Eight years later…
“We’ve got a loiterer out front,” Artem’s voice crackled over the communication device in my ear. “Rough-looking dude. Looks like a homeless guy. Keeps trying to see inside the fence.”
I exchanged a glance with Timofey, who stood on the opposite side of the main entrance to the Popov mansion, both of us having received Artem’s announcement.
Tim nodded at me.
I pressed my mic and responded, “We’ll handle it.”
With its cascading water fountains, huge palm trees, gorgeous landscaping, and unbelievably lavish and expensive architecture, the Popov property was impressive. From the outside, the place resembled a Disney castle. Crazy beautiful. It screamed Hollywood and looked like something a big-screen actor would own.
But it belonged to the Bratva.
Tim and I lived in the spacious pool house out back, along with two otherBoyeviksor soldiers. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I’d been allowed to live on site, which was a privilege given to only the most-trusted soldiers. I’d come a long way in eight years.
Artem was the main security guy who monitored the cameras from the security room inside the mansion, while we guarded the property from outside. He was able to see things on the various camera feeds that we couldn’t always detect from our posts in the yard. Other soldiers patrolled the grounds with guard dogs, and Tim and I secured the front entrance to the house. We worked in eight-hour shifts, switching with other soldiers. We’d come on duty at six p.m., so our shift ended at two a.m.
We stepped off the porch and headed across the immaculately landscaped yard to deal with the trespasser, the evening sun slowly sinking toward the horizon behind us.
Timofey was my best friend now. He had my back, and I had his, no matter the situation. We had saved each other’s asses several times over the years, and we trusted each other implicitly.
In sharp contrast to his intimidating size, Tim was a fun-loving guy, a jokester who made us all laugh.
I had worked under Sacha Plotnikov for the first five years after joining the Bratva. After witnessing how others reacted upon first seeing me, Sacha had found a use for my ugly face and turned me into the Bratva’s interrogator. Most of the time, all it took was one look at my horrid features and people blurted out whatever I wanted to know, though on occasion I’d had to resort to physical torture to get people to talk.
Then Sacha had left the Bratva and opened his own security company. Now he lived in Lake Tahoe with his girlfriend, Willow.
After that, I’d worked under the twins, Lev and Dominik Popov, for a few years. Then Lev had left the Bratva to pursue a music career and had just released his first album a few months ago. He lived with his fiancé, Siena, and her little boy, Nico, in an apartment across town.
After Lev had moved on, I had worked for Dominik, but he’d also left the Bratva earlier this year, and now oversaw the legitimate family businesses in Lake Tahoe. He’d recently moved in with his girlfriend, Leah, and her daughter, Abby.
That left only Efrem, the youngest Popov, who was now my boss.
After Dominik had left the Bratva, his father, Pavel—the current reigningPakhan—had reassigned us to work under Efrem, which was what we’d been doing for the past several months. An easy-going, laid-back guy, Efrem was probably the most likeable of the bunch. Being the baby in the family, he’d had it easier than his older cousins, only recently taking on a leadership role after Dominik had moved to Tahoe. Efrem hadn’t given me any dangerous tasks yet. Though guarding the mansion wasn’t the most exciting job, especially compared to some of the things I’d experienced over the years, I wasn’t complaining. I had needed a good six weeks to recover from my injury earlier that summer—a vicious stab wound I’d received while trying to protect Dom’s girl, Leah—and I didn’t mind a little slow time now and then.
More importantly, working under Efrem and being on site meant I was more likely to catch an occasional glimpse of his older sister.
Annika.
And that was a plus.
Justthinkingher name sent my pulse spiking, my chest warming, and delicious tingles swirling low in my belly. Over the past eight years, Annika had outgrown her awkwardness and matured into a gentle beauty who left me breathless and reeling every time I saw her.
Now is not the time to be distracted, you idiot. You have an intruder to deal with.
Right.
Shoving thoughts of Annika aside, I neared the front gate with Timofey, spying the trespasser peering inside the property through the metal bars.
People were naturally curious about the Popovs, though most were too afraid to venture very close.
Not this guy. He was braver than most.
Dressed in a brown trench coat and dirty jeans, he had scraggly reddish-brown hair, a thick beard, and a dirt-smudged face. It was difficult to determine his age under the wild hair and dirty face, but I guessed him to be mid-to-late twenties, maybe a little older.
Maybe he was just hungry. I’d been there once. I wasn’t immune to his plight.
Or maybe he was wearing a disguise and trying to get close enough to start some shit. He certainly wouldn’t be the first.