Red Reaper - Soldiers of Fortune [book one]

Chapter TWENTY FIVE

Lucky O'Cléirigh

After dinner we drive south in his sleek Porsche and I relax into the luxe leather while Konstantin rests one hand on the wheel and the other on my knee.. As the city passes by I am swimming in flashbacks of the way he had gotten me off beneath the table back at The Red Tea Room..

I've never been so sexually reckless as Konstantin makes me.. And I've never felt more alive or carefree as I did tonight.. Though I can't entirely ignore the niggle of doubt that worms away at the back of my subconscious, something skewed, sick and anxious lurking in the periphery of my dizzy thoughts..

What happens when everything falls apart, the way it always does?

I can never rely on anything good to stay that way, nor can I trust in myself to see red flags wave or clear signs from God above..

I can't help but think that I may have made a mistake by confessing so earnestly the endless depth of my true feelings for The Russian.. Because try as I may to make light of it, the fact remains that Konstantin had not said those three words back..

The words that would have given me comfort and confidence.. The words that would have made me whole..

I had told him I love him..

And it had been a God's honest truth.. But in return he had only dared to reply that I am beautiful..

Sure, to possess beauty is a perfectly nice sentiment.. But it's not exactly what I wanted to hear..

"So--um.. Which was your favourite?" I smile convincingly over at him in a dopey daze of vodka, lies and lust as I continue to force that sunny facade which keeps everybody so in the dark about my realest reveries..

It's exhausting, all this pretending, smiling when my insides hurt, lying all the time when all I really want is to simply be myself..

Whoever the hell that is..

"Hm?" He frowns as his burnt-bronze gaze flicks between me and the road ahead..

"You said you were going to show me your favourite place in the city.. So which was it, the theatre or the Tea Room?"

"Nyet, Malishka.. My favourite place iz not anywhere on 'ze Northside.. It iz here.." His smile is soft and satisfied as he pulls in through a set of chain link gates that lead beneath The Bay Bridge down to the Darkport docks and I realise where we are..

On the Southside, at the marina slips that overlook the shipyards..

Of all the places in the city, how could this grimy hub of transport and petroleum fumes be his favourite?!

"Good Lord! Why would you like it here? This place is-- horrible.." I mutter in disbelief..

"I will tell to you a story of 'ze Old Country.." He speaks a soft, smoky grumble, glancing over at me with steadfast conviction in his love of the docks and I curl up in the passenger seat, my curiosity piqued.. "In my hometown ov' Myshkin, when I waz a young boy, perhapz six or so, I would watch from 'ze steep banks ov' 'ze Volga az 'ze river boats would pull into port.. I would see 'ze families of 'ze men who would work on board thoze ships, they did run to greet them az their toes touched soil for what must have been 'ze first time in monthz.. Mothers, Children.. Wives.. Lovers.. 'Zey would fall into 'ze arms of theze sailors with such a welcoming embrace, overflowing with love and happinezz.." When he stops the car, killing the engine to turn off the headlights, suddenly his affinity for the shipyards starts to make sense.. Looking out into the still night, all I can see is pure luminous magic, the way the lights of the bridge and the rainbow colours of the slip-beacons dance and break apart to scatter across the surface of the calm bay waters, it is as if the sea itself were aglow from the heart of its depths..