Having had the night to think about it, Ivy was stuck on one thing: taking over the empire. That’s what it came down to. Maurice wanted Dax to take over when he passed away. Brad would be the sophisticated front while Dax headed up the dirty work division.
Last night, her first instinct had been to tell Dax no and demand that they go home, but they’d argued enough in the last few days. When he did eventually come back to bed after beating up his punching bag, he hadn’t woken her, and by the time she was out of her morning shower he’d already left to go for a run. He’d come back for a shower, and she’d made breakfast, but conversation had been stunted. Despite all of his working out, she could tell that he was still torn about their future.
Now Dax was out again, this time to pick up lunch. Takeout was his way of contributing to meals, he could cook steak and mix a mouth-watering salsa, but that was as far as his talents went when it came to cookery.
Standing in the bedroom closet she scrutinised the space, which was filled with Dax’s clothes and possessions. The whole apartment was full of his things while all she had were the items she’d thrown together back east.
Dax had made something of himself, he had money, and a way to support himself. He could be cast out, penniless, and he would still be able to earn a living through his fighting, and now he’d been offered a chance at owning part of a multi-million dollar criminal empire.
She’d made their bed with fresh sheets and then moved into the closet. Ignoring Dax’s things, she sought out a sports bag because she needed luggage that would be smaller than the suitcase they’d brought on their trip here.
The bag that she located she recognised as the one they’d had in Vegas when they got married. Taking the bag out, she laid it on the bed, and unzipped it to check that it was empty. Inside she found only one thing: a pile of zip ties bound by an elastic band.
Removing them, she thought of their wedding night, which was the night she’d found this same item in this bag. Fingering the plastic, she was reminded of the night she tried to escape from the beach house on the first night that Dax had introduced her to these restraints. Now she would never consider sneaking out of her husband’s bed in an attempt to escape from him.
Tossing them aside, she put her hands in the bag again, this time to push out the sides and give the bag its shape back. Then she went into the closet to retrieve some of her folded clothes from a shelf. She carried them to the bedroom and put them in the bag.
She was back in the closet picking her underwear out of Dax’s top drawer when the front door opened. Digging out the last of her lacies, she grabbed a pair of Dax’s socks, and closed the drawer with her elbow.
Quickly dropping the apparel into the bag on the bed, she hurried through to the kitchen intent on talking to Dax about her trip during lunch. But when she got there, it wasn’t her husband plating up lunch that she focused on, it was the giant standing at his side.
‘Ivy,’ Dax said. ‘You remember Serg?’
Her forced smile couldn’t be confused for genuine, but Dax carried on pulling containers from the brown bag he had on the kitchen counter behind the hutch that concealed the specifics of what he was doing.
Serg rose from the stool on the living room side of the hutch and came toward her with a hand out, but Ivy took a step back. ‘Don’t come over here,’ she said and Serg stopped.
Dax looked up at her, then cast his eyes to Serg and brought them back to her. ‘You don’t have to worry about Serg,’ Dax said.
She wasn’t worried, but she also wasn’t an idiot. The guy was nearly seven feet tall, and his ice blonde hair and narrow eyes were designed to set a person on edge. ‘Who is worried,’ she said without taking her eyes away from Serg. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Catching up,’ Dax answered for Serg and brought three plates around to the dining table.
If Ivy had superpowers, she’d be reading Dax the riot act through telepathy. To say she was pissed right now, was an understatement. This apartment was supposed to be a safe space, and as much as Serg had not done her direct harm, that didn’t mean that she trusted him.
Dax sat at the head of the table and began to tuck into his food. Serg picked up a bag from his feet, then sat in a chair next to Dax and pulled out a pile of ledgers, which he pushed over to Dax before tossing the bag aside and tucking into his lunch.
‘This is everything?’ Dax asked, Serg nodded. ‘Where’s the little green—‘
‘In the front,’ Serg said, leaning down to pull a small dark green, leather-bound book from the front pocket of the bag on the floor.
He handed it over to Dax, who pushed all of the larger books aside to focus on the little green one. Dax opened it and put it next to his plate. He read a bit and took another mouthful of food. She was still looking at Serg, who glanced up at her and their gazes locked. Dax must have felt the connection because he had been reading, but he looked up at her too.
‘Are you gonna stand there all day?’ he asked. ‘Want me to get you a knife from the kitchen? Will that make you feel safer?’ She didn’t appreciate his sarcasm, which she hoped that her glare conveyed.
‘You married a lethal weapon,’ Serg said. ‘I might be a big guy, but size doesn’t matter to Dax. I’ve seen him take down guys bigger than me.’
She trusted Dax to protect her if he had to. But he and Serg were friends and possibly future-colleagues, Dax wouldn’t be pissing off Serg any time soon.
‘What is that?’ she asked, nodding to the book that Dax’s hand was open on.
‘The unofficial operations log,’ Dax said. ‘This is where we keep track of who owes us what and how long they have to pay it.’
We. Us. She couldn’t help except to read into what Dax said. He didn’t speak of his life with the Starks in the past tense; he was in the present and very much a part of what Serg was showing him. His eyes went back to the book, and she crept around the table to where he’d put her lunch on the opposite side of the table to Serg’s.
Now that there was a person in their home whom she considered an intruder, she wasn’t in the slightest bit hungry. But her thoughts jarred, this wasn’t her home. Dax had lived here, but she had spent very little time here herself.
‘I’ll leave you men to it,’ she said, lowering her hand to pick up her plate. But Dax snatched her wrist, and she was surprised to see the anger in his eyes when he regarded her.
‘Sit down,’ he said, squeezing his grip on her wrist to bring her into the chair perpendicular to his. When she was down, he turned to Serg, but didn’t let go of her. ‘This is a fucking mess.’
‘Yeah, things have gone to shit since you’ve been gone,’ Serg said, still eating his lunch. ‘I don’t mind admitting that I’ve struggled to keep it together. We’ve lost three guys since you left.’
‘Who?’
Serg gave three names, and she forked some salad leaves into her mouth. Dax still held her wrist, pinning her arm down and rendering it useless, meaning she had to eat her lunch and drink her water with only one hand.
Not that either of the men noticed her discomfort, they kept talking while eating. Dax was interested in what Serg was saying about who owed them money. Some of the names Serg relayed peeved Dax to the point of raising his voice because apparently it was some big affront when particular guys tried to take advantage now that Dax was out of the picture.
‘Got a few places to hit this afternoon,’ Serg said. ‘Wouldn’t mind company.’
Raising her chin, she held her breath in anticipation of Dax’s response. Neither of the men paid her any attention.
Dax pushed his plate away and nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said, and her mouth dropped open. ‘I could use the exercise.’ The men rose from the table and because Dax had a hold of her, she was forced to stand up as well. ‘Take care of this mess, will you, Minx?’
When he let her go, she immediately took her turn to snatch hold of him. But when her action drew the focus of both men, her words slipped back into her throat. She couldn’t chastise Dax in front of Serg. The last thing they needed was for the Starks to think that there was tension in their relationship. Ivy wouldn’t give Mauri the satisfaction of knowing that he had the power to cause conflict.