Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  She starts to kneel before me. I bring my head forward, connecting with Danushka’s nose. The force of it also sends me toppling over on top of her. My entire body is restrained, and I’m in a fucked over position. My forehead continues to slam into her face. Nose, mouth, shit, my forehead rocks against hers as I shift myself around.

  I expect her goons to come marching into the room, but there’s silence. My head slams into Danushka until her face is a bloodied pulp. When I feel like the bitch is down for the count, I stagger to my knees, pushing up awkwardly and moving toward the wall.

  “Shit,” I growl low in my throat. If I break out of this chair, the Italians that are surrounding this place will hear me . . . half of me doesn’t give a fuck. The other half wants them to come so that I can try to murder them. Once I get my body free. I slam into the wall—once, twice—the doors burst open.

  Two guns zero in on me. Moments later, the leveled silencers fall to the ground.

  “What’s happening here, brat?” Yuri says, eye twitching at the sight.

  Danushka moans.

  Mikhail puts his gun into the back of his jeans and comes toward me.

  “Did she . . .” Yuri begins.

  “Don’t,” I grit out.

  Mikhail cuts the ropes with a knife then turns away. I zip up my pants.

  “Please don’t tell me this orgy included . . .” Yuri stops speaking to gag. “Fuck, should I say Horace or your sister? I don’t understand what happened here. Maybe I’m too innocent to know.”

  “Yuri,” I growl.

  “Hey, this is enough traumatizing shit to have me eat my weight in Ben & Jerry's,” he shrugs.

  “You good?” Mikhail finally mutters. “Jesus . . .”

  “I’m good.”

  He turns around, getting a good look at the place as I go toward Danushka. I get down to her level.

  “Br-brat,” she spits up blood. “Brat, wait.”

  Voice raw, I snarl, “Why?”

  Her lips are covered in blood as she mutters, “I love you.”

  “Shit, I’ve never loved you, girl.”

  Her faux blue eyes flutter open. Licking her bloodied lips, Danushka says, “I’ve always loved you. Loved. I wanted to be you, wanted to love you.”

  I place my hands around her throat.

  “You sure you don’t want us to handle this?” Mikhail places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Because I don’t have a problem killing this bitch.” Yuri chuckles.

  “Nyet,” I growl, beginning to squeeze.

  “Your mother,” Danushka moans.

  All the muscles in me begin to cave. I have imagined this a thousand times, yet my fingers refuse to squeeze tighter around Danushka’s neck. She mentions that dumb story about my mom buying her matryoshka dolls as a child. Half my memories of my mother are tainted, the other half lead me down a dark path.

  I listen to my sister’s words. She reminds me of more than I’d ever want to know. Secrets long forgotten.

  With tears burning my eyes, my hands flex around her scrawny neck again. After Danny’s revelation, part of me wants to apologize for sending this bitch straight to hell.

  29

  Zariah

  My gaze is hard, like one who refuses to let a single teardrop. My bottom lip is racked over by my teeth, and Tyrese zeros in on that. He licks his lips, eyes me eyeing him, and looks away. So far, he’s been polite. There is no way in hell I can walk into his place and not let the cat out of the bag. That cheating cat. My husband.

  Can’t claim that the photo is doctored. Can’t play the wife who refuses to believe what her own two eyes witness. Can’t pretend the entire ordeal is nothing and hide my phone before he gets a single look in.

  Tyrese downs his drink. “Fuck,” he says underneath his breath “You’re pregnant.”

  I blink away tears.

  “Zariah, you’ve always known how to celebrate a winning case.” He holds up a vintage whiskey. “I thought we’d celebrate with this when you were ready to fully let him go, but . . . how far along are you?”

  “We’re not discussing that,” I grit out, glancing away.

  “Alright, I can’t say that I know what you’re going through.”

  “Then don’t.” I shake my glass of cranberry juice, the cushion he’s using for the drink I sorely wish I could have.

