Bite Me

CHAPTER 20

It was decided over many more glasses of vodka that Livy would go back to work. She would continue on with her daily routine because her uncles didn’t think it was a good idea to involve her in the hell-making of other people’s lives. Although what it really came down to was her family wasn’t sure that Livy’s artistic sensibilities wouldn’t suddenly come into play at the worst time possible. They insisted it wasn’t a lack of trust so much as her not understanding how the Kowalskis liked to do things. Livy, however, understood better than most. It was hard not to when one had grown up with her father.

Still, she didn’t argue the point. Arm twisting wasn’t really her thing. She didn’t enjoy hearing people in pain. She didn’t enjoy making people cry . . . usually. So Livy would happily go back to her day job and let her family do what they had to do.

But what her uncles needed right now was someplace to start. So she led them upstairs and searched the multiple rooms for Vic or Shen.

She found Shen first. Asleep faceup on a bare mattress in one of the small rooms, the giant panda’s body was stretched out across a twin bed, his head and arms hanging over the side, And there was snoring.

“Like giant stuffed toy,” Otto muttered.

Deciding not to wake him up, Livy continued searching. She finally found Vic in one of the bigger rooms, making up the bed.

Livy watched him for a moment. Hospital corners. He was making hospital corners with the sheet. Livy, a known sleep-twister, didn’t bother going to all that trouble with her own sheets.

Shaking her head, she said, “Hey, Vic—”

“Hey.” He was busy smoothing out the sheets, so he didn’t turn around immediately. “I was going to put us in the master bedroom, but Kyle already had it and he’s already turned it into some kind of terrifying art studio. Just FYI, that kid has bones in there. I didn’t look too closely so I don’t know if they’re human or not, but you may want to have Cooper look into that. Anyway, I grabbed this room since it had a king and a bathroom attached, but if there’s another room you want us in, just let me know and”—Vic finally stood and turned—“I’ll make sure to put . . . you in there all by yourself,” he finished, spotting her uncles standing around Livy. “Because you sleep alone. Yes, you do. Alone is how you sleep.”

Vic cleared his throat, nodded at her uncles. “Gentlemen.”

“Vic, these are my uncles.” She pointed at each one. “Baltazar, Kamil, Gustav, Edmund, Otto, and David. Uncles, this is Victor Barinov.”

“Barinov?” Otto asked, frowning a little.

“Yes.”

“You have information for us?” Balt asked Vic.

“Uh, yes.” He grabbed a folder off the nightstand. “Here’s what we’ve pulled together so far. Do you want me to go over it with you?” Vic asked as he handed the info to Balt.

“I can read,” Balt snarled, snatching the folder.

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“We will talk later, Olivia,” Balt said before he and the rest of her uncles walked away.

Once they were gone, Vic sat down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“They hate me,” Vic said. “Couldn’t you tell how much they hate me?”

“They don’t hate you,” Livy told him, closing the door and walking over to the bed. “They hate your father. And I think they all have a thing for your mother.”

Vic’s head slowly came up. “My father?”

“He’s helped INTERPOL prevent several Kowalski jobs over the years. And helped to put away a few of my uncles’ cousins.”

“Oh.” Vic thought about it a moment, then said, “Yeah. That does make it awkward, doesn’t it?”

Livy chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Besides, your parents are badass if they’ve got my uncles worried.”

Vic grinned. “My parents are kind of badass. Of course, they both come from two families of badasses. Stalin actively avoided my great-grandfather. And my mother’s mother was one of the most feared snipers in the Red Army. The Germans called her der Schrecken.”

And together they said, “The Nightmare.”

“Was she really that bad?” Livy asked.

“Oh yeah. She was a Siberian She-tiger with amazing aim. As soon as those guys turned around, they’d get picked off from behind. Then at night, she’d shift to her tiger form and . . .”

“Get a little snack?”

Vic grimaced. “It was a long Russian winter, and food was scarce. She did what she had to do, I guess.” Vic shrugged. “I liked her, though. She made the best cookies.” He let out a breath. “I hope I didn’t make things weird for you and your uncles.”

“Weird how?”

“Accidentally suggesting we’re sleeping together.”

“We are sleeping together.”

“I know. But no uncle wants to hear that about his niece. Especially when he still calls his niece Little Olivia.”

“They couldn’t care less about that. They’re more worried I’m bedding down with someone as dangerously close to a cop as they’re willing to allow.”

They were silent for a few minutes until Vic asked, “So, what’s next?”

“I go back to work tomorrow. Like everything is normal. You should know, though, they think a shifter might be involved. But I made it clear we’re not playing that game. We are out for Whitlan. That’s it.”

“They could be right, though. Keep in mind all three organizations had backed off this case . . . that suggests someone with the power to make that happen.”

“Or the money.” When Vic frowned a bit, Livy added, “Even shifters have bills to pay. But we’ll wait and see. If a shifter or shifters are involved, we’ll talk about it then.”

