by Bella King
“You wouldn’t last five minutes on the streets. You have a price on your head. Who do you think sent all those thugs after you outside the factory?”
“I knew it was you,” she blurts angrily, snatching up a pair of jeans from her bag.
“It was Boris, not me. I just organized it,” I reply, realizing how lame that sounds.
“What’s the difference?” she asks, calling me out. “You are still responsible, and those men were cruel. They wanted to do awful things to me.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” I reply. “Boris and his followers always take things too far.”
“So do you,” she grumbles as she steps into her pants.
“I haven’t done anything to hurt you, Alexia. Believe me, Boris is worse.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know that. You could be lying to me again.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Do you want to find out?”
“Not really,” she admits.
“Then, let’s go. We’re going to Vegas to get married,” I say with mock cheerfulness.
She zips up her pants and glares at me. “I’m not getting married to you.”
“I didn’t say you had a choice.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alexia
Zeno has a shrewd charm about him. He can flip from sexy to scary in an instant and then flip right back. He’s been doing this since I met him.
I never had much of a choice in anything during my time at the orphanage. The streets gave me all the freedom I ever wanted once I was out, but the cost was phenomenally high. I would’ve eagerly traded some of that freedom back for safety.
Now, I’m neither safe nor free, but I don’t feel all that bad about it. I was destined to die, and now it seems like I might have a chance at survival after all. This week has been a rollercoaster.
It feels good to know the truth. I actually like Zeno better for it. At least I don’t feel like I’m swooning over a man that I don’t know anything about. I know that Zeno is a crook, a killer, and a liar, but I feel that at least some of his kindness toward me was genuine. I just have to figure out if it was enough to avoid killing me in the end.
Zeno yanks me out of the bedroom by my bicep, sticking his gun against my back as we rush down the hallway. He wants to be seen as serious, dangerous, and potentially deadly, but I’m not buying it.
If I wanted to run, he wouldn’t shoot me. He wouldn’t have to. Boris would catch up to me and do much worse, as he said.
I believe that. Boris sounds like a nasty man who I wouldn’t want to meet again. The text messages alone remind me of the creep who used to come to the orphanage every once and a while to teach us all about the importance of obeying authority. It was weird, and although he never touched me, I heard enough rumors not to like him.
I try to forget about those days.
I wince as Zeno digs his fingers into my muscle. I get the feeling he doesn’t know how strong he is, especially when handling a delicate woman like me. I’m not one of his mafia brothers.
“You’re going to bruise my arm,” I complain, prying at his fingers once we’re in the elevator.
“Stop trying to escape,” he barks.
“I’m not,” I reply. “Get your fucking fingers out of my arm. Do you see what you’re doing?” I point to the deep indents in my bicep from his fingers.
He loosens his grip, just enough to keep me from complaining, but not enough to let me slip out of his iron grip. We’re in the elevator, anyway. Where would I go?
“I think you’re overreacting,” I tell Zeno, looking up at him as he glares at the elevator doors, waiting for them to open on the ground floor.
“I’m not,” he replies without looking at me.
“Zeno, you want this money. I want this money. Boris wants to kill us both. I think we could be on the same side,” I try to reason.
“You’re not mafia,” he says dryly.
“And you don’t have to be either,” I reply.
The elevator rolls open, an old couple standing just outside of it on the ground floor. Zeno moves the gun behind his back and further loosens his grip on my arm, smiling at the couple sweetly. Without a word to them, he pulls me out of the elevator and hurries away toward the exit.
“You can stop jabbing that gun into my ribs,” I mutter as we walk toward Zeno’s black sedan.
“It’s my insurance policy,” he replies, digging it in harder.
“Would you stop with the tough guy shit? I get it, you’re the boss, and I’m just a weak little prisoner.”
“Shut up and get in the car,” he says, throwing open the door and shoving me into the passenger’s seat.
I fall forward, tumbling onto the smooth leather. This car is considerably nicer than the last one. At least my final moments will be spent in luxury. I half expected him to throw me in the trunk instead.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Zeno says as he slides into the seat beside me. “This might not be a smooth ride all the way through.”
“Are you planning on getting into a car chase?” I ask as I sit up straight and pull the seatbelt over my chest.
He slides a cigar out of the center console and lights it. “Something like that.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” I ask. “They don’t know where we are, do they?”
He looks past me, out of the front windshield, and his pupils grow large. “That’s why I’m in a hurry,” he says, reaching down and starting the engine.
I follow his eyes to the front entrance of the gated hotel parking lot, where a line of black cars is parading in, one after another. They’re like ants, flowing into the lot in an endless line.
I swallow hard as Zeno shifts into drive.
“Hold on tight,” he mutters with his cigar clenched in his teeth before slamming his foot into the gas.
The car screams out of the parking spot, smoke from the tires billowing out behind us. Zeno swerves to the right, speeding down to the back of the lot and away from the enemy parade. If they didn’t know we were here before, they certainly do now.
