FOUR
Anton
I can't believe Nikita wants me to pick up his kid, Zion, from school. Technically, it's Lucy's son, but they're married, and he treats the kid as if he's his flesh and blood. I'm not saying it's bad, but bringing your employee into it by asking him to get the kid from elementary school isn't the least bit ordinary.
Although, when is anything we do typical?
I hate leaving Savannah without at least discussing what happened last night. She caught me off guard, and I swear I didn't plan on fucking her.
But I'm glad that I did.
Nikita would have a fit if he found out, and I don't even want to see Mikhail's reaction. I'd probably be reprimanded, and Savannah would be fired.
I can't let that happen to her. She doesn't deserve to lose her job because I can't stop thinking about her naked. And now, having seen her naked, a part of me doesn't want to let her back on stage for the other men to ogle her while she dances.
But it's her job, and I've never been particularly jealous. Of course, I also hadn't slept with any dancers or employees until last night. Well, technically, this morning.
I head down to the vehicle and climb into the SUV. The vehicle isn't mine. The bratva owns it, along with a dozen or so other cars loaned amongst us.
Pulling out my phone, I open the most recent text message from Nikita and click on the address, opening the GPS on my phone. I'm familiar with the city but don't particularly pay attention to the school the kid goes to or where it's located. It's not any of my business until now.
I can't believe he has me running errands for him, but in his defense, his wife, Lucy, tripped down the stairs at home and needs her right foot examined at the hospital. The girl is clumsy.
Nikita would never lay a hand on her; while she's in the compound, she's safe. My phone would have lit up if something happened, like a break-in. Undoubtedly, one of several associates would have reached out to warn me of the attack.
I swing by the elementary school and park the vehicle in line, stepping out and standing near the SUV. I swear all the kids look the same from a distance with their backpacks slung over their shoulders. It doesn't help that the kids all wear the same school uniform.
Since when did Nikita foot the bill for a private school?
It's none of my business, but neither is picking up Zion from school, and here I am, running errands for the boss. I glance at my watch, and the kid comes skipping over to me. "Hi, Uncle Anton."
I'm technically not the kid's uncle, but that's how he's been taught to address us in public. "Are you ready to go?" I ask.
His teacher hurries after him, a short older woman with graying hair. At least, I assume it's his teacher. Maybe she's the principal? "Mr. Petrova," she calls out to me as she approaches.
"Yes."
"I need you to sign Anton out before taking him home. Can you show me some identification?"
My jaw tightens, but it's not like my identification is a secret. "Sure," I say, pulling my wallet out from my back pocket and opening it, revealing my driver's license. I don't bother taking it out of the plastic. The woman can read through a clear piece of plastic, right?
"Thank you. If you can, just sign this," she says, shoving the clipboard at my chest.
I scribble my name on the sheet of paper before she hurries off to accost the next parent or guardian. I open the back door and nod for Zion to climb in. When he doesn't budge, I raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "Get in."
"There's no booster seat," he says. "Mom says I can't go in the car without one."
"Well, kid, your mom isn't here."
Zion's bottom lip pouts. Is he about to cry? Because I can't handle a crying seven-year-old. Some days, I can barely look after myself.
"How about we grab ice cream on the way home?" I suggest, trying to think of a reason to keep the kid from bawling. If he has a meltdown, I don't know how I'll handle it. Picking the kid up and tossing him into the backseat, while tempting, would bring too much attention. The kid isn't going to be silent.
Zion exhales a heavy sigh and relents, climbing into the backseat. "Fine." He drops his bookbag on the floor beside his feet.
I swear he has his mother's attitude, not that I've worked with Lucy that much. She danced one night at the club, and Nikita made it clear that would never happen again. Too bad; she was a cute dancer. She was nowhere near as sexy as Savannah, but she had a few spicy moves. She bartends a couple of nights a week when we need the extra coverage.
After Zion is situated in the middle seat and buckles in, I slam the door shut and hurry around to the driver's side.
"Mom is going to kill you," Zion says as he tips his head back and stares up at the ceiling.
What the hell is so interesting up there?
"Why is that?" I'm not sure why I even bother to ask, but I do.
He ticks each item off on his fingers. "No booster seat and giving me ice cream after school. You're so dead," Zion says with a chuckle.
"That's only two reasons."
"Do you want more?"
Gosh, the kid is snippy. "We can skip the ice cream and go straight home. I'll bet you have homework." I glance up in the rearview mirror at him. I swear the kid is seven going on seventeen. I don't know how Nikita and Lucy handle him. Next time, Nikita should ask Madisyn, Hannah, or someone else with a kid to do the after-school pickup. While their kids are too young for elementary school, at least they know how to deal with kids.
Zion's eyes widen, giving a long side glance out the window. That seems to shut his ass up.
I'm about at my wit's end.
I should have gotten more sleep last night with Savannah. Not that I regret going home with her and spending the night. Watching her sleep had been the morning's highlight since I woke up.
"Ice cream?" Zion quips. This time the kid is quite a bit calmer. Like he's realized he's tried my patience, and I'm about to blow up at him. He probably gets that a lot.
"Yeah, I'll get you a single scoop." I'm not sure the kid deserves it, but I did make him a promise when I convinced him to get into the back seat. I'm not a man to break my word, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
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