“A honey badger who coldly and brutally crushed the kneecap of a She-lion who pissed her off?” Lock asked.
The male honey badger got on stage. He’d already chosen a song, and it began to play. But when he started to sing without even looking at the words on the screen, Blayne didn’t know if she should be charmed or completely and utterly freaked the fuck out.
“‘The Piña Colada Song?’ ” Mitch asked them, flabbergasted. “Honey badgers like ‘The Piña Colada Song’?”
“No,” Gwen observed, her gaze moving over the crowd. “They love it.”
Obviously, since they’d all moved to the stage to sing along, some raising lighters in the air, others just their arms. They waved and they sang.
But when Livy got up on the stage with that badger, put her arm around his shoulders, and sang along with him, Blayne was sure about one thing . . .
“The world’s about to end!” she announced cheerfully, certain that if the Rapture was coming, she’d done enough good in her life to ensure her passage to Paradise. “Because I’m sure this is a sign of the End of Days.”
Mitch stared at Blayne for a good minute before he agreed, “It’s ‘The Piña Colada Song.’ And honey badgers. It just doesn’t seem right, does it?”
Livy sat back down beside Vic. “ ‘The Piña Colada Song’?” he asked.
“It’s a family favorite. Played at all Kowalski weddings, along with every polka song you can think of.”
Vic scratched his head, stared at Livy, until he finally asked, “Polka?”
It was enough of a shock that the karaoke machine actually had polka music on it. But it was even more startling to see Livy up on the stage with Jake and Jocelyn, singing along . . . in Polish.
Vic had thought he knew Livy . . . but he didn’t know her at all. She was, however, fascinating.
Freaky, yes. But fascinating.
“You need to make this stop.”
Vic looked up to see Novikov standing over him.
“Come on,” Vic said. “I know the Novikov name. You’re Russian like I am, and we have polka, too.”
“I’m half-Russian and half-Mongolian, but that’s not the point. Blayne likes the polka music. She now wants it at our wedding. So we can dance to it. Dance to polka. Me.”
“I’m sure your Cossack ancestors would happily dance to polka music at their weddings. You should feel honored. It’s probably a family tradition.”
“It is not a family tradition.”
Vic snorted. “It is now.”
The pair sized each other up until Novikov asked, “Why don’t I want to kill you right now?”
“Remember that song the wild dog sang a few minutes ago?”
“ ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’?”
“That’s the one. Your lion’s asleep.”
“Pardon?”
“You had a couple of drinks, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The feline part of you is out cold, numbed by the alcohol and lack of danger. I had a couple of vodka shots, so my tiger is out for the night. My grizzly, however, is up and ready to party.” Vic grinned. “Wanna dance?”
“Not with a dude.”
“See? The polar gives a rational response to my question. If the male lion in you had been awake when I asked that, we’d be tearing each other apart and destroying this quaint bar right now to sadly prove how manly we both are.”
Novikov thought on that, shrugged, and replied, “Yeah. Whatever. Is that vodka you were drinking good?”
Vic grinned. “The best. Let’s get some.”
Livy and Jake helped Vic up the stairs to the Jean-Louis Parker rental home. Blayne, who was sober, ended up driving Vic’s SUV back to the house. She and Novikov would then spend the night at the wild dog house across the street.
“He weighs a ton, Livy,” Jake complained.
“Put your back into it. We’re almost there.”
“Move,” Novikov said, pushing Livy and Jake away.
“Hello, my hybrid brother!” Vic crowed.
“Christ, Novikov,” Jake demanded. “How much vodka did you give him?”
“I don’t know. A bottle. Or two.” He then picked Vic up in a fireman carry, and Livy rushed up the stairs to unlock the door.
Novikov carried him to their room, dropping Vic onto the bed.
“Can you make it back to the wild dog house?” Livy asked.
“Of course,” Bo snapped. “I’m not weak like him. I’m strong. Cossack strong.”
Then Novikov walked into a wall, stumbled back, and passed out on the floor by the bed.
Livy stared down at the two snoring, drunk males. “Well . . . I’ll go tell Blayne that Novikov is staying here for the night.”
“Hey, cousin.”
“What?”
“Think we can get some signed jerseys from Novikov?”
Livy faced Jake. “Are you asking because you’ve suddenly become a hockey fan, or do you just want to sell them for some outrageous sum to very rich European shifters?”
Jake shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Sighing, Livy walked away from her cousin and went to track down Blayne.
CHAPTER 28
Livy felt someone stroke her hair, and she looked up to see a showered, shaved, and expertly dressed Vic crouching beside the bed she’d gone to sleep in the night before, when she’d left him and Novikov snoring in the other bedroom.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost eight. You going in to work?”
“Sure. Where are you going?”
“Have to go meet someone.”
“A woman?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re all dressed up.”
“There are some people you don’t meet looking shabby.”
Livy snorted. “You’re meeting a Russian mobster?”
Vic blinked, his entire body tensing. “How did you know that?”
“You ask me these questions when you know I come from a family of unrepentant felons.”
He chuckled and kissed her. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Novikov’s already gone to get in his training. So don’t worry about him.”
“I wasn’t planning to worry about him,” she sighed out, snuggling into her pillow. “Be careful.”
Vic stopped in the doorway and gazed at her a moment before replying in Polish, “I will.”
That was when she realized she’d actually cautioned him in Polish. A language she reserved for talking to her family. And it was like Vic understood the significance of that slip.
Livy, however, refused to dwell on it. Refused.
Vic met Grigori Volkov in a private dining room above the Russian restaurant the mobster owned with his Pack deep in the heart of Brighton Beach.
The Volkov Pack out of Moscow had a rich and violent history. Some American Packs referred to them as the Smiths of Eastern Europe. An insult that had started many a mauling back in the day.
The two men were sitting at a small round table dwarfed by their size, cups of coffee poured for them by a pretty She-wolf waitress.
“It’s good to see you again, Victor Barinov,” Grigori cheered. Unlike many wolves, the older male was a typically happy canine, but his cheerfulness hid a dangerous side that no one really wanted to face without body armor and an escape route. “It has been long time.”
“It has, Grigori. And it’s good to see you, too. I hope all is well with you and your Pack.”