Page 106 of Bound By Blood
If I close the office door, I could sit him on my lap and see how many more problems he could solve before losing complete control.
About to follow my desire, I’m waylaid by the vibration of my secure phone on the polished wood of the desk. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but Ash freezes beside me, pencil suspended mid-equation.
He turns to me, questioning without words whether this is the call we’ve been expecting after our trusted courier dropped off an important package with the Vartanians three days ago.
I lift the phone and put it on speaker, placing it on the desk.
“Ward speaking,” I answer.
“Mr. Ward.” The voice on the other end is smooth, cultured, with the faintest trace of an accent. “Alexei Vartanian sends his regards.”
Ash sits still beside me, his breathing measured, but his knuckles turn white as he grips his pencil.
“I trust everything arrived intact,” I say, maintaining the careful dance of professional courtesy.
“Indeed.” Paper rustles on the other end of the line. “Our technicians confirm the server contains all the data Mr. Koralev… borrowed from us.”
The pause before “borrowed” carries a reminder of why Danny’s disappearance triggered this chain of events in the first place. Ash’s jaw tightens, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief.
“Then our business is concluded,” I state rather than ask.
“For now.” The word hangs in the air, a blade suspended by the thinnest thread. “We have confirmed the integrity of the data and consider the Daniel Humphry matter closed. So long as a body never surfaces, his…associates are safe.”
Ash’s shoulders ease. Lena is safe from Vartanian scrutiny, at least for now.
“Additionally,” the man continues, smooth and measured, “so long as the Blue Note operations do not conflict with Vartanian interests, we will not have a further issue.”
Hearing the same threat as I do, Ash glares at the phone.
“The Vartanian family appreciates professional courtesy,” I respond, matching the caller’s tone. “As do I.”
“Glad to hear we understand each other, Mr. Ward.” A brief pause. “Alexei may call upon you in the future. For professional courtesy.”
The implicit threat requires no elaboration. A favor given demands a favor returned. The rules of our world distilled to their essence.
“When he calls, I’ll answer,” I reply, neither accepting nor refusing.
“Good evening, Mr. Ward.”
The line goes dead, leaving us with only the sound of the distant thrum of music from the lounge. Ash releases his grip on the pencil, flexing his fingers to restore circulation.
I expect questions. Demands for reassurance about Lena’s safety. Instead, Ash taps the phone with one finger, his focus analytical. “What does this mean for us?”
“The server was returned, but they’ll keep tabs on us,” I tell him, not softening the reality.
As Ash processes this information, his fingers tap a slow rhythm on the desk, then without another word, Ash pulls the tablet closer, waking the screen.The calculus problem reappears, complex equations waiting to be solved.
The bass from the front of the club pulses through the floor, steady and contained. Ash’s pencil moves again, confident now as he finds the correct constant, and the fingers of his free hand thread through mine with the certainty of belonging.
There will always be calls.
There will always be men like Alexei Vartanian.
But there will also be this.
Blood may be the language of our world, but it’s not the thing that binds us.
Raising Ash’s hand to my lips, I kiss my Omega’s knuckles as we look toward the future.
The End.
