by Bethany-Kris
She didn’t understand why Masha chose now to talk about Dima, and the marriage. Today of all days, when her heart had already taken a hit, and she still had tears in her eyes. It felt a little cruel.
Unnecessary, even.
“It doesn’t matter whether it was your free choice or not. The promise was made, and that means Dima is going to come after what he’s owed. He’s been raised in a world that’s told him it’s his right, Karine.”
Shaking her head, she refused to listen to anything else Masha said. Dima was a topic best left under lock and key—no one would force Karine to even think about that man if she didn’t want to.
“Are you even listening—do you understand?”
That condescension in Masha’s tone was where Karine drew the line.
“What is your problem?” she snapped at Masha.
“I feel like someone needs to remind you of reality. You won’t be able to lock yourself away in a room to play house with another man forever, Karine.”
“Stop it. That’s enough.”
Masha sighed, slapping her hands to her jean-clad thighs when Karine stood, turned, and rushed up the steps back into the lodge. Today would be another one of those days—one where she did nothing but lie in bed for the rest of the day—and she wasn’t going to feel guilty about it, either.
But before she could slip through the front door, Claire came running out with a phone pressed to her ear.
“Has he left? Has Roman left already?” she asked.
The panic in her voice froze Karine to the porch. Her throat went dry because she could see it in Claire’s eyes, too. That fear.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
Claire was too busy trying to pay attention to whatever was being said on the phone to see that her panic had triggered something in Karine that she couldn’t control. The rational side of her didn’t even have a chance.
“Maybe I can get one of the bulls to follow him?” Claire asked.
For the first time, Karine was viscerally cognizant of an alter coming to awareness. She felt the way Katina slipped into her skin, blinked and suddenly looked through different eyes. It was so fast, but still, she heard herself ask, “Is Roman in trouble? Is he going to be okay?”
It took more effort than Karine could stand to fight back Katina from speaking—being. She knew what it was that triggered it—the heady, taunting taste of anger and fear.
Katina’s favorite.
Claire held up a finger, and Karine choked at the sudden, loud ringing in her ears. She could already see the trail of destruction Katina was capable of—wanted to—leave as the metallic tang of blood swept over her tongue.
She’d bitten it.
Hard enough to bleed.
She even tried to bargain with Katina—just let me know he’s okay first. I need to know. The repeated mantra did little but distract Karine from Claire’s fast words to the man on the other end of the phone call.
“Yeah it’s better if he—no, he doesn’t have his phone. He said he left it in New York on purpose,” Claire said, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, and pressing her eyes closed. “But, Demyan—”
The darkness came to Karine fast. Just before everything went pitch-black, she felt Masha’s hand on her arm and heard Claire calling her name.
After that, there was nothing.
Nothing but Katina.
Her voice, a sweeping echo.
You shouldn’t have trusted him, Karine. You shouldn’t have trusted anybody.
NINETEEN
Roman rolled through the four-way, driving with an arm hanging out of the window in the dark, a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He squinted his eyes when the smoke rose up in front of his face, a split second when his attention wasn’t one hundred percent on the road.
Or his gaze, anyway.
His mind was another matter.
Instead of Karine, who always took up all his headspace, but especially when the world was quiet, the person he currently thought of, was Masha.
Rather, the words she said to him earlier. Words she said partly in fear, he knew, and because of the unknown. He didn’t doubt they were still words of truth, though.
He might have been angrier with her stupid need to take a stand, if he didn’t think Masha was right. She wasn’t entirely wrong in saying that Karine was in a different kind of prison now. Just because she liked her new prison and was happy there—well, that didn’t really change what it was.
It wasn’t like Roman wanted to hide her away in Vermont forever. She deserved normalcy in her life.
He wondered what pushed Masha to the edge when she—knowing her place, risking punishment—chose to speak out of turn. Roman wasn’t the kind of monster who would punish her for the behavior, but she didn’t know that.
That’s why he worried.
Did she know something?
Hear something?
Roman wasn’t really paying attention to the road while he drove—the vast freeway bare but for a few sparse cars with headlights they didn’t even bother to dim behind him, or speeding on by. Assholes. Shit, he was already doing twenty over the limit.
At least, he had his new apartment to look forward to.
Finally, a friend of his, connected to another captain in the bratva had procured an apartment Roman could safely hide away in. For a few months, anyway. He was exhausted moving to a different hotel every few days.
He was back to that ... no bed of my fucking own.
Marky was supposed to meet him for a drink when he finally rolled into the city, but he needed to pop over to the apartment first and grab his phone. Not to mention, the damn time.
He didn’t take the phone with him to Vermont because he wanted to disconnect from everything. There were a lot of ways he could be traced, he opted to eliminate as many as he could. It was selfish enough for him to go there in the first place. The very least he could do was lessen the trouble it might bring.
It wasn’t like he was totally disconnected from what was happening outside the bubble he’d created for Karine. The bulls were there—they all had access to phones. His mother always had a direct line to his father.