  Tyrese’s brown eyes wash over me. Those dimples know when to run and hide because his orbs are laden with sympathy. “Alright, no more chatting about the husband. I just want to remind you, Zariah, I told you about the girl who was our witness. How she should’ve been our way in, until you.”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “She got greedy and fell in love with money. The same thing happened to me. I got greedy and fell in love with the guy . . . the guy who was supposed to be my momentary reprieve after reserving all my hours for college.” I begin to mumble, realizing we’re still about to talk about my husband. “I put all my eggs in one basket, handed it to Vassili Karo Resnov.”

  He sighs for me. “You fell in love.”

  “Like that girl. Instead, I fell in love with a man instead of money. Now I’m dead too.”

  He comes out of his seat, kneels in front of me. “You’re not dead, Zariah.”

  “I’m so dead,” I murmur. Thoughts swarm through my mind. Wild ideas that align with my father’s credo. Thoughts that dictate how replaceable Vassili Resnov is. Danushka played me? Every few seconds, a belief contrary to what slapped me straight in the face, seeps into my mind. “I’m so dead, dead, dead.” Dead because if I leave him, it lifts Anatoly’s blessing. If I leave him, I leave my heart with him . . .

  “You’re worried that he’ll hurt you for leaving him? You never admitted it.” Tyrese plants himself between my legs, his breath skimming across my cheek. Damn, how did he get so close? He’s drinking. I can’t. He’s tipsy, bent on emotion. I’m pregnant, broken, and drowning in my emotions.

  “Zar, I remember when a car came up to Billingslea legal. You were scared out of your life.”

  Eyebrows zipping together, I ask, “When Noriega came?”

  “No, the fucking Russians, Zariah.” Now his fingertips skim across my cheek. “Those dirty Resnovs. Vassili thinks he owns you. They all do.”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, letting the pain lead.

  “Zariah, I can’t say I understand this separation between you and your father. You say he’s a crooked cop. I’ll still assist you with that, but let’s save that for another night. Right now,” he says, offering another reverent rub to my cheek. “I can keep you safe. You and Natasha.”

  A half-second becomes a million years as his mouth brushes against mine. Moonlight streams into the room, and I push back from him. I groan. “No, no.”

  My hand weighs down like a brick and hardly meets its mark. I stagger up from my seat and move. I’m treading through imaginary water as Tyrese is in my ear. His voice is the comfort that I wish I didn’t need as he asks me to stay.

  “No,” I growl. “This was . . . this was a mistake.”

  “No, it wasn’t, Zariah! You and Vassili—that’s the mistake. The biggest mistake you’ve ever made. Shit, I’m starting to believe the rift between you and your father has more to do with that mistake than anything else. Let me help you.”

  I cackle, finding my tote, pulling it against my body before stalking toward the door. “You said you had something to share, Mr. Nicks.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble, my hand a fraction from the doorknob before I try to turn.

  “Let me at least call you an Uber.”

  “Yeah . . .” I nod in agreement.

  “So, wait, then?”

  “In the lobby, and I can do it myself.”

  By the time I hit the lobby, I’ve got a Lyft on the way. Needing the fresh air to promote some semblance of normal, I decide to wait outside. The only valet is seated on a stool at a podium near the exit. He asks if I’d like some company. I shake my head, continuing through
the sliding glass doors. After a few minutes, a midsized SUV pulls up about ten yards out. The ultra-white lights blinding me. I click on the screen and confirm that I have a midsize SUV—dark blue. With the lights blaring in my direction, I start toward it to confirm that it’s the right color.

  Then my phone rings. The ringtone dedicated to none other than my husband.

  Wow, so now he’s calling me. My mouth is set to ask him to explain himself, I’m about to press ‘accept’ when the back-door slams open. My unanswered phone clatters onto the sidewalk as I’m tugged inside. Before I can blink, the front of my blouse is torn open, a mouth assaults my breast.

  “St-stop . . .”

  “Not so fast,” the man places his forearm against my throat. I glare into the darkness through prescription glasses. He’s got a clean-cut look about him, but filth blares through. The man moves his forearm a fraction of the way as he asks, “You know who I am?”

  “Grigor.” I tremble.

  He chuckles. “Nobody ever gets it right on the first time. You’re smarter than I pegged you for, Zariah.”

  “Wh-what do you want from me?”

