“No. I used to think, how do I pay back man who saved life when he is not part of Pack or family or breed? But now . . . now I can pay you back.”

Vic was suddenly very confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Yardley is degenerate gambler.”

“You love degenerate gamblers.”

“Yes. And he owed me much money. But I sold his debt to another.”

Vic leaned back in his chair. “You sold his debt? After you broke his legs or arms or something?”

“No.” Grigori leaned in, lowered his voice. “I would have not sold his debt because I like people who owe me to pay me back themselves. But I did it anyway. What does that tell you, Victor Barinov?”

“That Stalin himself came back from the dead and paid Yardley’s debt? That’s the only reason I can think of that might prompt you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

Grigori looked off. “Zombies do terrify me, but no.” He looked back at Vic. “I admit this only to you, my friend. But there is only one man I would ever think of giving in to since the untimely death of my father.”

Vic blinked at the statement. The death of Grigori’s father had been untimely . . . because he’d been murdered in the streets of Moscow. Cut down in full view of passersby with a knife against his throat. A murder that no one had ever been tried for because the one who’d used that blade had been . . .

Vic let out a breath. “Chumakov? Rostislav Chumakov? He bought Yardley’s debt from you?”

“It sickened me. To give that man anything. But you know why I did it.”

To protect his Pack. To protect his children and mate. Because all of them would have been at risk if Grigori had said no.

“You must back away from this, Victor Barinov. I tell you this as my friend. Because if he hears you look for those connected to him, even a rumor . . .”

“I can’t.”

“Victor—”

“No, no. I mean . . . I have no problem backing away. But those I’m helping—they will never back off, Grigori. They will never back away.”

“Are they foolish full-humans? Because what species or breed would not back away from Rostislav Chuma—”

“Honey badgers.”

“Oh,” Grigori said, his usually cheerful canine eyes suddenly looking very sad for Vic. “Oh, my friend . . . we would be better if this involved zombies.”

Vic walked out of the restaurant and over to his SUV. He rested against the vehicle, wondering how he was going to handle this.

And that was where he stayed for a good hour—with absolutely no ideas on what to do next.

So he did what he always did when he didn’t know what to do next.

Vic pulled his phone out of his back pocket andhit the speed dial. When he heard the voice on the other side, he sighed out gratefully.

“Papa,” he said in Russian, “I need you.”

CHAPTER 29

Livy placed the two prints side by side on the work desk at the far side of her office and stepped back. They were both prints of one of the shots she’d taken of Vic, but she’d played with each differently. Now she was trying to decide which to put in her show.

With her arms crossed over her chest and one hand pressed against her mouth, she studied the work with a critical eye now rather than a strictly artistic one. She needed to see the flaws that others would see and fix them. The problem was, she could only see Vic in these prints.

“Livy!” Blayne cheered as she charged into Livy’s office. For once, the wolfdog didn’t have on her skates, but was dressed in work pants, work boots, and a worn sweatshirt with B&G PLUMBING scrawled across the front.

“Hi, Blayne,” Livy said, her attention drawn right back to her prints. “What do you think?” she asked.

“You should go home.”

Livy blinked, studied the prints a little harder. “Are they that bad?”

“Is what that bad?”

“The prints.” Livy gestured to her work by raising her elbow.

“Oh.” Blayne looked at the prints. “Oh my God. They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Is that Vic?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he naked?”

“Mostly.”

“Yowza.”

Livy couldn’t help but nod. “I know, right?” She turned to Blayne. “Wait. If it’s not the pics, why should I go home?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah. That She-lion from last night?”

“She-lion?”

“The one whose knee you crushed?” Livy shrugged. “At derby last night?” Livy continued to stare. “You were thrown out of the bout early because of it?” Livy stared some more. “Then you went skates-up with Vic in the team locker room?”

“Oh yeah. What about her?”

Blayne scratched her head and said, “Yeah, her Pride’s here and looking for you. They want you to handle her medical bills because she had to have surgery on her knee to fix it correctly. I know you won’t do that because . . . well, you’re you. So Cella wants you to go away while she handles them.”

“Why?” she asked. “I can tell them to suck up their own goddamn bills myself.”

“No!” Blayne cleared her throat. “I mean . . . that’s not necessary. Cella will handle it for us.”

Livy smirked. “You afraid I’ll do something bad, Blayne?”