to him.” Maxwell shook his head. “He loves us like his own children.”

  X snorted but said nothing else as the ice clinked in his glass.

  “When we meet your uncle, how should we address him?” Maxwell asked.

  “You won’t meet him. They call him the Old Fox, and he’s tricky as one.” Valentina finished her glass and handed it to Olga. “It would be too dangerous.”

  I turned to Kazimir.

  “No, Valentina,” Kazimir said. “They will be staying with us there.”

  Valentina switched to heated Russian.

  Kazimir shrugged.

  Annoyed, she made herself another drink and muttered something that I assumed was a curse word in Russian. Whatever it was, it was worse than kids shitting in soup.

  I wanted to ask what was going on, but Kazimir wasn’t a man who loved questions. Granted, he had all the answers, but he wasn’t a fan of giving them to anyone. It was probably how he’d gotten to the top so fast and at such a young age.

  “But Valentina makes a good point,” Kazimir said as if we knew the whole conversation. “You won’t meet our uncle, personally. He’ll know you’re there. You’ll be the Harlem Crew.”

  No one said anything, listening to the hidden clues in the silence. Something was up with Uncle Igor. Maybe he didn’t like black people. Perhaps, the guy was a mad man. Whatever it was, we’d find out soon and deal with it.

  We left the city and went up a crooked, quiet path that later led to a rocky road rising into mountains. We bounced in the limo a little. Besides the ice clinking in X’s glass, silence filled the space. The sharp edge of the mountains appeared closer, ready to cut us.

  The road curved sharply. Trees outlined the road, thickening and crowding with each foot. Tangled woods came next.

  I couldn’t say how far away we were when I spotted the castle on the cliffs. But it shot up out of nowhere. Simply materialized, a line of jagged darkness set against a cloudy sky, captivating and scary all at the same time. First, there was shading from the trees and a subtle darkness ahead, and then the castle showed its face, blinking with ornate stained-glass windows and a massive stone staircase that wound up to the door. An immaculate fortress on a steep cliff.

  I leaned forward.

  Holy shit.

  Tons of cars surrounded it. Other cars were driving to the front and letting guests out.

  What’s going on?

  Bonfires dotted the front as if we had rolled up on some sort of Celtic Harvest festival. Everyone wore black. Many had animal masks on their faces. And these weren’t the fun, plastic Halloween masks. They were carved and covered in hair and fur. Hundreds of people headed that way.

  Valentina muttered Russian under her breath as if cursing Kazimir.

  Kazimir whispered to me, “My uncle is eccentric and very religious. He thinks I’m dead, so he’s probably holding some sort of ceremony.”

  “Or séance,” Valentina added.

  I ignored all the masked people and returned to the castle. Only God knew how many bedrooms existed in that monstrosity of stone and stained windows. It was more of a massive gothic church than a home.

  I swore to Kazimir that I would have his back, but it was appearing that I was completely out of my element.

  Adjust. You’ll just have to adjust.

  I could do it. Max and X too. We just needed to figure out the rules here and filter through the enemies to find the friends.

  The limo passed the masked people heading to the castle and continued toward the back which took ten minutes on its own. It was clear we could literally get lost in that castle without a map.

  I can’t believe I’m here.

  X put down the drink and went to his phone. Maxwell followed. I sighed in relief. Earlier when they’d joked and drank in the limo, I figured they weren’t taking everything seriously. Knowing those two, they’d planned the whole drinking-in-the-limo situation. It was Max’s favorite way to get closer to a perceived enemy—fun drinks and laughs, buddy-buddy moments. And the whole time, he would be watching, analyzing, and taking notes.

  We arrived to what I could only deem was the back of the castle. There were only three cars there. One man stood in front as if waiting for our arrival. And
he wasn’t a bad man to look at, although he couldn’t rival Kazimir. However, he stood tall among everyone else around him, signaling that he was a leader of some sort. He had tanned skin and dark hair, chiseled features, although sorrow covered his face.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “No one.” Valentina rolled her eyes. “That’s just Mikhail. We call him Misha for short.”

  “He’s my uncle’s oldest son,” Kazimir added. “And as close to me as Luka.”

  I nodded.

  Then, I’ll be watching him closely.

  Several men stood on the steps behind Misha. They wore scarred faces and blood-hungry expressions. Huge guys, tall and built. Vikings, had we been in more ancient times. Many had tattoos peeking out from their suits—on their wrists, hands, and necks. A few had crosses tattooed on the sides of their faces.

  X returned to his phone. Kazimir watched us all with no emotion showing on his face. I wondered what he was thinking as the limo stopped and the driver hurried to our door and opened it.

  I got out and moved to the side of the car. Misha focused a dark gaze on me. My heart hammered, but I remained where I was, happy the sunglasses blocked my eyes. A few men behind him whispered, probably wondering who the hell I was and why I would leave the limo first.

  Come on, Kaz.

  Kazimir and Valentina needed to be ahead of us. It would already be hard to blend in with us so far being the only black people here. If we could just keep the idea in people’s minds that where just the Harlem Crew—people that happened to help Kazimir in New York. Nothing more or less. None of us significant enough to cause damage. We needed to seem unimportant and as invisible as possible. It would be the easiest way to stay out of trouble and find out information at the same time.

  Rumbling came from my side. I didn’t watch Kazimir exit the limo, even though it would’ve been a beautiful sight. He was all muscle and power under that high-end suit. But I had a mission, so I watched Misha and the other men’s faces as they realized Kazimir was alive and there in the flesh.

  Where there was once sorrow, relief replaced it. Misha probably would’ve waited for everyone to leave in order to greet his father’s unexpected guests. He seemed like that type of man as he stood straight-backed and a neutral expression, monitoring our approach to him.