“Do you believe in god?” Zeno asks, wringing the steering wheel as we speed down the narrow opening between rows of parked cars.
“No,” I reply, although I’m not sure.
“Fuck, that wasn’t the answer I was looking for,” he says, puffing furiously on his cigar.
“Do you want me to pray or something?” I ask.
“Or something,” he mutters.
I close my eyes. “Lord, if you’re out there, please keep us safe–“
My seatbelt locks against my shoulder as I jerk forward suddenly. The sound of twisting metal and bouncing tires invades the air. My eyes open to reveal that we’ve crashed through the back gate of the parking lot. Our windshield is severely cracked but not broken.
“Great job,” Zeno says, looking toward me with a goofy smile.
“I didn’t do anything,” I reply.
“Take the compliment and be thankful we didn’t get turned into a smoking heap of metal back there,” he says, chuckling, then coughing as he accidentally breathes the smoke of his cigar directly into his lungs.
“Here,” he says, handing the burning promise of cancer to me. “Enjoy the ride.”
I take it from him, placing it between my lips and tasting his mouth again. It brings back memories, good ones, of the first time that I smoked with him. I wish I could go back to when everything was fun and normal, when I didn’t know that he planned to kill me.
I hope he doesn’t still want to do that. We could work something better out.
I puff on the cigar, enjoying the harsh taste of the hot smoke on my tongue as Zeno weaves through traffic. It’s early afternoon, and the traffic is just beginning to get thick. We’ll have to get away soon, or we’ll get stuck in rush-hour.
Zeno glances up at the rearview mirror every few seconds, keeping tabs on the enemy. “They sent the whole Russian Mafia after us,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m on everyone’s bla
cklist today.”
“Maybe it’s time to start considering doing what you told me you were doing,” I say with a slightly mocking tone.
“And what is that?”
“Cleaning up your act and living a normal life,” I reply.
Zeno laughs. “I was going to retire after I got the money from you. I was going to stop all this killing and try to settle down.”
“You still can,” I say.
“I’d have to kill you,” he replies, growing serious.
I scoff. “Come on, Zeno. You don’t have to kill anyone. Why would you have to kill me to get the money?”
“What, like you’re going to willingly marry me and then share it with me? I doubt that.”
“What if I did?”
“As I said, I doubt it.”
I groan. “You know, I trusted you, even though you were acting shady. I trusted you, and now it’s your turn to trust me.”
“It doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.”
“You don’t get to call me sweetheart if you won’t trust me. Either we’re a team, or we’re not,” I say, feeling a surge of angry confidence.
Zeno isn’t my bully, nor is he my boss. He’s just a man trying to make sense of life, not so dissimilar to me. But the tables have turned, and now I’m the one with the fortune. I get to call the shots.
“What do you say?” I ask, extending a hand.
“Stop that,” he says, looking down at my hand. “You don’t get to make the decisions.”
“I’m asking for a partnership, dammit!”
He groans, glancing up at the looming threat of the enemy behind us. He grits his teeth, taking a sharp breath in before grabbing my hand and shaking it firmly. “Fine. We’re in this together.”
“Deal?” I ask, refusing to let go of his hand as he tries to put it back on the wheel.
“Deal,” he says.
I let his hand go. I don’t know if this actually counts for anything, but at least I got him to say that he’s on my side. What the hell do I need fifty-million dollars for anyway? Money like that is no fun unless it’s shared, and even if Zeno only had selfish intentions, he showed me the time of my life in the past few days. He probably doesn’t realize how much that means to me.
“As partners, you’re not allowed to tie me up again. That’s unless I want you to, of course,” I say with a wink.
Zeno sighs. “I already regret this.”
“Would you regret fifty-million dollars?” I ask.
“If it involves getting myself killed because you want to start making the rules, then yes.”
“You’re in charge of our safety. Look who’s driving in the car,” I point out.
“Just listen to me, obey me, and we might make it out of here alive.”
“Of course,” I reply. I have no intention of crossing him.
Zeno looks behind us. “I think we’re going to have to reconsider Vegas. I don’t think they’re going to stop following us,” he says.
I look back, but I don’t see anyone. “You lost them, didn’t you?”
He pushes his fingers through his hair, letting out a nervous laugh. “They’re never gone.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“What I mean is that they’re going to keep following us, even if it’s at a distance. I don’t trust that they pulled back like that. The car must have a tracking device on it,” he explains.
I groan. “What are we going to do?”
“Keep driving,” he replies solemnly. “Just keep driving until we’re far enough away to dump this thing and get a new one.”
“And I suppose you have the money for that,” I snap.
“No, but you do,” he replies with a smirk.
“I’m homeless,” I exclaim. “I don’t have shit, and I don’t believe your inheritance story either.”
“You will when you get the money, but that will take time,” he says. “Plus, I want a cut of it for protecting you. My rate is a million dollars an hour.”
I laugh. “You’re such a prick sometimes.”
