The Obsidian Collection Read online

  Just as rapidly, there was no one on top of me and I was being lifted off the ground.

  I gasped for air, blinking the haze from my eyes, clinging to whatever man’s shirt that was holding me. All I knew was that the person that had lifted me was not attacking me. I wheezed and coughed hard. My chest burned even as little sparkles floated in my vision against the hot pink shirt I was resting against. A hand started rubbing my back, and I shook my head, sounds beginning to register.

  There were people shouting, and I tilted my head up when I was finally able to get a decent breath. Lev held me, talking soothingly even while his eyes kept darting over my head. Sucking air, I turned in his embrace, not certain if I could stand completely on my own yet. I held my cheek, feeling blood and wincing as the side of my face throbbed like hell.

  Immediately, I pushed farther back against Lev when I saw what was happening.

  On the white tiled floor, not even five feet away, was the man who had attacked me.

  He had company down there with him.

  Daniil had a hand around my assailant’s throat so he could not breathe. Stash pressed his own forearm against my attacker’s chest so he could not move. Grigori was slamming the man’s hands on the ground above his head, in order to make him release the knife he held. Carl held his legs so he could not kick. Everyone else who had been at my table was standing with a gun aimed at him.

  I began hyperventilating, sucking in air too fast and too hard.

  Where the fuck had all those guns come from?

  Daniil spoke harshly in Russian to his and Grigori’s bodyguards, who had started to hover. They nodded and began herding people out of the restaurant. Even the workers were ordered to leave. They did so quickly, gaping at all the weapons. I was ready to run with them. I was full out trembling and wheezing by the time the last person left the establishment. When the door shut, Daniil reached behind his back…and pulled out his own fucking gun.

  He placed it against the man’s forehead.

  The rest of the group put theirs away, watching calmly.

  I closed my eyes and tried to breathe evenly. I could not speak if I could not breathe.

  Daniil asked coolly, “Who are you?”

  “Brad Fink,” the man rasped.

  “Who sent you?” Daniil probed, which I thought was an odd question.

  Silence.

  I finally got enough air into my lungs, and made myself not stare at the gun pointed at my accoster’s head as I opened my eyes. I focused on Daniil’s face. “Stop. Don’t kill him.”

  He paused. “Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  He kept his attention on the man. “I’ll only ask you one more time, Mr. Fink.” His gaze was lethal. “Who sent you?”

  The man whimpered, jerking, his hands shaking under Grigori’s death grip.

  My eyes filled with tears. Daniil was seriously going to kill the guy. It was there in his unsympathetic scrutiny. I stared directly into my assailant’s eyes. “Do you know the name of the person who sent you?”

  His head shook slightly, his eyes darting everywhere. “No. He just paid me a thousand dollars to snatch your bag.”

  I stared until I shoved out of Lev’s hold, dipping to pick my duffle off the floor.

  Daniil asked, “Where and when are you supposed to meet this man?”

  “Chest Lane and 43rd St. Red Buick. Fifteen minutes,” he panted.

  Daniil put his gun away. “Thank you for being truthful.” He slammed his fist down against the man’s face.

  I jerked back, and Lev kept me from falling. Blood spewed from the unconscious man’s broken nose. I swallowed down the bile that rose against the back of my throat. He lay as if he were dead even as Grigori, Stash, Carl, and Daniil released him.

  I stared back and forth from the prone man to Daniil, wide-eyed, belatedly realizing my sunglasses were long gone. Probably when I had been punched. Blinking rapidly, I watched as Daniil grabbed a napkin to clean the blood off his hand while everyone began talking at once.

  Glancing at Lev, I asked, “Isn’t anyone going to call an ambulance for that guy?” Hell, if I knew where my damn purse had dropped, I would do it.

  Lev stared down at me calmly. “No.”

  I jerked out of his hold, and pushed through the men that had held my attacker down and dropped to my knees, feeling for his pulse with my free hand, my other still pressed against my cheek. I found it, breathing a sigh of relief, and then I was jerked off my knees to stand shakily on my feet. Daniil released my arms when I was steady.

