Under the Skin (20 page)

It hurt that Alexei hadn’t trusted him with the truth, but Patrick had worked undercover. He knew how dangerous it was to let anyone inside his cover, but everything about their relationship was dangerous and had been from the beginning. More than once Alexei had asked Patrick to trust him, but it seemed a favor Alexei could not return.

That was bad enough, but he had been totally unprepared for the rest of Alexei’s story. He ached for the boy Alexei had been, forced into a life of crime by a failing system and then abused and forced to watch helplessly as his lover was killed.

Patrick knew he’d reacted badly, but his emotions had been on a roller coaster, and he hadn’t been able to deal with Alexei then. He’d give them both a few days to settle and then he’d call and apologize and hope Alexei would forgive him for his reactions.

He couldn’t allow himself to consider that Alexei might not forgive him.

Before Alexei, Patrick had usually taken the dominant role in his relationships, such as they were. He didn’t always have to be on top, but he was the one in control. That had changed the first time Alexei touched him. The sex had been incendiary, but with each encounter, Patrick was convinced it was more than just sex. He’d given up control without thought because Alexei had demanded it, but part of him had hoped things would balance out between them. He’d made a mistake last night because of that hope. If he could take back his rash actions, he would. He’d never top again if it meant he could have Alexei back.

The sound of approaching footsteps intruded on his musings. He often had the park running trail to himself this early in the morning, but he moved toward the side of the path to allow whoever was behind him to pass if they wished.

An arm grasped his elbow, and before he could turn to protest, a heavy hand shoved him forward. He caught his balance with a palm to the rough gravel to keep from falling to the ground, but when he tried to straighten, another hard shove pushed him off the path into the grove of trees that lined one side of the trail. He stumbled to his knees, a booted foot connecting with his ribs and knocking the breath from his lungs.

He rolled to escape a second kick, but a tree trunk against his back kept him from going far. Another boot landed in his stomach, and he curled instinctively into a fetal position, more kicks connecting with his ribs and slamming into his temple hard enough to make his vision black out before returning with a flare of sparks.

A bruising grip on his shoulder hauled Patrick to his feet, his head still swimming. Before he could reach for the gun he wore in the fanny pack around his waist, his arms were wrenched behind his back and a fist rammed into his solar plexus. He doubled over as far as the restraint on his arms would let him, gasping to draw in a full breath. A fist in his hair pulled his head up again, and he caught a glimpse of a stocky, dark-haired man with Slavic features. “Keep away from Boczar,” a heavily accented voice snarled, and then the fist slammed into his face.

He struggled to free his arms, but the hold was too strong. As the next blow landed, he kicked out, catching the man in front of him in the groin. The thug cried out, his hands instinctively covering his crotch, and Patrick took advantage of the moment to wrench up sharply with his shoulder, catching the man behind him on the chin. He managed to pull free and took a few stumbling steps, groping for his gun.

The man who had held his arms behind him threw a punch Patrick couldn’t quite dodge, the ring on his finger cutting open his cheek. Ignoring the trickle of blood, Patrick freed his Glock and spun on his two assailants, but they had taken off, already several hundred feet down the running path. Patrick leaned against a tree, breathing hard, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and pain.

Pulling out his cell phone, Patrick called dispatch, reporting the attack. The dispatcher offered to send an ambulance, but Patrick declined, saying he could get to the hospital on his own.

After limping back to his loft, Patrick put ice on his cheek as he changed clothes and got his keys. The dispatcher must have called Saints Mary and Elizabeth Hospital to let the emergency room know he was coming, because as soon as he gave his name, they took him back into a curtained cubicle. A doctor came in to examine him a few minutes later.

They X-rayed his ribs, declaring them bruised but not broken, put a couple of stitches in his cheek to make sure the cut from the ring closed properly, and gave him hydrocodone for the pain.

As the doctor finished the stitches, a uniformed cop Patrick didn’t know came in, followed by Reba Thames. “What happened?” Reba asked.

“I went running and somebody grabbed me,” Patrick said. “There were two of them, Russians, but nobody I recognized. I didn’t understand anything they said. I obviously need to take lessons.”

“You need to take a couple of days off,” the doctor interrupted. “Your ribs need time to heal before you go back on duty, and the medicine will probably leave you too out of it to work.”

“Go home,” Reba said. “I’ll update Captain Jacobs and see if I can bring some of the Russian mug books by so you can try to identify the attackers.”

Patrick nodded, but he knew he wouldn’t identify them even if their pictures were in the books. He didn’t want this to come back on him and Alexei.

While it was true he couldn’t understand much of the little his attackers had said—he presumed most of it was curses anyway—the message to stay away from Alexei had come through loud and clear. He couldn’t admit that without revealing at least some of his relationship with Alexei, and that was more than he wanted even Reba to know.

The older woman hadn’t been an Organized Crime detective for years without learning to read beneath what wasn’t said, though. “This have something to do with your helping bring in Eddie’s killer?”

“Maybe,” Patrick said, grasping at the explanation even though he doubted that was the case. “Though I’m not sure how they would have known the tip came from me.” The question made him wonder if the
vory
had somehow discovered Alexei’s role in Fyodor’s arrest. The thought sent a chill up his spine and made him want to call Alexei at once to be sure he hadn’t been attacked as well. He couldn’t do it, not with Reba and the uniformed cop still here, but he knew that even once he was alone, their estrangement would make him hesitate to place the call.

Yesterday, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Yesterday, he hadn’t hesitated to call and arrange a meeting to get an explanation for everything he’d learned. Things were different today, though.

