Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(61)
Author: M. Leighton

“My cab’s here. I need to get going. You have my phone number, right?”

I bought a phone. One to keep permanently. Sharifa and Jamilla deserve to have an emergency contact. One that doesn’t change from day to day or month to month. It’s my first step toward laying down roots. I figure it’s about time.

“Yes. But I will only call if emergency,” she says in her stilted English.

“I told you that you can call anytime. I may not be local, but I can find someone to get you the help you need in an emergency.”

She shakes her head vigorously. “Too much already. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to. It’s what Yusuf would’ve wanted. You’re never a bother. Call me anytime.”

Sharifa steps closer to me and reaches up to lay her hand on my cheek. “Bless you, Nikolai. May every day for your wife and children be blessed. Peace be with you.”

Her words cause a pang in my chest. I don’t have a wife. Or children. I may never have. And if I do, will I have a family with the woman I love? Or will I settle for something . . . less? “Thank you, Sharifa. I pray the same for you.”

I tell Jamilla good-bye and give her tiny shoulders a squeeze. She turns into my chest and throws her arms around my neck. She gives me a big, smacking kiss on my cheek then leans back to look at me. She’s smiling broadly.

It’s with a heavy heart that I make my way out the door and down the steps. My only wish is that Yusuf were here to see his family smile, to see them happy and safe here in the United States.

I’m preoccupied during the cab ride back to the hotel. This morning when I went for coffee, I saw on the news that the trial against the Atlanta sect of the Russian mafia is well under way. Because of all the sensationalism surrounding it, the judge closed the courtroom. There is no close coverage or photos or anything, really. The media is simply updated periodically with information they can release to the public. It’s pretty vague stuff, just talking about crucial testimony of former employees, but never going into specifics.

But then I saw a short press conference held specifically for legal counsel to give statements. The balding lawyer for the Bratva gave his brief spiel, proclaiming that he was even more confident after this week’s proceedings that his clients would be proven innocent. And then there was a statement from the prosecution.

And Marissa gave it.

She was practically glowing in her dark blue suit and pale pink blouse. Her voice was strong and confident as she spoke.

“With the ironclad evidence presented by our team and the irrefutable testimony of eyewitnesses, we have no doubt justice will be served.”

She took a few questions and answered them deftly, like she’d been fielding them all her life. It’s easy to see this is what she was born to do. And that she enjoys doing it. And I’m big enough to admit that it’s bittersweet.

She’s doing great. She’s happy and driven, and she found her place in life. Her peace. She took life by the balls and came out on top. And of course I wish her well.

I just wish we could’ve found that together.

It took me a couple of months to realize I was in love with her. Well, probably not to realize it. More like to admit it. And when I did, I knew that was why I had chosen to stay away from her. I love her enough to want her to be happy and safe and successful, and all that other shit. I want her to have everything she wants in life.

And she can’t have all that if I’m around. I’m a criminal. Or at least I was. Either way, I’m not worthy of her. And I’d probably ruin her career. Especially after this. She’ll be a star in legal circles by the end of this trial. She’ll have the world in the palm of her hand.

And I’ll always have to watch from afar.

That’s just the way it is.

I close my eyes so I can more clearly see her. I picture her first as I saw her this morning, in the suit and light pink blouse. Smiling. Confident. Happy.

But quickly, she loses her clothes and I picture her like I saw her the night before I left. She’s looking back at me over her shoulder, her luscious lips parted in a moan as I slide in and out of the tight glove of her body.

Damn, why did it have to work out this way? Why couldn’t it have been different? Why couldn’t I have been different?

I’m grouchy by the time I unlock the door to my room. I feel alone and far removed from everyone who means anything to me, and I don’t like it. It makes me angry.

I push the button to bring up the lighted screen on my new phone. I punch in Cash’s number. The display only requires a light touch, but my mood is not conducive to a light touch. It’s there in my desire to stab my finger through the glass cover of the phone, and it’s there in the ache in my jaw from gritting my teeth.

“Yeah,” comes Cash’s voice, short and clipped.

“It’s me,” I say simply.

“Where are you?” he asks. In those three words, I can hear the change in his tone. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like he’s glad to hear from me.

“I’m in Savannah. Pulling out tomorrow.”

I feel my lips thin just saying that out loud. I should be looking forward to sailing the rest of the world. But I’m not. There’s only one place I want to be. And it’s the only place that I can’t go. That I shouldn’t go.

“You still on Dmitry’s tugboat?” he asks wryly. I called him a couple of weeks after I left and told him where I was and what I was doing. I described the yacht to him. He knows it’s nicer than most houses.

“Yep.”

“Have you been able to keep up with the trial?”

“Some. I take it it’s going well?”

“Hell yeah, it is! I really think we’re gonna pull this off, man!”

His excitement is obvious. And it only makes me feel worse for some reason.

“Considering all the people who have sacrificed so much to make this happen, I sure as hell hope so!”

Cash is quiet for a minute. “You know you can come back, right? No one’s making you stay away.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I snap. I regret my reaction immediately. Sighing loudly, I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to ease the throb that seems to have come out of nowhere. “Sorry, bro. I’m just a little on edge today.”

“No problem. I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome. We’d all love to have you back. I think Dad would be thrilled.”