  He grabbed my hand, pulling it from my face.

  I stood a little shocked for two reasons.

  One, Daniil tilted my chin, inspecting my cheek with terrifying eyes, but he was gentle.

  Two, there was a lot of fucking blood on my hand that he had pulled away.

  I was not positive what stunned me more.

  He cursed softly, turning his head and speaking in Russian to one of his bodyguards, who nodded and walked away. His brown eyes met mine and trapped me. “You may not like fighting or guns, Ms. Forter, but it just saved your life. That man was an inch away from slitting your throat; and all for a thousand dollars.” He dropped his hands from my face and squatted, grabbing one of the man’s arms and yanking his sleeve up. He pointed, and I stared at the recent track marks from an obvious drug addiction. “He would have killed you in plain view of everyone just to score his next fix.” He tossed the man’s arm aside, standing. “You should think about that the next time you question if violence is a necessary evil.” Glaring, he turned his back to me, and joined the discussion about what should be done.

  I stood in shock, staring down at the man who had almost killed me. I started shaking as I watched the blood begin to change from a steady flow to a trickle from his busted nose. This was not the first time I had been attacked in my line of work. I had once spent two weeks in a hospital from so many broken bones after I was mugged and beaten for a CD I’d had on me that contained information about a financial company cheating the I.R.S. That did not make this time any better. I was still freaked the hell out.

  Someone brushed my arm, and I yelped loudly, jumping away from the touch. Standing with my feet shoulder width apart, I rested on the balls of my feet ready to sprint away. The room went silent. As my breath rushed from my lungs, I realized the bodyguard Daniil had spoken with was who had touched me. He was holding a bag of ice in his large paw. I stared wide-eyed at the ice as he lifted it higher.

  He spoke with a heavier accent than Kirill. “This is for you, Ms. Forter. For your cheek.”

  I blinked, and then giggled, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop it. I breathed deeply, and from behind my hand, I murmured, “Please don’t sneak up on me like that again.”

  “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he stated softly, extending his hand.

  I realized he was Ugly Duckling.

  He was not any better looking while I was sober. But he seemed sweet.

  I lowered my hand and took the ice, smiling kindly, even though the movement made my cheek hurt like hell. “No harm, no foul.”

  His lips curled the tiniest bit, and it was even more dreadful and frightening, but I widened my smile because I did not think the man smiled very often. I did not want to scare him away from it. Everyone needed to smile once in a while. It was good for the soul.

  I lifted the bag of ice to my cheek and flinched, but I kept it there. Slowly, I realized the room was still quiet. I glanced over my shoulder.

  Everyone was staring mutely and wearing the oddest expressions.

  Chloe’s mouth was gaping, and she pointed at the guard behind me. “Is he the guy you slept with last night? It would make sense for the Russian hickie you’ve got.” She stared over my head. “I’ve never seen him smile before.”

  My eyes practically bulged wide, even as everyone’s jaws went slack while they stared over my head at Ugly Duckling. Well, except
for Zane and Daniil. They were staring at him, but with hooded gazes. I could not read their expressions.

  A deep chuckle sounded behind me. “She and I have not slept together. Although, I would not be opposed to it if she wished it so.”

  I had the good sense to hood my own gaze, and shut my mouth before anyone glanced in my direction. This situation was just a smidge too crazy for me. They were glancing back and forth between the two of us; Zane was choking again, and Daniil was staring at his bodyguard with a hand over his mouth while he rested his elbow on an arm crossed over his chest.

  I pointed at the man prone on the ground. “I think we have more important things to worry about than who I slept with last night and who my next partner is going to be. Is he still alive?” Everyone blinked a few times, and I kept my gaze firmly away from Daniil, who was still silent, and Zane, who was slowly gaining control over himself.

