Page 15 of Maxim

Bile churns uncomfortably in my stomach. “What kind of violent content?”

“Not sure, but there are references to women and kids.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

Something pings on Micky’s screen and he tenses. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone knows I’m searching for information on this guy. They’re tracking me.”

I’m trying not to panic about this unexpected development, but it’s hard. The last thing I want is to put Micky in danger. Or my aunt.

Micky types furiously and I watch as strings of code cascade down his screens. I’m half expecting armed men to kick down the door but after a short while, he relaxes.

“Amateurs,” he says with a smirk.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to look into this guy.” I sometimes forget my cousin doesn’t have the same perception of risk as I do. Growing up, cocooned in books and now his small basement studio apartment, he’s lived a sheltered life.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs.

My phone blips and I open up the group chat.

Jane: Drinks later?

Me: At Aunt Lucia’s. Not tonight.

There’s no sign of Amanda. The lifeguard is lasting longer than we expected. The guy must have hidden depths.

By the time I look up again, Micky is deep into a game. I move the remains of the pizza into the refrigerator, kiss his bristly cheek, and leave.

“Bye Micky,” I say.

He grunts. “I’ll carry on looking into Uriov.”

“No! It’s too dangerous.”

“Not for me. I’ll let you know what I find.”

I know from bitter experience that nothing I say will divert my cousin from his chosen path. Once he gets his teeth into something, he’s like a dog with a bone. Relentless.

Honestly, I could kick myself for my stupidity.

Judging by what just happened, digging into Anatoly Uriov is dangerous. If Micky gets into trouble because I asked him to help, I’ll never forgive myself.

Chapter eleven

Max

My workout is almost done when Sasha calls. I quickly wipe the sweat from my face and chug some water down before snatching my phone from the bench. I need a shower but it can wait. Sasha wouldn’t bother me unless it’s important.

“Yeah?”

“Someone’s been digging into Uriov.”

“State Police?” Hopefully not. While Uriov isn’t directly connected to my Bratva, there are threads between our organizations if anyone cares to search hard enough.

“No. Whoever it was managed to cut me off and disappear before I could trace their IP.”