His eyes twinkle as he looks at me, grinning like a total goofball. “Yeah, but you love it.”
“Love it or not, we still don’t have money for another car,” I reply.
“Not a big deal. I do actually have more money, but it’s all in a vault in Arizona,” he replies.
“I bet you’re rich already,” I say. “You know, it’s a sin to be greedy.”
“I’m not rich,” he replies. “I think there’s a little under a million in there.”
“That’s a lot,” I say, surprised that he would claim not to be rich with that much.
“It’s not a lot when you compare it to how much I would’ve had if the wedding thing went as planned. Now, all I have is a disobedient woman and a car that’s being followed by the mafia.”
“You should be thankful you have anything at all. I still plan to share,” I say.
He frowns, turning his head to me as we pull onto the highway. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks.
“I seem to remember asking you the same thing when you pretended to rescue me,” I say.
“Yes, and I was only being nice because I wanted something from you,” he replies.
“Who says I don’t want something from you?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Zeno
I never thought I’d end up striking a deal with the woman I was supposed to kill, but here I am. Alexia wants me to be her bodyguard, her protector, and her lover. In return, she’ll make sure that I never have to worry about money again.
I can’t say no.
Besides, I’ll need the money now that I’m on the run from the same mafia I swore allegiance to for the past twenty-five years. I thought that I could trust them, but after being thrown under the bus by both Vlad and Boris, I see that I’m at the end of my allegiance with them.
It’s bittersweet. On the one hand, this was my plan from the beginning. I didn’t want to work in such a treacherous organization for the rest of my days. I’m not a young man anymore, and things start to get more difficult once the years start catching up to you.
In addition to that, I didn’t join the mafia to sign my life away. I did it for money, and that desire has been granted ten-fold by Alexia’s supposed willingness to share her newfound fortune. I hope that she knows better than to lie to a mafia hitman.
The energy in the car is different than it was before, changed by the sudden betrayal, and then again by the need for unity. Alexia and I don’t know what to make of each other, but that’s how it was when we first met. One could think of this as starting fresh.
I wish I could start fresh, but she knows too much about me. Some of it is terrible, shameful, and selfish, while some of it is genuine, loving, and exciting. I wish to explore more of the latter.
Alexia’s feet land on my lap, and I look over to her. “This again?”
She nods, pouting her lips.
“You know where it leads,” I warn.
“Oh, I know exactly where it leads,” she replies, a glint of mischief in her beautiful grey eyes.
I take a moment to admire her features, the red of her hair, and the paleness of her skin before I look back to the road. Of all the women I could’ve been assigned to, I’m glad that it was Alexia. There’s a connection between us, even under the layers of distrust and hurt. That hasn’t gone anywhere.
“Do you want to know something?” Alexia asks, tilting her head to the side and wiggling her toes in my lap.
“Perhaps,” I reply. “Is it something good.”
“I would say so, yes,” she says.
“Okay, then tell me.”
She smiles. “I knew you were lying to me from the beginning, but I went along with it because I liked you. Is that crazy?”
I chuckle. “A little bit, but sometimes it’s good to be crazy.”
“As long as you’re not running around killing people,” she says.
“Hey, don’t insult
my career,” I say with mock anger.
“How many people have you killed?” she asks, as though she were asking how many scoops over sugar I wanted in my tea, or how many times I’ve been to Nevada.
I count the people in my head. I never forget a face, but there are many of them. It takes me a minute to come up with the final number.
“Eighty-three,” I say after a moment.
“What?!” She jerks her feet, hitting the steering wheel and causing us to swerve. “Sorry,” she says as I straighten the wheel. “But, eighty-three? That’s insane!”
I shrug. “It’s a job.”
“Jesus, you’re going straight to hell,” she says, shaking her head.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask with a smirk.
She laughs. “Maybe, just as long as I don’t have to kill people too. I don’t think I could.”
“You don’t have to, and if it makes you feel any better, none of those people were decent human beings. Some of them were lawyers.”
She rolls her eyes. “Tell that to Satan when you arrive at his fiery gates.”
“I’ll get to visit all the people I killed down there,” I joke.
I manage to get a smile out of Alexia, but she grows serious again a moment later. “You really were going to kill me, weren’t you?”
“I thought about it,” I reply.
“No, seriously.”
“I’m being serious. I didn’t want to, but that was how the plan was supposed to go. Boris is the one who thought it up.”
“Don’t blame this on Boris. You agreed to it,” Alexia says.
“Okay, well, I take responsibility for considering killing you.”
“You weren’t just considering it.”
“You can’t read my mind, Alexia. I didn’t want to do it, and I’m relieved now that I don’t have to,” I say, feeling a tinge of annoyance. She should know that I like her. I was protecting her from Boris the entire time.
“I want to trust you,” she says. “But, you’ve lied to me so much in the past.”
“I have nothing to gain from lying to you again, and everything to lose,” I reply, glancing down at her cute pink socks. I would be crushed if I had to give those up.