“You were there for part of Volkov’s questioning and you were sent to bring in Konstantin, even if he came in of his own accord before you found him,” Reba reminded him. Patrick had neglected to mention Konstantin’s presence at the drug raid that had delayed and distracted from the need to question Konstantin immediately, allowing time for Alexei to convince the
vor
to come in “on his own.” “It might not have been the tip as much as the rest. And it might have been your contact. Have you heard from him since he sent you the license plate?”

Heard from him, been fucked by him, fucked him over without meaning to…. Yeah, he’d heard from Alexei, but he could hardly tell Reba any of that. “No, but I try not to contact him too often. I don’t want to put him in danger because someone associates him with me.”

“No, of course not,” Reba agreed. “If you hear from him, see if he knows anything.”

Patrick was sure that if he wanted to speak with Alexei again, he was going to have to initiate the contact. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, pushing off from the hospital cot. The medication made him feel light-headed, and he reached back to grab the mattress for support.

“You shouldn’t drive on the hydrocodone,” the doctor warned him.

“Come on, sugar,” Reba said, taking his arm. “You can pick up your car later. I’ll drive you home.”

Patrick followed docilely behind Reba, letting her tuck him in the car and then into his apartment. He sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering, not for the first time, how everything had gotten so screwed up.

Chapter 15

“
Y
OU
should be more careful when you find boy to fuck, but don’t worry. I took care of problem for you.”

Alexei’s gaze flew to Konstantin, the younger
vor
lounging in the doorway with a drunken grin on his face, his good humor belied by the jealous gleam in his eyes. A chill of icy terror stiffened Alexei’s spine, and only the discipline of years of survival allowed him to draw a calming breath before answering. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I told Demyan and Sergej to talk to him. He won’t bother you anymore,” Konstantin replied with a snort of laughter.

“Talk to who?” Alexei scoffed dismissively, but he knew.
Patrick
. Somehow, Konstantin had found out about Patrick. A red haze darkened Alexei’s sight, the same crushing fear he had felt watching Piotr’s death threatening to overwhelm him. He forced himself to breathe, the inhale and exhale slow and steady, focusing only on the moment. He was not the same powerless young man he had been all those years before. He would control his reaction, learn all he could first, then decide how to act.
And if Konstantin had harmed Patrick, he would tear him apart limb from limb with his bare hands and feed his entrails to the rats.

“You know who,” Konstantin said, pushing away from the door and staggering in Alexei’s direction. “Boy you visit yesterday. But is over now. Is just you and me again.” His unsteady footsteps brought him to the older man’s side, where he fell heavily against him.

Alexei spun Konstantin around, pinning him to the wall with his forearm. “What did you do to him?” he snarled, hoping the emotion in his voice would be taken as anger. “
Svoloch!
What did you do to him?”

The younger
vor
visibly quailed at the cold malice that invested Alexei’s voice, shrinking back against the implacable grip.
He was right to be afraid
, Alexei thought—he was far more dangerous to Konstantin than Fyodor could ever be. “They gave him message,” Konstantin answered shakily, “to stay away from you. They roughed him up a little, is all, to make sure he understood.”

Konstantin’s voice had taken on the same fawning tone he had used when making excuses to his father, but Alexei was not placated. Demyan and Sergej were two of Konstantin’s bullies, willing to do anything to curry favor with their captain. He had to make sure Patrick was all right (
was still alive
, his mind whispered, but he refused to listen)—but first he needed to counteract Konstantin’s jealousy.

“He is
politsiya
,” Alexei grated, leaning closer, his arm tightening against the younger man’s chest to be sure he had his attention. “Organized Crime squad. I am paying him off to look other way.” His free hand caught at Konstantin’s hair and yanked his head up roughly, forcing the younger
vor
to meet his stare. “I thought we were partners. I thought you trusted me.” He softened his voice, adding a hint of pained disbelief. “Is protection. Nothing more.”

“Protection?” Konstantin repeated slowly. Alexei could practically see the word making its way through his alcohol-clouded thoughts. “For us?” It took another moment before he continued. “Surov and Putyatin been bitching about more raids since Papa was arrested. Is why the others are having more problems with police than us? And why only the Chechens were arrested when they fucked up the sale last week?”

“
Da
, Konstantin,” Alexei affirmed snidely, releasing the chokehold on his nominal leader. “Except now you might have fucked it all up.” He shook out his coat sleeves, shooting a look that dared Konstantin to challenge him. “Best I go see if I can salvage things, before he has us all arrested. Next time, leave thinking to me.” He turned at the door to the electronics store, fixing Konstantin with a virulent glare. “Besides, you know I’m not
golubói
—I am
vor
, remember?”

Heading out the door without waiting for Konstantin’s reaction, Alexei was in the car and halfway to Patrick’s apartment before he slowed to consider what he was doing. After the way they had parted, he suspected Patrick would not be pleased to see him, but Alexei could not bring himself to care.
He
needed to see Patrick, to be sure he was alive and safe—to assure him he would keep Konstantin from harming him further. After that, if Patrick threw him out again, he would leave without complaint. But he needed to see him with his own eyes first, one last time.

T
HE
knock at the door roused Patrick from his contemplation of the TV screen. He couldn’t have said what he was watching, so it hardly mattered anyway. Rising painfully to his feet, he stifled a curse as the movement pulled at his bruised ribs. Knowing nothing was broken, not even cracked, didn’t make walking any easier at the moment.

Glancing through the peephole to see who was there, Patrick almost turned around and walked back to his chair when he saw Alexei on the other side, but his heart wouldn’t let him be that cruel. The Russian had obviously found out about the attack and wanted to make sure he was safe. Patrick could understand the impulse. He had done the same when he’d heard about Alexei being shot. Opening the door, he turned around and walked gingerly back to his seat, trusting that Alexei would follow him inside.