  Artur looked down at the man. He kicked him in the ribs. Hard. The guy groaned in his unconscious state. Artur glanced at me. “He’s alive.”

  I stared, holding the bag of ice to my cheek. He was as crazy as his dad was. I cleared my throat. “How about in the future I check his vitals?”

  Ember was watching me closely. She motioned to the guy on the ground. “Elizabeth, would you like us to take care of this quietly? We’re looking for a little fun in Key West, so we’ll do it pro-bono between events. Find out who set this up.”

  I knew what she really wanted. Pro-bono, my ass. I smiled sweetly. “Thank you, but I don’t think so. The police will be here any minute with you people pulling your guns like you did. I’ll let the authorities handle it.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  I continued to smile.

  Brent jerked his head at my bag, grabbing our attention. “What do you have in that duffle that’s so important?”

  That was easy. “A picture of a kiss. It’ll be big news and money to the papers.”

  Grigori stiffened. “Someone tried this over the kiss between Zoya and me?”

  I nodded. “Having breaking news in a world that thrives off the newest information is nothing new. It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt after getting the story first. It’s just a hazard of my job. I normally scope out the competing press that’s in attendance when I’m on assignment, but I haven’t had the time to do it yet. I don’t know who the diehards are compared to the diehard crazies.”

  “Sloppy. Your research should have been your first priority,” Daniil reprimanded coolly.

  I did not look at him but I nodded. Because yes, I should have. Instead, I had gotten wasted and had sex with the Russian mafia boss man.

  My priorities had been a little off their mark.

  “Ember was correct. We’ll do this pro-bono for you,” Stash murmured calmly, his smile creepy on his pretty face. “It could be fun.”

  “There’s plenty of water to be had around here. He could be seeing the bottom of the ocean within the hour,” Kirill stated evenly. “You wouldn’t have to worry about him again.”

  I tried not to gape. They were all fucking loony.

  In the silence of the restaurant, they waited patiently for my answer, as if I was seriously going to say yes. The lyrics to “Amazing Grace” by Judy Collins started blaring. I jumped, banging the ice harder against my cheek as everyone peered to the right.

  “What the fuck is that?” Roman asked.

  I cleared my throat and started moving toward the sound. “It’s my dad calling.” He had set the ringtone himself, seeming amused that he knew how to do it.

  Zane started choking again.

  I finally found my purse under the table after my dad called a second time. I was still on my knees when I answered, “Hello?”

  Dad spoke quickly, “Finally! Look, your mother and I need to speak…”

  “Dad, I’m a little busy right now,” I interrupted. I could finally hear the sirens as the police made their way here. “Can I call you back?”

  He was quiet for a moment, then asked stated gruffly, “You sound upset. You haven’t been digging for trouble, have you?” I could hear my mother in the background fussing after he said that.

  “No, Dad. No trouble. I’m just in the middle of something.”

  “Well, call me when you’re through. Your mother and I want you to meet someone. We swear he isn’t anything like the last young man. You actually have a lot in common.”

  I leaned my forehead against the table. “Dad, I told you no more blind dates.” The sirens were almost here. “I’ll call you later. Bye.”

  “Call me back.” he instructed quickly.

  I hung up, sighing as I placed my phone in my purse. I shoved my duffle and purse over my shoulder as I stood, placing the bag of ice back against my cheek. I stopped and groaned in exasperation. “What is it with you people and staring?” They were all watching me. Silently. They weren’t at all remorseful for their blatant eavesdropping.

  Ember’s shoulders shook. “What type of men does the preacher set you up with?”

  A flashback of my last date hit me. “Some are all right and some not so all right.” I blinked, coming back to myself. “We should open the doors. The cops are almost here.”

  Two days after the incident at the restaurant, I was still trying to come up with the perfect twenty-five questions for the interview with Ember. I had not had a lot of time to compile the list, thanks to the investigation at the restaurant, the cops nabbing a new rookie reporter from the Red Buick, me pressing charges against him and the druggie, getting two stitches next to my temple, and still having to cover the charity events.

