by Nicole Fox
“Ti durak!” I groan in Russian. Shut the fuck up.
The boy almost drops one of my bottles of whiskey while he tries to run it under the scanner.
But my anger is directed at Aracelia right now. She’s standing behind me with a bunch of bananas in her arms. Cradling it like a fucking baby.
“You know where I live if you change your mind about dinner,” she says. As though we’d been having a perfectly civil conversation.
Then she pivots around and moves to the empty check-out counter next to the one I’m at.
I turn my attention back to the pimply boy in front of me.
“Didn’t I tell you to hurry the fuck up?”
He actually lets out a little whimper that reminds me of the mutt up in my cabin right now.
But before I can threaten his life, a tall woman emerges out of thin air. Clearly, she’s been watching the entire exchange.
She’s wearing a white shirt whose top two buttons have been opened out just enough to display the impressive cleavage she’s toting around. Her hair is dark and so are her eyes. She’s just the kind of woman I used to gravitate to back when I was still a fool who thought chasing pussy was a worthy use of my time.
“Let me handle this, Jorge,” she says smoothly. “Sorry about him, señor. He’s new.”
I just growl.
She looks at me through dark, interested eyes.
I know immediately why she’s taken over at all. This bitch is sniffing around for cock. Some women are just self-destructive like that.
“I can offer you a discount,” she says, ringing up the alcohol with impressive speed. “For the wait.”
“Fine.”
“If you’re in a hurry, you can give me your address and I’ll drive everything over in an hour when I’m done with my shift.”
Fuck, she’s bold. And it should have been sexy as fuck. But my cock has barely twitched.
“Is that part of the job description?” I ask.
“No,” she replies, meeting my gaze and offering me a seductive smile. “But I like to go the extra mile for customers I like.”
“You don’t like me,” I sigh. “Your pussy is wet for me. There’s a difference.”
She blinks at me for a moment in stunned horror.
I nod, satisfied with how that went. “Keep the change,” I tell her as I hand over a wad of pesos.
Aracelia is standing by my car when I re-emerge into the parking lot. She stares at me as I load the groceries into the back seat and send the emptied cart flying into the curb with a shove.
“Move,” I bark. She’s blocking the driver’s seat.
“Artem, I’m worried—”
My hand whips out instinctively. Finds that throat I fantasized about snapping.
I squeeze hard. Maybe too hard.
Aracelia tries not to make a noise, but I can see the fear in her eyes. She drops the two bags of goods she was holding. One of the bananas tumbles out onto the dirty asphalt.
I pull her towards me, real fucking close, and look her right in the eye when I speak.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Aracelia. I won’t tell you again.”
Then I let my hand drop.
Aracelia is silent. Her eyes glaze over for a moment. Finally, he says, “Esme was right to leave you.”
Then she steps aside. I get in my truck and pull out. As I drive past, she’s standing there on the curb.
Watching me with those huge, unblinking eyes.
I feel nothing. Just an empty hollowness that sucks away my capacity for compassion, for regret, for doubt.
It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.
I drive up to the cabin fast. The wind in my hair, the sound of the car engine roaring on the climbs… it’s good. It’s right. Action. Motion. Decision. It’s what’s been missing from the moment I first stepped into the white-tiled bathroom and found Esme cowered in the corner.
When I pull up outside the cabin, the mutt is missing.
“At least someone in this fucking town can take a hint,” I grumble.
I swing open the car door and drop down to the ground.
The moment I’m out of the Jeep, however, something feels off.
I can’t see anything obvious. It’s just a feeling, warning me that someone has been here.
Someone has been fucking around in my space.
I grab the gun I brought with me and walk straight into the cabin. I kick the door open and walk in, but whoever was here has left some time ago.
One thing’s for certain: someone’s definitely been here.
I move around the cabin, trying to sniff out what the fuckers wanted. I throw the bedroom door open and walk in.
Then I see it: my alcohol is gone. Whatever remained, that is. And the pistol I left on the kitchen counter.
Someone’s gonna die for this.
I stride right back out to the wrangler and pull out a bottle of whiskey. I open it fast and take a long swig. When I lower the bottle, sensing eyes on me, I turn my head to the side and see two large brown eyes staring dolefully at me from behind a huge, thorned bush.
The mutt.
He’s shivering. It’s clear he was here when the intruders came by.
I take another swig and put the bottle down. The loss of one gun is irritating but not a tragedy. I never keep all my weapons in one place. They’re stashed around the cabin grounds and the woods at large.
I stomp over to the shed, fuming, to retrieve a rifle tucked in the ceiling in there.
The mutt follows behind me, shivering the whole fucking time.
“You better fucking learn now,” I tell him. “If you stick around, there’s gonna be a fuck ton more of this shit.”
The dog whines a little, as though refuting the fact.
“You want a peaceful life?” I continue. “You want safety? That’s not gonna happen with me.”
The dog doesn’t move. I duck into the shed. I find the rifle I’m looking for and sigh gratefully.