Not that he expected Demyan to be impressed by his trip, either way. Some shit never changed, right?
So far, his quick jaunt to Vermont had passed smoothly, and he was glad he got to see Karine—even if it was just for a night. What harm had he done, really, even if it was only inspired by his selfish need for him to have her hear the words that had been festering inside him.
But what good would loving her do when she also learned he still hadn’t told her the truth about her father. Maybe next time he would, so for now she could remain blissfully unaware. He, on the other hand, let the guilt gnaw away at the ice in his chest.
That shit had been melting for a while.
Apparently, he had a heart.
Perfect.
At least, it was for her.
Roman reminded himself of that as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel after chucking the cigarette out of the window. He was about to turn up the volume on the stereo touchscreen when he felt his hands lose their grip on the wheel.
All at once.
Time had never slowed for Roman—except for the moment he saw Karine in that pool—but it did right then. It didn’t feel entirely the same, but the sense of impact was still very much real.
A split-second later, his body crashed to the side, and then forward. Straight into the airbag that had already blown. His car spun out of control, metal scraping pavement as glass instantly cracked and shattered all in one go.
It had flipped.
His car rolled.
Roman was already confused.
Somewhere behind the rushing of blood in his splitting ears, a horn blared continuously,
He’d been hit.
Surreal couldn’t quite explain it, but then he lost consciousness, and it didn’t even matter.
• • •
>
Fuck.
When Roman regained any sense of awareness, the first thing he saw were his hands dragging through the glass of his blown-out windows. There was a brief moment when he actually thought he was dead, but the rapid welling of pain made sure he knew that absolutely wasn’t the case.
The high pitched ringing in his ears made him want to throw up, until he realized ... nope. That was still just his horn blaring. He could scream just from the noise alone, and the pain it caused in his left ear.
No doubt, some damage had been done there.
He hadn’t been moved, still half in, half out the wreckage that had become his driver’s door. He wasn’t sure he could move. It was nothing more than mere luck that he was even alive.
He couldn’t feel the bleeding slice on the side of his face, but the blood dripping down his chin to make a pool of red on the cracked pavement made him aware it was there. His own blood was the one warm thing he felt when it smeared his chin, but he couldn’t get his hand up to touch his face. He couldn’t even seem to sit up straight.
The piercing throb at the back of his head, threatening to split his skull open, made him think the whiplash must have given him a concussion. The echo of his childhood doctor telling his father he’s going to turn his brain to mush, Demyan, get him out of impact sports suddenly filled his mind.
He knew that pain well.
Roman blinked furiously, trying to see beyond his hands in the glass. As the seconds ticked passed, he realized the large white spot he’d been staring into was really a bright headlight shining straight at his face from only feet away.
He couldn’t keep his head steady, the wobbling of his neck and his heavy eyelids promised darkness was coming soon. Again.
That couldn’t be good.
Then, two figures appeared, cutting through the light. At first, he could just see silhouettes against the brightness while he focused on counting steady breaths. He knew he couldn’t sleep, especially if he wanted to. It was only when one of the men stepped closer that he discerned Dima’s face.
Well.
Shit.
“I hope you’re taking a good look, motherfucker.” Dima’s words came out cold, and calm. In a way Roman hadn’t heard him speak before. It only added to the surrealness of his situation, making him wonder if this was all a dream, but no. He couldn’t be that lucky. “Just thought you should know—we’re in New York, and we need to speak to your boss. It appears you’ve taken something that belongs to me, and I want it back.”
Roman let out what he hoped was a steady breath, but his chest still rattled against the metal and pavement. There was no question in Dima’s demand—he wasn’t here on belief.
So, Roman didn’t bother to lie. Not that he had the strength.
“I haven’t taken anything of yours. She doesn’t belong to you,” he replied, barely keeping back the groan forming. His ribs were in bad shape, too. Every breath made it more apparent.
“I want my fiancée back,” Dima said, the last word cutting from his mouth like spit. “Consider this your only warning—you’re lucky you even survived this one. Let’s be honest here.”
Dima stepped back, and the headlights that had been lighting up Roman’s whole line of vision were suddenly turned off. Roman peered into the darkness, but he couldn’t see where Dima went, or who the other man was that had stood silently beside him.
Just as suddenly as they’d appeared, they disappeared, too. Only the crunch of rubber told him they were pulling away, and he wasn’t quite sure what happened next.
Everything faded black again.
• • •
Dima probably didn’t expect Roman to be found quickly, but that wasn’t the case. He learned later, while the doctor paid off by his family opted to glue the cut shut on his cheek, that Demyan was expecting an attack on him after getting last minute information on Dima’s whereabouts.
Too close to home.
The bull staying at the lodge, sent by his father—through direction of his mother—came up on the accident mere minutes after it happened, and the Chicago pricks had already fucked off.
Roman might have been able to stave off the attack, or the worst of it, had he been plugged in even enough to get a phone call ahead of time. But his hubris wasn’t as kind as it could be.