  “One measly little fuck. Enough to shove it in Vassili and Danny’s face.” He presses his forearm back against my throat. “Enough to show them what it’s like to be put in second place. Oh, and you die. You obviously die after the fuck.”

  “Why?” I hardly get the word out, recalling a few tips my father taught me. Gather your surroundings while pretending to pay attention to the assailant. Stall.

  “Danny loves him. She loved me. She thinks I’ll always be there.” He fists his hair with one hand. “I’ve always been there. I worked for that bastard for her. Loved her. Loved her before she changed herself. Loved her first before anyone else loved her. Loved her!”

  I almost forget protocol as his words fly like sprays of spit into my face. “Who?”

  “Danushka! Never mind, you’re as stupid as I thought.” His legs squeeze around mine and he bites my nipple.

  Glass sprays. The window comes crashing in. My eyes zip shut at the last second. A hand zips inside, grabs his throat. Another hand is holding a silenced gun. Two tiny puffed sounds are emitted before Grigor’s body falls limp onto mine.

  The door opens. He’s thrown off of me.

  I gape at Simeon. Damn, he resembles my husband.

  My fingers are out, shaking. Simeon stares at them, placing my discarded iPhone into my hands like he isn’t sure of what else to do. His gaze slips to my breast. He groans, buttoning my blazer before I can even think to do it.

  “You good, dah?” Simeon asks.

  “No . . .”

  “I think you are.” He sniffs.

  “Nnnnn . . .”

  “You have to be okay, Mrs. Resnov. You’re breathing—you’re okay.” He holds out a hand and helps me from the back seat. Simeon escorts me to the front seat of the SUV. “Get in.”

  “Wh-why?” I stutter.

  “Dead body, stolen vehicle. You gotta be fucking with me, Mrs. Resnov, you know why.”

  I climb in.

  I expect the door to close in my face, but he removes his jacket first, places it over me then jogs around to the driver’s side. Simeon mutters to himself, reaches to the backseat, grabs the keys from Grigor’s pocket. My head turns slowly. I watch as he places his fingers into two tiny holes at the side of his cousin’s head. His fingertips are soiled in red blood. He rubs the crimson liquid around, studying it in interest.

  I stare.

  “We all have our delights, Mrs. Resnov. Because of you, I didn’t enjoy this.” He pulls away from the curb.

  “I’m sorry you had to murder your cousin for me,” I grumble.

  “You ruined the how.” Disappointment mars his gorgeous features.

  Fear prickles up my spine. So, the bastard wanted to kill his family. The apprehension is enough to break me. Instead of caving in from his hard glower, I match it. “So, we’re going to hide the body and the car?”

  “Nyet, I’ll do it. You’ll get a ride home. You aren’t in the right frame of mind to drive yourself. Or you wouldn’t have been waiting for a car at a fucking hotel, Mrs. Resnov.”

  “How did you know?” I’m doing it again. Attempting to keep him talking. This time it’s another Resnov. This time, I’m not entirely sure if I have to try to save myself—shit, I didn’t last time. “How do you—”

  “I know lots.”

  I match his glare.

  Simeon huffs. “Okay, Danushka liked to have Grigor watch. She is Anatoly’s daughter. Same story. Different gig.”

  “Where’s Vassili? Is he—”

  “He’d be fucking pissed if he knew you were out so late too.”

  I stare at Simeon. Last and first time we chatted, he had very few words for me. He’d glared at me too. Now, he’s glaring again.

  “I made a mistake . . .” I murmur.

  “Dah, worse mistake of your life.”

  He drives for over an hour. By the time we make it to a sand bed in the middle of the desert, my hands have stopped trembling. I’ve also grown content with Simeon’s silence. I wait in the car for the longest as he digs a ditch. I’ve listened to a voicemail from my husband. Vassili has apologized while explaining Danushka’s new low. I delete the voicemail and watch Simeon continue to dig. The entire process seems eerily peaceful—for him. Almost ritualistic.

  While climbing into the SUV, Simeon continues sulking about the beauty of “how” he’d planned to murder his cousin. He’s spent a good amount of time musing before I ask how he felt about Vassili—his other cousin. A phantom smile crosses his thick lips. I jokingly offer him a chance to do the deed, saying Vassili cheated.

