by Tobi Doyle
“You look green,” Kendra said.
My client went to pay at the desk. “Yeah, I don’t feel good,” I admitted. My next appointment was in an hour.
“Go home. Haley can reschedule your appointments,” Kendra sprayed a cloud of hair spray on the octogenarian in her chair.
“I’ll talk to Haley.” I put my things away, grabbed my purse, and walked to the front desk. “I’m not feeling well. Will you reschedule the rest of my appointments?”
“Sure, of course. Feel better.” Haley gave me a warm smile.
“Text me if you need anything, okay?” Kendra called out.
“Okay.” I left, taking a full breath outside, free of dye and acetone, but filled with asphalt and exhaust. I fished through my purse for my keys and laughed at myself. “No car.” I said aloud and a woman stepped around me, her wary gaze seemed to assess I was moments from mental breakdown.
I wanted to explain, I’m not crazy, I’m panicking, but realized that sounded worse. I stood at the bus stop and studied the schedule, and decided to treat myself to a taxi instead.
Thirty minutes later, I stood in my driveway, looking for the exact spot the bastard stood the night he took the picture.
My bedroom sat in the back corner of the house facing the detached garage. My room had two windows, one facing the garage, one on the adjacent wall facing the back yard.
The garage also had a window facing the house. If Herndon had a telephoto lens, he could have taken the picture from inside the garage.
The garage that my father converted into his kingdom. On wet days, the stench of cigars still permeated the air. He’d played poker with his friends. He’d watched games. He’d hurt me.
Goosebumps broke out on my arms, my hands turned clammy, and the taste of copper invaded my mouth. I’d bitten my tongue.
The last time I’d entered the garage was when Elena and I needed to make room for our things and pushed his furniture together, wearing gloves and masks, as if that could protect us from the memories.
Slick cold fear gripped my chest. I heard my quick breaths, but ignored their warning. They were just memories. And if Herndon had been inside the garage, had he left evidence? Had he left something? Was that what the cops were looking for? Proof that the Bratva were paying him to not prosecute cases? I turned the knob on the side door and it rotated freely. How long had it been unlocked?
Memories of being held, threatened, touched, tumbled in my mind, trampled me with fear, and wrapped tight around my limbs making each step harder. I flipped light switch bathing my personal hell in a flickering yellow glow from old fluorescent lamps.
My father’s old reclining chair once faced the television, but now it was turned to face the window. A view directly into my bedroom.
I swallowed hard, breathed through my mouth, willed the wave of nausea down. The side table had been moved, too, and now had water rings staining the wood surface, something my father would have never allowed. The table’s barely open drawer looked like a toothless smirk taunting me. I pulled the drawer open and revealed green satin, twisted, stained.
My panties.
Black dots swirled in my vision, like a dark static screen. I couldn’t touch the panties. I wanted to hide them, destroy them, burn them. Pretend Herndon hadn’t broken into my home, and stolen my panties.
He’d been in my room.
I pinched the edge of the fabric and pulled. Something fell from them, clattered inside the wooden drawer. The flash drive winked silver in the flickering fluorescents. More images of me?
I picked up the flash drive with my other hand and stepped back, not turning, afraid the ghost of my father would appear or Herndon was still here, hiding.
I flew outside and sucked in a deep breath. Bent over, my hands on my knees, flash drive clutched in one, my panties pinched in the other.
Evidence.
Evidence of what? That Herndon was in my garage. That he stalked me. Or that I had sick and twisted sexual fantasies and Herndon indulged in them with me. I knew which way the police would paint it.
Was Herndon coming back?
I needed to know.
Now.
Chapter Seventeen
How soon can we get married?
I stared at Adrianna’s text. Something was very wrong. Last night she’d been exhausted. This morning, troubled.
I called Finowitz from my office phone.
“How soon can we get married?” I asked when the phone connected.
“Today. I have a notary public that can be here in ten minutes, fill out a confidential marriage license and perform the ceremony.”
“Why confidential?”
“Otherwise you have to go to the county court house. When do you want to get married and where?”
“I’ll let you know.” I hung up.
I texted Adrianna: We can get married today. Your choice where and when. Are you okay?
Adrianna responded: 6 @my house. Can Elena and I stay at your place tonight?
What the fuck was going on? I called her. “You’re concerning me. Of course, you can both stay. What’s going on?”
“Not on the phone. It’s okay.” Her words were stilted, like she had to force the words out. “I’m fine. I’ll see you tonight.”
I stood and paced in front of my desk. “Where are you?”
“I’m at home, packing.”
“I’m coming over.”
“No.” Her staccato answer stopped me.
I growled, needing immediate answers and to help her. “Adrianna—“
“Please, trust me. Tonight, okay? I’ll see you at six.” She hesitated between words. The last statement almost a question making her sound scared and defeated.
“I’ll be there. I trust you. Are you sure I can’t do anything right now?” Her refusal of my help was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, making me irritated and impotent.
“No.”
This woman! Would she ever let me help? “Do you need me to bring anything? Boxes, dinner?”
“Um, no. Elena and I never really unpacked. Thank you. I’m know I’m being weird, but I’ll explain it after.”
