by Nicole Fox
“I’m going to bed,” I announce. To the dog or the empty room or no one at all—I’m not entirely sure who the intended audience is.
Thump-thump-thump.
The mutt chases after me.
“No, you’re not coming,” I snap. I point back to the living room.
He doesn’t move.
Thump-thump-thump. His tail thwacking against the wooden floorboards. His tongue is lolling out now eagerly. And those eyes. Still liquid amber and hopeful.
With an angry growl, I charge back into the kitchen.
I fill a bowl with water and another with some leftover deer meat, then set both down on the floor where the mutt can get to them.
“Eat,” I instruct.
I point at the bowls.
He just stares at me.
“Eat, you fleabag.”
When he still doesn’t move, I growl and clench my fists.
“Fine!” I shout. “You don’t wanna eat? Then don’t eat! I don’t fucking care.”
I stomp into the bedroom and slam the door shut.
He watches me the whole way.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
19
Artem
The Next Evening
I’ve been running on the trail for almost three hours and I’m fucking exhausted. Sweat drips off my body despite the sunset chill. I stripped my shirt ages ago. It hangs over my shoulder, completely drenched.
The mutt won’t leave me alone.
He bounds way off in front, and then once he’s put enough distance between the two of us, he bounds right back, nipping at my heels affectionately.
“Next time you do that, I’m gonna fucking kick you.”
He gives me a look that clearly tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
Fuck, even I don’t believe a word I’m saying.
It’s my last loop of the trail for the morning. We climb the final rise and soon I can see the patchy cabin roof come into view.
A little higher and I can see that the front door is open.
That’s not right.
I’m a thousand percent sure I closed it before I left.
“Fuck,” I growl under my breath.
I circle around and retrieve a gun from the shed. Then I go back to the front and carefully, slowly mount the steps.
I crane my neck into the house to peer through the half-open door. I’m expecting Lobo to be back, seeking the vengeance he wasn’t man enough to claim yesterday.
And then I hear a sing-song voice that makes my stomach turn.
Before I can react, the mutt races through the door with his tail wagging. I sigh in disgust and follow him inside, gun dangling at my hip.
“Oh, hello!” Aracelia says, bending to pet the animal. “Where’ve you been?”
I step into the cabin and glare at her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” I demand. “I was about to shoot you.”
She shrugs. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” she replies. “Sit down. I made dinner.”
“What?” I look at her with a dumbfounded expression.
“Dinner,” she replies pointedly, setting down a pot of something that smells pretty good. “Pozole. And fresh tortillas.”
“What I want right now is a nice, cold beer.”
Aracelia rolls her eyes. “Don’t you think you drink a little too much?”
“Fuck off, Aracelia,” I say, sitting down and reaching for a bowl despite myself.
She smirks a little as I spoon a generous heaping of pozole into my bowl. The mutt whines at my feet but I shake my head.
“Don’t you fucking look at me,” I curse at him.
“Venga, perrito,” Aracelia coos. She plucks a juicy piece of pork from the broth with her skinny fingers and feeds it to the dog.
I watch the steam rise off my bowl and my stomach churns with hunger. But before I pop the first spoonful into my mouth, I glance at Aracelia as she takes the seat in front of me.
“It’s not poisoned, is it?”
“Please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but mostly to cover up the fact that I’m actually starting to like the crazy old bat. I assume she’s old at least, she’s got the kind of face that keeps you guessing.
“So—”
“Piz-dets, can I at least eat in peace?”
“No,” she replies tersely. “You need to face certain things. The denial is not helping.”
“Not this again.”
“Esme—”
“Is gone,” I finish abruptly. “She doesn’t fucking need me.”
“I didn’t say she did,” Aracelia replies calmly. “But you need her.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
“We all need someone.”
“And who do you have, eh?”
“Oso,” she replies, without hesitation.
“Who the fuck is that?” I demand. “Boyfriend?”
“My cat,” she replies. As though it’s a serious fucking answer.
I just stare at her for a moment. “Your cat?” I repeat.
She smiles. “And you.”
I shake my head at that. “No. You do not have me. I am not your fucking friend.”
“So you keep telling me. But the truth is we’re bonded now, Artem,” she tells me. “Whether you like it or not.”
“We’re bonded? What the fuck have you been smoking?”
“I saved your life,” she says with a nonchalant shrug. “That creates a bond between two people. You’re just not willing to admit it. You know, denial will only get you so far, boy.”
“Who’re you calling a boy?” I ask, glaring at her.
That word brings up bad memories. Memories of my father, the night at The Siren when everything in my life changed forever.
“A man would face the things he’s afraid of. You won’t. Por lo tanto, that means you are a boy.”
“I’m not fucking afraid of anything. Not anymore.”
