Wildblood

Chapter 12

12

Kai

He could still smell their rotting flesh. The stench of spoiled meat lingered, souring him to the thought of breakfast. A furious itch burned the backs of his eyes, the image of the man on the train etched into his brain like a brand.

He felt like shit. Not just from the nightmare, but from what followed as well. Miya had tried to help him, and he’d shoved her out the proverbial door. She deserved better than that. She deserved better than his fucked-up head, but he had nothing to offer. The best he could do was sort out his shit. Eventually. He had other blunders to deal with first.

Kai had been opaque about his reason for visiting the Confessional. He hated lying, even by omission, which was why he wanted his debt to Bratva cleared by happy hour. Without a word of greeting, he plunked down on the bar stool directly in front of Connor.

“You all right?” Connor asked as he polished a pint glass, his eyebrow quirking.

Kai gave a brittle smile. “Just licking my wounds.”

The hulking Irishman grunted and flipped a clean tumbler onto the counter, then grabbed the Writers’ Tears . “On the house,” he said as he poured two fingers of whiskey.

Kai raised the glass in a gesture of gratitude and promptly guzzled the contents.

“You’re off today, aren’t you?”

Kai nodded. “No fights tonight.”

“A little early for a visit, isn’t it?” Connor glanced at his watch.

Kai ground his molars together in deliberation. He trusted Connor, but the less people knew, the better. Safer, too. His body was still bruised, but his heart felt like an open gash. He wanted to cauterize it, seal it shut no matter how badly it hurt.

“I’m meeting Sergei,” he said vaguely, feigning ignorance as Connor scowled.

He poured Kai another generous finger. “You got business with that rank weasel?”

“More than I’d like at the moment.” Kai swirled the tawny liquid around. Drowning in whiskey was tempting, but running from his demons was a sure-fire way to feed them. The hungry little fucks feasted well when he cast off his plights like a trail of breadcrumbs, and they always came around to puke up their dinner at his feet. In the end, he’d clean up the mess whether he liked it or not.

The door swung open, announcing Sergei’s arrival with a conspicuous whine. He was dressed in business slacks and a crème button-up half-obscured by a tweed scarf and a dark jacket that looked too plain for its price tag. Sergei never skimped on clothing, measuring his worth in finery. It was a peculiar contrast to Kai’s combat boots and cargo pants with pockets the size of Pennsylvania. The gray T-shirt and worn leather jacket only crystallized their differences—Kai an assemblage of jagged edges to Sergei’s polished veneer.

“You look like shit,” Sergei said by way of greeting. He offered Connor a terse nod, though the barkeep only sneered and promptly disappeared. “What’s his problem with me?”

“He doesn’t like it when you’re mean to me.” Kai refused to acknowledge the jab at his disheveled appearance.

Sergei slid onto a stool and removed his jacket. “I suppose you’re a bit sensitive right now, given what happened.”

It wasn’t just the fight. Kai’s nightmare clung to the recesses of his mind like a stubborn piece of gum on the sole of his shoe. He knew it was his own baggage—an unknown past he carried like a rotten keepsake. The corpses strung up on the walls of the train, the soldier huddled in the corner with a molten look in his eyes…what had he tried to give Kai?

It didn’t help that Miya had stumbled into his personal hellscape. She was likely wracking her brain on new methods to crack him open and spill his insides out. He probably needed it. He just didn’t want it.

“Hey, I have feelings.” Kai placed a mocking hand over his heart. There was a sharpness to the words, a menace coating his smile as he showed Sergei his teeth—a friendly assurance and a palpable threat.

“My bad,” Sergei droned without a grain of sincerity. He pulled his Zippo from his pocket, knocking it against the counter like it would somehow ease his craving. “What can I do to help?”

That part sounded sincere. Kai reckoned Sergei’s ass was also on the line; he had to ensure Kai did his part.

“I need to find Ivan Zverev.” That was harder to say than Kai thought.

The Zippo stilled in Sergei’s hand. “The man who nearly beat your skull in? Why?”

“I lost the prize to him, didn’t I? He might know something about its whereabouts.”

“That’s reckless,” Sergei rebuked, slamming the lighter down.

Kai shrugged, unconcerned. “Everything I do is reckless, and it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

Sergei’s jaw tightened, his tone coated in ice. “What makes you think he’ll talk?”

“I’ve got a hunch,” said Kai. “Call it animal instinct.” Literally.

Sergei pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine, but if you get us into deeper shit?—”

“You know I won’t,” Kai ground out through clenched teeth. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d given me information sooner, so shut up and let me do what I do best.”

“What you do best is cause trouble,” Sergei snapped.

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did. Kai caused pain to those he cared about too often. Fortunately, Sergei wasn’t one of them. “I’ll get it done,” he said, then added quietly, “and I won’t go down easy.”

“Yeah, you’re a fucking cockroach.” Sergei combed his fingers through his hair, the vein in his temple popping as he weighed his options. He knew Kai was too stubborn to bite it on anyone else’s terms. Finally, he leaned back and resumed playing with his Zippo. “You better not muck this up worse than you already have.” He rotated to face Kai. “Unlike you, Vanya’s a ghost. You’ve got a reputation around here—partying like some feral animal out of a cage.”

Good. Kai wanted people to think he had nothing to lose, and tapping into his wild side did just that. Ironically, the best way to hide his secrets was to act like he had none. “What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying that Vanya knows to stay away. He’s a hard man to find.”

“I’m just looking for a lead,” Kai reminded him.

Sergei clicked his tongue. “Lucky for you, I keep my ear to the ground. Rumor has it he hangs around a flower shop.”

Kai wrinkled his nose.

“The place is called O’Neil’s—a small joint in Charleston,” Sergei supplied. “I’m sure you and your… intuition will find it just fine.”

Kai ignored the pointed comment and stood. “I’ll check it out. Keep your shit together in the meantime, milyy .”

“What is it with you and nicknames?” Sergei sighed. He loathed being called darling more than Miya hated centipedes.

Kai flashed him a fiendish grin. “They make people more tolerable.” He shouted goodbye to Connor, then disappeared into the street without a single platitude spared for Sergei.