After we were married.
What the fuck happened?
“I’ll see you at six.” It felt odd, like I should say more. But we were on the phone, and she was afraid of something.
I called Finowitz with the time and her address. I picked up my laptop. I told my manager not to disturb me unless it was an emergency.
My condo looked like barren desert, sandy shades and impersonal. How would Adrianna change things? Would she add photos of her sister? Would she make this space into a home? Elena would be here. I’d never had a woman in my condo, and now two women were spending the night.
A sense of rightness eased my heart. I put clean sheets on the guest bed and added fresh towels to the bathroom. I called down to the concierge and asked for a large arrangement of flowers to be delivered.
In my room, I changed into jeans and a dress shirt and emptied out half of my drawers hoping Adrianna would stay in my room. I craved her now. Her warm soft body against mine helped me sleep dream-free, regret-free. Her smile, the way she teased me, the woman was my addiction.
I made space for her in my closet, in my bathroom, in my heart. She’d survived her childhood, she’d sacrificed for her mother, she understood my loyalty to family, and maybe she would be willing to make this a real marriage.
The flowers arrived and I centered them on the dining table. The colorful bouquet with fresh roses, peonies, and greenery soft to the touch was simple; but the colors, purples, pinks, whites, and shades of green were vibrant.
Like Adrianna.
I drove to Dima’s. Whatever had happened spooked Adrianna enough she didn’t trust her phone. Dima sat at the bar with a woman who appeared too young and polished to be a dancer. She dressed in a conservative boxy suit with red hair woven into a complicated braid. I approached and her predatory gaze made my balls shrink.
Di
ma summoned me with a raised eyebrow and chin nod. He gave his indifferent shrug to the woman. “I can’t help you. My next appointment is here.”
“Please.” She leaned forward, and placed her hand on Dima’s thigh.
“No.” His scowl slammed into her.
She flew back, as if burned. Grabbing the stool for support, she picked up her purse, raised her chin, and marched out.
Dima rolled his eyes. “My uncle’s latest victim.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Come.” He stood. “I need something for my headache and I assume you wish to speak privately?”
“Yes.” I followed him to his office. The tension in Dima’s shoulders made me wonder what his uncle was doing and how much more Dima could bear before he broke. I closed the door.
Dima sat at his desk and pulled a bottle of Excedrin from the drawer.
“Adrianna and I are getting married today,” I said.
Dima sat back, swallowing the pills and smiled. “Do you need a witness?”
I paced in front of his desk. “I don’t think so. Finowitz would have said something, and he’ll be there. Something upset Adrianna today. She left work and called me from her house wanting to get married immediately.”
“She didn’t say what?” Dima pulled a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from his bottom drawer and poured.
“No. She said she’d tell me after.” I accepted a whiskey glass.
“After?” Dima held the glass in midair.
“After we’re married.”
Dima lifted his glass. “To women.” He drained his glass. “Are you going to tell her about Herndon?”
“If she asks.” I sat in the chair in front of his desk. “There’s more. She asked to have her sister, Elena, stay at my place.”
Dima leaned forward. “She’s worried about her safety?”
“I don’t know. Should she be?”
Dima’s face flashed concern. A warning in his eyes, his lips sealed tight. He scrubbed his face. “Jesus, this girl. Fuck.” He stood, the chair sliding back and hitting the wall. He walked around the desk to face me. “My offer to hide her still holds.”
I shook my head and stood. “No.”
He frowned and leaned against his desk. He poured two more shots of whiskey. “I think my uncle had an arrangement with Herndon.” Dima sipped his whiskey this time. “Lev has been…” Dima finished the glass and put it down on the desk. He shook his head and frustration and fury poured forth with his growl. He filled his glass and tipped it back. “The gun, the drugs, I recognized them.” Don’t ask, his eyes said.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
Dima poured another whiskey for himself. He picked up the glass and walked around the desk. “Trust me.” The two uttered words were burdened, his face hidden, his mood black.
Fear prickled along my neck. I was losing my brother to his darkness. “Dima, do you want to disappear?”
He spun to face me, curiosity in his eyes. “Would you leave with me?”
I nodded. “We can start over anywhere.”
His eyes narrowed, disbelief and pain, and the darkness clouding his eyes, pinching his mouth into a scowl. “I will never get away. It will never end until I end it.”
“Then we end whatever it is, together.” I held up my glass and tossed the burning amber liquid back.
He nodded, hearing my promise, but not calling me on it. “Call me when she tells you why she needed to marry you today.” He pulled two burner phones from his desk and wrote down a number. “Use this number and this phone.”
I slipped the phone and paper into my pocket. “I will. Did you find out about the cop, Thompson? Or Detective Morris?”
He gave me a curt nod. “Lev has a hard-on for your girl. He wants her. I don’t know why. Things have been…” He closed his eyes and shook them. “Lev doesn’t trust me. I don’t know how long until he sends Grigori to kill me.”
I stood, pushing my chair back. “Why are we still here?” I knew he’d been concerned, but he’d hidden too much from me.