“That’s because you’ve pushed away everything you care about.” She taps her forehead like she sees something I’m still too slow to get.
I don’t appreciate the gesture.
“I didn’t push anything away,” I argue. “Esme left of her own free will. Goddammit, why are we even having this conversation?”
“Esme left because she felt like she had no choice,” Aracelia retorts. “She was afraid for the baby. Have you even thought about the baby?”
“I think about the baby every single fucking second of every single fucking day,” I rasp. It hurts to say. But it’s true.
Even if this is the first time I’ve ever admitted that out loud.
“And?”
“And…” I hesitate. “Maybe Esme was right to leave. The baby deserves better.”
“Better than what?” Aracelia demands. “A father who loves him?”
“My world is no place for a baby.”
Aracelia sits back and sighs. The mutt licks her hands and she fondles him behind the ear absentmindedly. Her own bowl of pozole remains untouched.
If this old bitch really has poisoned me, I’m gonna be fucking pissed.
“Let me perform a séance for you,” she says abruptly.
“What? Fuck no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe in that kooky shit.”
“You don’t believe in it?” she asks pointedly. “Or you’re afraid of what it might bring forth?”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”
“If you don’t believe in it, then what’s the big deal?” Aracelia asks. “It won’t cost you a thing.”
I glare at her. “I don’t have the patience for that shit. I’m this close to kicking you the fuck out of here.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “Then let me tell you what I’d read off your aura so far.”
“Jesus.”
“You’re a broken man who’s searching for purpo
se in all the wrong places. You’re lost and getting revenge is not going to fix you.”
I pause for a moment. “You don’t know anything about this.”
“I know that someone close has betrayed you,” Aracelia continues. “Someone you used to trust.”
“That’s very vague,” I tell her, acting as though her awareness of the situation isn’t completely unsettling.
She ignores me. “You feel as though you’ve let your father down,” Aracelia continues. “A father you lost very recently. You had a difficult relationship with him, am I right?”
“Most people have difficult relationships with their father.”
“But you still crave his approval and you know he wouldn’t have approved of you walking away from your duties,” she says. “Which is why you chose to push Esme away in favor of… this life.” She gestures broadly to encompass the lodge, the mountain, the solitude.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Is there a point to this?” I ask impatiently.
“The point is that you don’t have to choose, Artem.”
“Esme expected me to.”
“So your solution is to abandon her and your child?”
I bring my fists down on the table so fast and so hard that the whole room seems to rattle with my rage. Even Aracelia flinches.
It’s the first time I’ve gotten a fearful reaction from the woman.
It’s oddly satisfactory.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I roar at her. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Aracelia looks up at me with wide eyes as I stand up from the table.
“It’s time you leave. Now.”
The mutt whimpers in the corner. Aracelia remains frozen in place for a moment as if contemplating something.
And then she rises.
“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll go.”
She heads for the door while the mutt watches as though his best friend is walking out on him, but he makes no move to follow her.
At the threshold, Aracelia turns around and glances at me.
“You can scare everyone away, Artem,” she tells me. “But at the end of the day, you’ll be alone. And trust me: no one—no one—can live alone forever. Certainly no one can fight alone.”
With that bullshit parting speech, she walks out, keeping her back straight and proud.
I close my eyes and sink down into my seat once more when she’s gone.
Fuck.
I hate to admit it, but the woman got to me. Her words keep rolling around in my head, getting harder and harder to ignore.
No one can live alone.
No one can fight alone.
I think about the resources I have available to fight Budimir. My forces are limited at best, and as determined as I am, I know I can’t take Budimir and his forces like that.
I have been up in these mountains for months now. It was only ever meant to be a temporary respite, and yet it has burgeoned into a far longer stint than I ever predicted.
Yes, I had to wait for my wounds to heal, but I’ve been healed for at least two months now.
I’ve been training my body hard, trying to train my mind as well.
But at what point had it gone from preparation to procrastination?
I can’t hide out in these mountains anymore.
I have to act. I have to move.
I have to take control of the Bratva once more.
And in order to do that, I need to destroy them first.
But Aracelia was right about one thing: I cannot do that alone.
I leave my bowl of pozole to cool as I grab a handgun and storm out of the cabin. The mutt follows close behind me.
For once, I don’t mind the company.
I make a beeline straight for Cillian’s memorial. The path is familiar now and well-marked by my daily visits.
I sink to my knees in the dirt and stare at the pyramid of flat white stones, with that pitiful cross of sticks on top.
The mutt starts exploring the area, sniffing around and wagging his tail with contentment.
It’s a nice evening, but I’ve lost the ability to appreciate beauty anymore.
“Brother,” I say, looking at the trees in front of me rather than the grave. “You should have been here for this. We should be going into this side by side.”