Roman had been taken directly to the private clinic of one of the doctors on the Avdonin payroll. Demyan and Marky were waiting there for him, along with a handful of other men that had been nearby when the call came in.
His father was concerned, Roman could see it in his eyes—but Demyan did a good job of keeping it under the surface.
“Just listen to the doctor—stop being a shit. You need to let them finish cleaning the rest or you’ll get a goddamn infection,” Demyan said.
Roman shot his father a painful sneer as he was helped into a wheelchair. The cut on his cheek hadn’t quite stopped bleeding, so the doctor went for that first. But only to keep from making a worse mess.
Three nurses waited in the large room where Roman was taken despite his protests. This was nothing vodka, sleep, and some painkillers wouldn’t fix. He could clean out his wounds in a hot shower and dose them with alcohol. The screaming ring in his ears had yet to stop, and the pain in his head was at an all-time high.
Roman in pain was Roman angry.
Simple as that.
He barely contained his snappiness and frustration as the doctor fired off commands to two of the nurses before turning his questions on Roman. There wasn’t much to say.
The man wanted to know what hurt?
Shit, look at him.
It all hurt.
Demyan, Marky, and the one bull that had pulled Roman from the wreckage scattered around the room, keeping a close eye on the doctor’s proceedings. The attack had changed everything, just like that, and now nobody could be trusted. The bratva was on high alert which meant the city would feel the impact, too.
More attention.
Great.
There was too much silence in the room. The only sound was made by the doctor while he carried out his examination once he figured out Roman really wasn’t in the mood to carry any kind of decent conversation. The nurses tended to his wounds and cuts. He had to endure more stitches, and creams. Bandages, too. A lot of hands touching him. He hated the feeling of being poked and prodded, even if it was to his benefit.
Seeing his son’s growing irritation, Demyan uttered from the other side of the room, “Behave.”
Christ.
It felt like he was ten again when he’d popped his shoulder out of socket after a fall from his dirt bike and wouldn’t stop fidgeting long enough for the doctor to get a good grip. His father’s low bark of that order was just what was needed to still Roman long enough for the doctor to do the deed.
Painfully, of course.
That was the thing.
Roman really liked to avoid pain. Just because he could handle it, didn’t mean he could stand it. Not always.
After the doctor was done with his examination, he was given a list of instructions on how to handle the concussion. Roman nodded his head along with whatever the man said, resisting his nature to be an asshole, instead trying his best to speed up the process.
“And most importantly, you need to rest,” the doctor said to him sternly, and then looked over his shoulder at Demyan .
Who, surprise, surprise, nodded in agreement.
As if that bullshit was going to happen. Things needed to be done now. That much was clear. Karine had to be protected first. They were already running out of time if the two things Dima knew for certain was Roman’s location, and the fact he had Karine.
Roman could rest when Dima was eliminated.
The doctor and nurses shuffled out of the room eventually, prompting Roman to stand from the wheelchair immediately. At least he was able to do that now, and he’d all but refused to get into the bed.
“You heard the doctor, son, you need to rest,” Demyan said, stepping for
ward.
Roman reached for the jacket his father held out to him. The one thing that had managed to make it out of the wreckage of his car other than him.
“I’m sure we can find somewhere for you to rest for the night if—”
Roman had been too focused on struggling through the pain of shrugging on his jacket, but those words from his father stopped him up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Rome—”
The affectionate nickname only pissed Roman off more, and he shook his head. “No. Dima is here. For Karine. We need to get her out of the lodge—hell, out of Vermont. I don’t trust her being this far away from us.”
“From you, you mean.”
God.
What did it matter?
Roman’s rage spilled through his heart, red and hot. “I’m not going to find a place to sleep tonight and hope he’s not already one mile closer to her.”
That didn’t seem to interest his father, maybe that should have been Roman’s first clue something else was more important, and he just hadn’t figured it out yet.
“But why did Dima come to you—practically alone?” Demyan asked, making Roman pause before he shoved his left arm into the jacket with a wince. “Who came with him? Where is Leonid? His father has taken over the Chicago bratva. If anyone from that organization wants to speak to me, it should be him. As far as I’m concerned, Dima is fucking nobody. Think about it, that was a bold move for him to do that here like he did. The way he did, Roman.”
He was hearing his father, sure, but he didn’t care to listen. That was the difference. Only one thing mattered to Roman, and it wasn’t Dima’s fucking games. It was Dima himself. That was the big problem here.
“So he’s feeling bold—who fucking cares? It’s only a matter of time before they find Karine in Vermont. We need to move her. Now.”
“We only have one piece of a very confusing puzzle. Don’t you think before we go making any rash decisions, we should find out more? Getting answers to some of these questions could help, Roman. Leonid could have just as easily requested to speak to me himself, and we would have at least pretended to have a civilized conversation first. It’s bullshit semantics—yes, but it’s how it’s done.”