Ivan 2 (Her Russian Protector #9) - Roxie Rivera Page 0,69

box of shells against Ivan’s chest. “And this.” He handed him a bulletproof vest. “It won’t do much for that giant potato head of yours.”

“I’m not shooting anyone.” He handed back the shotgun, shells, and vest. “And neither are you.”

“I’m not?” Kostya seemed surprised to hear that. “Isn’t what why I’m here?”

“We are not going to shoot up Nikolai’s rivals while his wife is in labor with their first son,” Ivan decreed. “We’re going to talk to Mueller in the way he understands best.”

“Money?” Kostya asked with a scowl. Like a petulant child, he threw the weapons and vests back in the trunk. “Do you know how long it’s been since I did any work?”

“Not long enough,” Ivan remarked, noticing the way Kostya favored one leg over the other. “You need rehab.”

Kostya sighed and rubbed his face in both hands. “Not you, too.”

“What?”

“Holly. All day. She’s demanding I go to rehab.”

He watched the stiff way Kostya moved and said, “If you fuck like you walk, I can see why.”

Kostya slapped him on the back of the head. “Fuck you.”

“I doubt you can move your hips enough to even get it in,” Ivan needled.

“You know, for someone who needs my help, you are a serious asshole.”

Ivan grabbed Kostya’s shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Stop being a stubborn dickhead and go to physical therapy.”

Kostya shrugged off his hand and slammed the trunk of his car closed. “Being a stubborn dickhead is all I’ve got left.”

Ivan didn’t doubt that at all. Holly had to love Kostya as much as Erin loved him to put up with him when he was like this. Falling into step behind him, Ivan surveyed the windowless building. It looked like every other storage facility and distribution center along the channel. Most were filled with cargo that came from the nearby port. Furniture, electronics, vehicles, clothing—if it came across the ocean on a ship, it ended up in warehouses along the bays and bayous.

“How many men are here?” Ivan had a feeling they were about to be vastly outnumbered.

“Not that many,” Kostya answered and reached back to adjust the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He lifted his leather jacket to cover it. “But enough to kill us if they want.”

“Let’s hope they don’t,” Ivan groused as Kostya jerked open the door and entered the brightly lit building.

Ivan let his eyes adjust from the dusky darkness outside to the bright fluorescent light overhead. Kostya paused, letting him take the lead. He walked deeper into the warehouse, surprised by how empty it looked inside. Only a quarter of the space was filled with pallets and containers. There was no way this place was making any money at all. It had to be a front.

“Ivan!” Mueller greeted with a sickening smile. “So good of you to come! I wasn’t sure you would accept the invitation.”

Someday, he swore silently, I’m going to knock that smile right off Mueller’s stupid fucking face.

“I would have come sooner if you had sent an invitation directly to me.” He stopped a few feet in front of Mueller. “Where is my sister-in-law?”

Mueller whistled, and two men brought her out of a room on the right side of the building. Her face was swollen, and her nose looked broken. Seething, Ivan snarled at Mueller, “Who the fuck hit her?”

“Not me,” Mueller assured him, his hands raised to show he was innocent. “I told him to take her without causing any injury, but he doesn’t listen very well.”

“He?”

“Kavanaugh, of course,” Mueller said and indicated the man holding her by the right arm. “He’s very fond of putting his hands on your sister-in-law.”

Ivan’s nostrils flared at the disgusting remark. “I hope he’s enjoyed using those hands. When I'm done with him, he won’t even be able to scratch his ass.”

Mueller laughed. “You know, Kav, I think he’s actually serious.”

Kavanaugh, stupid as he was, grinned. “He can try.”

“I won’t be trying anything,” Ivan promised, staring down Kavanaugh until he dropped his gaze like the soft little punk he was. Turning his attention to Mueller, he demanded, “What the hell do you want?”

“Well, what I really want, I can’t have,” Mueller replied cryptically. “I mean, I could have it, but I don’t think my wife would appreciate that dalliance any more than you would.”

As Mueller’s meaning sunk in, Ivan’s hands curled to fists at his side, but he kept his temper in check. Knocking his teeth down his throat wasn’t going to solve anything. At least, not tonight.

“The