Silence greets me with brutal familiarity. Some days, I have trouble recalling that shit-eating smile of his.
“I might be a father now,” I continue. “Esme will be past nine months at this point. She’s most certainly had the baby.” I run a hand through my hair. “And I don’t even know if I have a son or a daughter.”
I can hear the anguish in my own words. Like seeing my reflection for the first time in months.
The mutt moves closer and butts my hand with his head. Without thinking, I start stroking his head.
He looks at me with shocked eyes. I realize this is the first time I’ve interacted with him in any real way.
“Aracelia is a crazy bitch. But she thinks I need to find Esme,” I muse. “Ending Budimir is more important, though. Isn’t it? If you were here, you’d know what to do.”
A wind rustles through the trees. I’d like to believe it’s a sign, but I know it’s not. It’s just wind.
There are no signs. Only fools stupid enough to look for them.
“Maybe you’d tell me to forget the Bratva and go find Esme,” I guess bitterly. “Maybe you’d tell me to take back the Bratva and then go in search of Esme.”
But I can only guess.
I remember the time he’d told me about the girl he’d left behind in Ireland.
The girl he’d sacrificed everything for.
Would he give it all up to be with her?
It kills me that I don’t have the answer.
The mutt settles down next to me and places his head on my knee. I rest my hand on his head and take a deep breath.
“It’s time to be honest with myself,” I say out loud. Like I’m testing the possibility before I commit to it.
The mutt looks up at me. I feel the truth that I’ve been hiding behind all these months. The truth I’ve pushed back behind a rigorous training regimen, bottles of whiskey, and a lot of pent-up anger.
“I have to take back the Bratva,” I announce. “And I have to find Esme.”
It feels right. Both of them.
One can’t exist without the other.
The mutt looks at me with big clear eyes. Ignorant to what is to come. Thankfully, he won’t be around for any of it.
The wind fades away and silence takes over again.
I turn my attention to the creature next to me. “I know I’ve been an asshole since the moment we met,” I tell the dog. “But thanks for sticking around anyway.”
Fuck, I’m actually gonna miss the mangy fucker.
I pet his head slowly and then I get to my feet.
It’s time to stop planning.
It’s time to stop pretending.
It’s time to do what I was meant to do.
I have a mission, and I intend to see it through.
But first…
I need back up.
20
Esme
The first thing I’m aware of is a constellation of stars.
They blaze across my eyelids, illuminating the murky darkness that’s enshrouded me.
The second thing I’m aware of is the feeling of emptiness.
Not a raw, biting emotional emptiness, but a physical ache that makes me want to reach for something.
I’m missing something.
Or I’m not remembering something, because the more aware I become of new state of consciousness, the more I realize that something is not right.
Where am I?
Who’s with me?
What am I missing?
The questions keep tearing around in my head and I can’t seem to clear the fog long enough to answer them.
But I can see the answers on the periphery, right behind the c
onfusion.
I hear a strange beeping sound. I feel something connected to my arm. An IV drip? But I can’t be sure. I could just be hallucinating.
After all… I’m at home in my bed, aren’t I?
And at any moment, Cesar’s going to walk through my door and pull me back to reality.
I try opening my eyes but they’re heavy and I don’t know why but a vague feeling of fear grips me.
Cesar…
Cesar?
There’s another name floating around in the ether, just out of my reach. I want to say it, its form etched on my lips, but for some reason I can’t quite grab at it. It feels too far away.
I shouldn’t worry so much. I’m just in bed at home like always. Sleeping in on a lazy Sunday, perhaps.
Maybe Tamara visited this weekend? That would make sense. She always manages to find liquor when she comes to stay with us. Sometimes, she convinces me to indulge with her.
I only do it when Papa is away.
But still… I don’t want to be caught. And Papa could come home at any minute.
I try and say Tamara’s name but I’m distracted by the sound of footsteps, the hush of voices carrying through to me as though from a distance. Perhaps from another room?
The maids never enter my bedroom when I’m in here. Certainly never when I’m sleeping.
But am I sleeping? This position feels a little foreign. And forced.
I sleep on my side with a pillow between my arms. So why am I on my back?
Then I hear a cry. A sharp wail that sends an electric bolt of realization straight through me, shocking me back to reality.
I am not a child anymore.
My home was destroyed months ago.
I don’t know where Tamara is.
Cesar is dead.
Artem is gone.
And my baby… my baby is…
Where is my baby?
The shock forces my eyes open but I have to squint against the bright light that assaults my irises. I struggle to sit up, reminding myself to breathe before a panic attack sets in.
I’ve been living on the edge of a panic attack for months now.
Once my vision starts getting clearer, I look around at the small, run-down hospital room I’m lying in. I don’t recognize it at all, but then again, why would I? I’ve never been here before.