  Simeon said, “He wouldn’t,” and that was the extent to our conversation.

  Another hour later, with the early morning giving the sky a lilac hue, Simeon pulls up in front of my father’s home.

  “This is where I leave you.” Simeon nudges his chin toward the house.

  My eyebrows pull together, and I ask, “Why didn’t you drop me off first?”

  His lips are so tense that they don’t move. “Get some rest.”

  My heart begins to drum in my ears. All sorts of questions flit through my brain. My husband hates Simeon’s guts—at least, I think. Yet, Simeon saved my life, and I guess, all I can muster is that I’ve become his alibi when it comes to Grigor’s death.

  No! I’m his accomplice. We stare at each other. Simeon’s reading me well, but I’m not reading him in the slightest. Damn, I have a feeling that this Resnov is substantially smarter than he lets on.

  “My father . . .” I start pondering the notion of telling Simeon why I met with a federal agent. If I tell him the secret that I want to forgo with my husband, well, at least until my father is behind bars, maybe he won’t be inclined to share tonight with Vassili. A married woman in a hotel room with another man is a bad combination. Hopefully, I can sway Simeon with the truth.

  Without warning, Simeon gets out. He comes around and opens the passenger door.

  My heart slams into my throat. “My father isn’t a good person. I wanted to—”

  “Go.” Simeon gives me a two-finger salute like my words mean less than shit to him.

  I groan as he backs away, then hustles to the opposite side of the SUV.

  Part of me wants to slip off my shoe and throw it at the back of his head. Yet another part of me, the one raised by my momma, urges me to tell him to keep his eyes peeled for Five-Oh since I’m not sure Vassili and my antics let up with my father. Let’s not forget, the part of me raised by Maxwell Washington. That devious side of me hopes Simeon Resnov disappears off the face of the earth.

  I have the feeling that this Resnov is brighter than he lets on. I can’t have Simeon’s misguided intelligence working against me, but I stand there in a flurry of confusion as he sits in the SUV. Teeth gritted, he points to the door. Damn, even the devil has the nerve to be so chivalrous, but for how long?

  30
>
  Vassili

  The next morning, a green slush twister spins around in my favorite blender. Simeon and Anatoly have settled down at the massive island in my kitchen. My father turns the illustrated pages of an old Russian fable about a kid with a pit bull. With a deep frown set on his face, Simeon drinks the coffee that I made him. I can’t have the bastard walking around my own house getting comfortable.

  Once my breakfast is the right consistency, I pour the contents into a large glass. Elbows on the marble ledge, I stand at the island across from their stools.

  “Danny’s dead,” I share.

  Simeon sips, Anatoly turns pages.

  “Danny’s dead, Horace too.”

  My father chuckles softly, pointing at a passage in the book and showing Simeon. My cousin grunts, which is proof that he likes what he sees.

  “How is Chak-Chak?” His dark eyes glare into mine.

  “Good, safe. I just said your daughter is dead, no need mentioning mine.”

  He smooths the orange lapel of yet another ultra-expensive clown suit. “Your daughter is my daughter, blood, moy syn.”

  “Stop calling me, my son!”

  Anatoly’s voice booms across the room, “I could call her a replacement for Danny! Chak-Chak is a fucking upgrade to all of you! All of you who have taken such liberties.”

  A replacement? An inferno scorches my skin at the thought of my last seconds with Danushka and Anatoly insinuating that Natasha replaces her. Shit, I down the green drink like it’s a fifth of vodka.

  “Kidding.” Anatoly’s teeth gleam.

  I point a stiff finger at him. “Mention my kid again, and you're dead. I don’t give a fuck if you’re blood. Simeon, you take up for him, you’re dead too. Matter of fact, where were you last night? I called the two of you as soon as I arrived at Danushka’s. After that I reached Malich! Where the fuck were you, huh?”

  A snarl of a smile flickers at the edges of Simeon’s cheeks. “You want to know where I was last night?”

  “Yes! If I hadn’t called them—I . . .” Fuck, I’d be dead—dead in a compromising position with Danushka! But I refuse to say as much.