“If you’re telling me that because you want me to be prepared for the fallout . . . don’t worry about it. You betray your own . . . you get whatever’s coming to you.”

“I’m fine with that. But I’m more worried about my family using this opportunity to fuck with shifters they’ve always hated. And that isn’t what this is about. Not for me.”

Again they sat in silence for several minutes. Then, Livy stretched out on the bed and placed her head in Vic’s lap.

Vic gently stroked her head, big fingers easing through her hair, stopping briefly to massage her scalp.

He didn’t speak, seeming to understand that Livy didn’t want a lot of conversation. She just wanted to lie here, quietly, and let the guy she was fucking play with her hair.

And the fact that he got that without Livy saying a word spoke volumes about the man.

Wearing her mink coat—something other shifters thought was tacky—and smoking one of her French cigarettes, Joan sat on the marble bench in the backyard and stared up at the sky.

Melly had finally been dragged off by one of her cousins so there was no more crying and screaming about how, “No one understands that I loooooooovvvvveeee him!”

So that was something to be grateful for.

Her sisters and Aunt Li-Li had gone off, as well, to get a hotel suite at the Kingston Arms. The Yangs didn’t have the reputation that the Kowalskis did at the local Manhattan hotels, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Joan had briefly entertained staying here with her daughter, but why torment herself? They’d never gotten along, and she didn’t think that would change now. Especially since Joan didn’t think she’d done anything wrong. But leave it to Olivia to turn this whole thing into a big deal.

Of course, any time Joan thought about what her husband must have gone through during his final moments, the indignity of being hunted like some poor animal in the wild . . . well, her rage took over. Something no one should want.

Her anger might not come out often, but when it did, the world shuddered in the face of it.

But, for once, Joan was going to let her daughter take the lead on this. To be honest, she wanted to see what her daughter would do. How she would handle it. If Olivia handled it well, then at least Joan wouldn’t have to worry about her safety. Not involving herself in the family business put Olivia at risk in a way she wouldn’t be if she was involved.

Then again, there was that time Olivia was snatched by full-human men who wanted her father to do a job for them. Olivia had only been sixteen at the time, and both families had quickly gotten together, plans on how they would deal with the kidnapping already in the works, when Olivia had suddenly walked in the back door of their Washington house. Covered in blood, with a handcuff still dangling from her wrist, she’d walked barefoot through the kitchen, stopping only to point at her father and inform him that, “After what I just went through, you better pay for my art school.” Something her father had initially refused to do—even after a painfully long plea from Antonella Jean-Louis Parker on Livy’s behalf—because he’d rightfully thought it was stupid.

But when they didn’t find anything but the empty van and lots of dried blood, Damon went ahead and paid for that education he didn’t believe in.

So maybe Joan didn’t need to worry about her ridiculous daughter with her ridiculous ideas about being a great artist.

A glass of scotch was held in front of her face and, smiling, Joan took it.

“Thank you, Baltazar.”

Her husband’s brother sat down next to her. It was freezing cold out, so he also wore his mink coat.

“Don’t be mad at little Olivia.”

“Who says I am?”

“You did. I heard you say to your sister, ‘I am so mad at her.’ ”

Yeah. She had said that.

“Besides,” he went on, “did you really expect her to do anything else once she found Damon in some full-human’s house? Stuffed and on display like some deer?”

“You have a point.”

Balt pressed his shoulder against Joan’s and lowered his head a bit so she had to look him in the eye.

“Stop it, Balt.”

“What? I said nothing.”

“I’m still your brother’s wife.”

“My brother’s ex-wife. Or, if you were still married . . . widow. Besides, you cannot live your life alone and miserable.”

“Who says I’m miserable . . . or alone?”

Balt’s back straightened. “Who? Tell me his name?”

“Balt—”

“I want to know his name.”

“Stop.”

Balt drank his shot of vodka in one gulp and poured himself another from the bottle he’d brought out with him.

“Let’s focus on something else.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, sounding like the seventeen-year-old she’d met all those years ago. A seventeen-year-old who never gave up on trying to get in her pants.

Joan put her arm around Balt’s giant shoulders. “Tell me the plan.”

“Right now, we need name. There is someone very important who protects this Whitlan. I want their name. So tomorrow, my brothers and I go to Florida.”

“What’s in Florida?”

“The company that shipped Damon’s body.”

“Good. You deal with them. I’ll deal with Allison Whitlan.”

“Olivia will not like if you kill her, my beauty. Unless Whitlan girl is involved in all this.”

Joan chuckled. “You listen to my daughter too much. I’m a thief, not a murderer.”

“Your daughter has never said either. My brother, though . . .”

Joan laughed and kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Baltazar. But I want you to be careful.”

“I will not promise to be careful,” Balt admitted honestly. “But I do promise many will suffer.”

Laying her head on his shoulder, Joan smiled. “I know, Baltazar. I know.”