Then I step back out into the cold air and cock it.
Whoever you are, you picked the wrong fucking man to fuck with.
15
Esme
My heart is beating so hard. For a few moments, it’s all I can hear.
I try and block out the sound, but there’s an internal conflict raging in my head.
I can’t help her. I’m nine months pregnant.
But she’s your friend.
I have no friends. I have only my child. And my child always comes first.
You told her who you are. You trust her.
He’s too big, too strong, too powerful, too dangerous.
You’ve handled men like him before. You’ve killed men like him before.
Exactly. And I left that life behind. I don’t want to be a murderer.
Even if the man out there deserves to be murdered?
But my baby…
Can you live with yourself if you stand here silent while Sara gets raped out there?
…
No. No, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
I open my eyes. My hands have fallen over my belly protectively. I hear Sara’s muffled scream and I know without having to look that he’s clamped his hand down over her mouth.
I look around the bathroom desperately, searching for something I can use as a weapon. There’s nothing that immediately jumps out at me, but I know I have to move fast.
I notice the ugly blue weight next to the bathroom door. Marni uses it prop the door open after she cleans the bathroom and wants some ventilation. I grab it, slightly comforted by its weight in my palm. I slip out of the bathroom without making a sound.
Noise from dining area spills down the cramped hallway even through the shut door. I can hear Eagle Tattoo’s goons laughing and throwing their weight around. The clink and clack of silverware. The low pop music that plays all day long.
I ignore it all as I tiptoe close to where Eagle Tattoo has Sara pushed up against the wall. His face is burie
d in her neck, snuffling like a wild animal.
Her skirt is pushed up around her hips, his hand wedged between her thighs. The sight turns my stomach and strengthens my resolve.
I’m scared.
But I have to do something. I have to fight.
I’m stronger than I look, you know.
I lift the weight up over my head with both hands. Sara turns and sees me over the bastard’s shoulder at the last second. Her cheeks are tearstained, her expression terrified, but hope flickers across her face.
I bring the weight down hard, as hard as I can. The edge of it cracks against the back of Eagle Tattoo’s head with a wet, nasty noise. His hands slacken at once around Sara’s wrists.
But I can’t see his face.
Have I struck a fatal blow or have I just succeeded in pissing him off?
I’m not gonna be able to fight him in my condition.
Oh, God, what have I done, little bird…?
Just as I’m contemplating my next move—run, scream, beg—he stumbles backwards and bumps into the opposite wall.
He slides to a seat, legs akimbo in front of him.
And the first trickle of blood drips down past his ear.
More comes soon. The trickle becomes a torrent. Blood, hot and sticky, marring his face like warpaint.
He looks at me in shock and fury. Still not quite processing what happened, where all his pain is coming from.
I rush to Sara, who wraps her arms around me. She’s shaking violently. Her body feels small and vulnerable against the swell of my belly.
I glance towards Eagle Tattoo, whose eyes are glazed over in shock, awareness fading in and out as he tries to cling to consciousness.
His eyes are trained on me, not Sara. It sends a chill straight through my spin. Then he loses the fight to stay awake, and his head lolls forward. Behind him on the bare concrete wall is a smear of blood.
“Oh, my God,” Sara gasps over and over again. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God…”
I steer her further down the corridor, towards the door that leads to the back alley of the restaurant.
As we stumble out into the cool night air, I feel my lungs expand to take in as much oxygen as I can. But it still doesn’t relieve me.
“I… Is he… dead?” Sara asks.
“Fuck,” I say. I’m still in disbelief at everything that just happened. “Fuck… what have I done?”
“You saved me,” Sara says, looking at me with gratitude. “You could have been seriously hurt, Em… I mean, Esme.”
I look down at my hands, expecting to see blood. But there’s none. I’m untainted by the assault. So is Sara. Physically, at least.
Of course, emotionally and mentally, we will carry the scars of this night for years to come.
I try to shake off my panic. “Are you okay?”
She looks down at her body as though she expects to see her evidence of her fear and trauma. “I… I don’t know… he… touched me…”
Her resolve breaks. She sobs, her words dissolving into something strangled and inarticulate.
I move forward and grab both her hands in mine. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s never happened to me before… I feel so—”
“Violated? Stripped bare? Emotionally raw?” I offer.
She meets my gaze as tears pool in her too-blue eyes.
Fuck, her eyes are so much like his.
“Yes,” she says emphatically. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
“I know how that is,” I tell her. “It’s happened to me. A long time ago, but I still remember.”
I can feel the trauma of that night at The Siren float to the surface, but I tamp it back down. If I give in to the emotion now, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to remove myself from its clutches.
I need to keep a clear mind. Especially now. I can break down later. When I am safe.
If I’m ever safe again.
“I have to go,” I say.
Sara squeezes my hands. “No.”
I shake my head. “I can’t stay, Sara,” I say. “I just assaulted a man. He might be dead for all we know and it’s only a matter of time before he’s discovered in that hallway.”