“Because whatever he’s done or is planning is bad.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. He focused his bloodshot eyes at the bottle. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I’d refused my orders that day at Beslan?” His voice pulled tight, like stretched taut from hundreds of regrets.
“They would have shot you and made someone else follow the orders,” I said, believing each word.
He nodded. “If I could do it again, would you and Vanya have helped me kill the sergeants?” Dark eyes bored into me, searching my soul for the truth.
“Yes. And we would have faced the firing squads together. And we would have less regret.” My heart weighed heavy in my chest. “I will follow you into any battle. What do you want me to do?”
He slumped back in his chair and his finger traced his scar. “I don’t know yet. I think Adrianna has or knows something that Lev wants.” He poured himself another whiskey. “The girl, from outside.” He glanced up at me, making sure I followed his new line of thought–the woman in the suit that he couldn’t help.
I nodded.
“Her sister disappeared for two weeks. The police called her to identify the body yesterday.” He raised his glass and studied the liquid. His face flinched. “She was on scholarship at the University. Twenty. Studying to be nurse.” He sipped and stared at me over the glass. “She was also covered in track marks and whipped and flogged and raped. Repeatedly.” He finished his glass and set it on the desk. “I can’t leave with Lev in charge,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to do this alone.” I picked up his bottle and screwed the lid back on. “This will not help you.” I shook the bottle.
Dima smiled, his scar puckered into a wicked dimple. “No. And tonight I will think of nicer things. You deserve happiness, Alyosha. I hope she shares that with you.” He lowered his eyes. “You going to take a honeymoon?” His tone a mixture of amusement and mischief, like the previous conversation had never happened.
I played along. “She was upset on the phone. I’m going to do whatever she wants.”
Dima smiled. “You already sound like an old married man.”
I didn’t deny it.
Chapter Eighteen
I arrived at Adrianna’s house early, pulling into her driveway at five thirty in my pickup truck. I’d tucked my grandparents’ wedding bands in my pocket. I wanted their blessing for my marriage. If they had met Adrianna, they would have loved her. My mother would have loved her. Misha would have a sister to respect and cherish.
Adrianna opened her front door and rolled out a suitcase. She’d piled her hair on her head and wore jeans that hugged her curves. She looked up and down the street, her face a mask of determination.
Elena emerged behind her lugging a large box, dressed in a hoodie and leggings. I grabbed the box from Elena.
“Thanks, Thor.”
“Thor?” I placed Elena’s box in the truck bed and grabbed Adrianna’s suitcase.
“Adri pointed out the resemblance, and you are kind of super-hero-y.”
Adrianna made a choked noise, which caused Elena’s smile to brighten.
Feeling Thor-like, I yanked the suitcase handle, but it barely budged. “Woman, did you pack weights?”
“Told you,” Elena said in a sing-song voice.
“Shut it,” Adrianna snapped. She faced me, a frown making her forehead wrinkle. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with a bunch of bags.”
“No? Instead you cripple me with one.” It took two hands to heave the suitcase in the truck bed but she rewarded me with a grateful smile.
Elena returned to the house.
Adrianna held my hand. She rolled up on her toes and kissed my cheek, enveloping me in her lemon and vanilla scent. “Thanks for arranging everything.” Her voice was soft, hesitant.
I cupped her cheek, leaned my forehead against hers. “Anytime. Finowitz will be here soon and then you will explain, yes?”
“Yes.”
<
br /> “Are you safe here, right now?”
She flinched, her eyes tightened and she blinked. “I just need to get out of here.”
I hugged her and kissed the top of her head. “Shh, I’m sorry. I promise, you will be safe with me.” We swayed back and forth, and her soft body in my arms soothed me.
She huffed, and mumbled against my shirt. “That’s a nice thought.”
Elena joined us at the truck, dropping a duffel bag in the truck bed. “Adri, you want me to pack up the fridge or just have Eric take care of it?”
We walked back to the house.
“That’s too much to ask Eric to do.” Adrianna closed the front door behind us.
Elena shot her sister a look that chilled my bones. Concern, even fear, seemed to be radiating off Elena. “Adri, you don’t have to come back. We’ll have an estate sale. We’ll sell the car, too. Everything can go, right?”
“Yeah.” Adrianna blinked rapidly and studied her feet. “Thanks.”
Elena pulled her into the kitchen, whispering in her ear. Adrianna tightened her grip, and it killed me to see Adrianna broken. Whoever hurt her would feel it tenfold.
The front doorbell rang and Adrianna recoiled.
“It’s Finowitz,” I reminded her.
“I’ll get it,” Elena said.
“I’ll be right back,” Adrianna said to me.
I met Finowitz and his notary in the dining room. The man dwarfed Finowitz. Lean, long-limbed, with a face that could be anywhere between fifty to a hundred.
His spindly arm toward me. “Ed Gertz. Congratulations, Mr. Bykov.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I get anyone something to drink?” Elena asked.
“No, thank you,” Finowitz said.
“Water for me, please.” Gertz gave her a smile, revealing crooked teeth that were too white to be real.
“Thor?” Elena asked, eyebrows raised, and a hint of devil in her eyes.
“No, thank you.” I sent her a quelling glare. Finowitz did not need to hear her nickname for me.