  The word ‘exhausted’ did not even begin to cover how bone weary I was.

  Now I was at yet another party. Instead of dancing and drinks, Mrs. Donovan had been creative, and made three mini-obstacle courses on the first three holes of the golf course here at the resort that were open to everyone. It was a hit because many of the donators acted like they had an itch to get physical after watching all the fights; however, I was not too thrilled. My editor had chewed me out when I had told him I was not interested in joining…now I was.

  But, honestly, I probably would have anyway. There were all kinds of gossip and news worthy information zinging by my ears, making me grateful that I had a great memory since I could not fit a recorder anywhere on my tank top and shorts. Only the memory card from my camera was cut into the fabric of the underside of my bra, since I did not dare leave it anywhere unattended. I had done my best to cover the hickie with make-up, but half of my face was a shade of pea green so the added color to my neck was not such a big deal.

  I waited with the masses to find out who would be teamed up with whom. The competitors were mixed with the donators and press, and there would be ten teams of ten. ‘Awards’ were going to be given out to the first, second, and third place teams of this event. I was a little hopeful that I would be put on a team that did place, because more than likely whatever was in those award bags I could sell and have enough rent for three months. Or even a few new pairs of shoes and handbags. Either way, I wanted one.

  From a huge cowboy hat, Mrs. Donovan started pulling slips of paper on which the contestants had written their names. The people that were not joining the festivities drank and mingled on the sidelines. I fingered the tiny bandage that covered my stitches as she read names off. I had taken some ibuprofen. It did not currently hurt, but it was starting to itch, the healing process annoying.

  A third of the way through the name-calling, I heard her say mine over the portable mike and speaker she was using. I made my way through the crowd, some of them taking notice of me for the first time, putting the face to the name. As they stared, some were hostile, those who I had done unflattering stories on it the past and some were respectful; those individuals knowing it was hard work being a reporter.

  Bluntly, I was not loved by all or hated by all. It was hit or miss.

  I exited through the front of the masses, and waved at Mrs. Donovan, showing her
I was here. Her stare was stony, one of my haters, and nodded to the right. I smiled amiably, and strolled to stand next to three individuals that were starting the third team of which I was now a part of. I almost grinned, seeing a bag in my hand when I saw that Stash was one of the three. I had learned today during his lone obstacle course that he was one fast son-a-bitch. I did not recognize the other two. They looked like donators, since they weren’t wearing a competitor’s shirt.

  I damn near knew we were going to win when Ember’s name was called next; she had almost beaten Stash’s time today. I did not hear the next name called. But when he came out of the line, I was immediately on guard. Ben Summers walked toward my group, staring directly at me. He was one of my haters. I had done a piece on him that had gotten him thrown out of the big leagues. He was a baseball player – at least, formerly – that I had exposed to doing steroids. Repeatedly.

  He most definitely had a grudge against me when he walked past me, slamming his shoulder against my body. Grunting, I fell hard on my ass, barely moving my hand before he stepped on it. I rolled, maneuvering out his way before he decided to accidently hit me again. I jumped to my feet, rubbed my ass, and moved closer to Stash and Ember. We had not exactly become friends, but they did not hate me like Ben did. They had also saved my ass once this week.

  “Friend of yours?” Ember asked quietly.

  “Something like that,” I muttered, pulling grass off my shorts.

  Stash grinned. “You make friends easily, don’t you?”

  I shrugged, flicking another piece of grass. “Territory of the job.”

  Ember cocked her head. “Why do you do it if everyone hates you?”

  “People deserve to know the truth. If their hero is a drug user,” I jerked my head Ben’s way, “then they should know, and pick a new hero.”

  Stash chuckled, shaking his head. “A truth seeker.”

  “Any reporter, who’s worth their grain in salt, is a truth seeker. That’s where the good stories lead you, since the best stories come from the biggest lies,” I explained, listening for the next name. I really did have a lot of haters out there. Ben was not the worst.