“I’ll tell them why you did it,” Sara says instantly. “We can call the police. I’ll tell them he tried to rape me and you were only defending me.”
I stare at her, wondering if there was ever a time when I was that naïve.
“No, Sara,” I say as gently as I can. “They’ll never believe us. It’s our word against his and no one ever believes women.”
“But—”
“Did he get inside you?” I ask bluntly.
“What?” Sara gasps. She recoils from the words.
“Did he put his penis inside you?”
She shudders. “No.”
“Then there’s no evidence of a rape,” I finish. “And even if there was, he can easily claim that it was consensual.”
“Esme—”
“There are no cameras on this side of the restaurant,” I point out. “Even if the police press charges, they’ll be dropped. Mafia guys like that have strings they can and will pull.”
“No. No. Esme, there has to be another way.”
“He could be dead, Sara,” I repeat. “It might be our word against a dead man. And not just any dead man. A mafia boss. Some kind of higher up at least. He might be the head honcho; he might be one of the under bosses. It doesn’t really matter.”
Translation: we’re fucked.
I don’t say it quite like that, but the implication still stands between us.
“What are you gonna do?” Sara asks desperately. “Where are you gonna go?”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, mostly to stave off her questions.
They’re questions I don’t have answers for.
“Go back in there,” I tell her. “Pretend like you’ve just discovered his body. You’re shaky and panicked, so that’ll work in your favor.”
“Esme,” Sara begs, squeezing my hand. “Don’t leave.”
I don’t want to leave, but I have to.
“This is your home!”
I laugh bitterly. I was a fool to think I could settle anywhere for long.
I have no home.
I grab Sara’s shoulders and force her to look at me. “Go on,” I order her. “I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Now.”
I push her back towards the door. She moves forward even as she looks back over her shoulder at me.
“Esme...” She begins as if she wants to say something. Then she trails off, at a loss for words.
I give her a reassuring smile and shoo her inside. But the moment she disappears through the door, my smile drops.
Oh God, what have I done?
I’ve blown up my life—again. And now, I don’t have the luxury of time to plan my escape.
I walk out of the alleyway, trying to maintain a calm pace, but I speed up instinctively the moment I clear the restaurant. I head down the street.
But instead of hailing a cab, I just keep walking.
The motion helps with my flustered thoughts. I’m hoping I can have a plan put together by the time I reach my apartment.
I thought I left this kind of life, these kind of worries in my rearview mirror. But somehow, it always manages to catch up with me.
And I’ve killed someone else. Another dangerous man.
He deserved it. That is my only solace.
My footsteps make sharp sounds against the sidewalk. People look at me pass as they always do. Men in cars, men walking by me. They all look at my stomach, every time.
I feel that familiar sharp shooting pain. But it’s mild and honestly, I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve had pain through my entire pregnancy. The stress has followed me from the mountains. It doesn’t seem like it’s looking to abandon me any time soon.
When I get to my apartment, I walk up the three flights of stairs, stopping to res
t on each landing, before I finally make it to my unit.
I’ve got the key in the door when I hear running footsteps. A second later, Juanita and Eva round the corner with their mother, Gabrielle, right behind them. She’s pregnant, too, with a stomach that’s almost as large as mine.
“Emily!” Gabrielle croons when she sees me.
She’s got a load of laundry attached to her hip and a thin sheen of sweat that clings to her brow. I will myself to smile back, hoping that my face won’t betray me.
“Hola, Gabby,” I greet.
The little girls, Juanita and Eva, race towards me and encircle me from either side.
“Hola, Emily,” Eva says, flashing me a huge smile that reveals her lack of front teeth.
“Hola, princesa,” I reply, tweaking her nose. “Where have you troublemakers been?”
Eva tattles on her sister immediately. “Juanita made a mess on my bedsheet,” she says. “So we went to do the laundry.”
“I didn’t make the mess—you did!” Juanita cries out.
“Chicas!” Gabby says tiredly. “Here’s the key. Please, go inside.”
“We wanna talk to Emily,” Juanita whines.
“Tomorrow,” I tell her, knowing full well there will be no tomorrow. “Do as your mother says.”
Gabby shoots me a grateful smile as both girls skip to their door. I’ve been in their apartment twice before. It’s a tiny studio. The girls share a single queen mattress with their parents. A new baby on the way will only make things harder.
“Are you okay, Emily?” Gabby asks.
“Me?”
She nods. “You looked a little worried.”
I hadn’t even realized I was being so obvious. Or maybe I wasn’t. Maybe Gabby is just that good at sussing out when something was wrong. After all, she is the mother to two young girls.
“I’m not,” I reply—a little too fast.
“Is it that baby?” she asks. “It’s past time you popped that little guy out, huh?”
She’s circling her own stomach with soft hands. I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. “Way past time,” I agree. “But apparently, he’s comfortable in here.”
Gabby gives me a little wink. “Don’t make it too comfortable for him,” she says. “You want to meet him at some point. Or her.”