by Nicole Fox
But I feel their eyes following me down the hall.
“She stayed here,” Maisie Blackwell tells me as she gestures to the large dorm room that holds at least a dozen chaotically organized bunk beds. “In that bed over there. Bottom bunk.”
There’s a woman lying on the bed now, with her back to us.
“How long did she stay?” I ask.
“Not long,” she answers. “A week.”
Fuck, I curse inwardly. So close yet again.
And yet here I am, grasping at air once more. Still chasing a ghost who doesn’t want to be found.
“You don’t know why she left?”
“She disappeared one morning before breakfast,” Maisie replies. “Maybe it was hard for her dealing with the other women. Not all of them took kindly to having a screaming infant around.”
It twitch instinctively at the mention of my son.
My son.
I have a son and nothing about that feels real. I know it won’t until I see him. Until I see her.
I think back to the moment I first found out.
Suffice it to say, it was nothing like I imagined it would be.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any more information to give you,” Maisie Blackwell tells me. “Like I said, she disappeared weeks ago. Didn’t leave a note or anything.”
I look around and my eyes land on a slight woman loitering in the corner of the room. She’s got a shaved head and scars that line her scalp.
She looks young, but she has the worn-down expression of someone much older. She’s looking at me with narrowed eyes, but it’s not suspicious.
More like she’s trying to figure out who I am.
Maisie notices who I’m staring at. “That’s Tonya,” she says. “She and Emily used to eat their meals together sometimes. Maybe Emily told her something before she left.”
Someone calls for Maisie’s attention. “If you’ll excuse me, Officer,” she says. “I’ll be up front if you need me.”
I wince at her use of the title. I didn’t have much of a choice besides lying.
It’s a battered women’s shelter—she wasn’t about to give up information about a former tenant to a tattooed mob boss who came charging through her door with a vengeance.
A fake badge and an air of authority opened the door, though.
I nod at her. “I appreciate your cooperation, madam.”
Then I turn my attention back to Tonya.
She stares back at me, matching my intensity for a little while. But soon she starts to squirm with self-consciousness.
“What?” she asks. All bold challenge with nothing to back it up.
I move into the room. She backs up against the wall. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” she says. “You sure as hell don’t look like a cop, neither.”
I take another step closer. A few women perk up, wondering what’s happening.
I ignore them all and keep my attention fixed on Tonya.
“What do you want from me?” she asks.
“You knew Es… Emily?” I ask, correcting myself at the last moment.
Her eyes go wide. “You’re her man,” she says.
My silence is confirmation.
“Fuck,” she breathes, but her expression changes instantly. “You came for her.”
“Where is she?”
Her brow furrows and she looks angry—really angry. “Fuck if I know. Bitch didn’t exactly tell me before she fled the coop. Didn’t even say goodbye.”
“When did she leave?”
She shrugs. “Few weeks ago, I guess,” she replies. “Can’t have gone far, with the little brat in tow.”
Goddammit. Another dead end. I’m sick of this. Sick of coming so close and missing again and again and again.
I need to get out of this shithole now. Before I lose my temper.
I turn and start walking out of the shelter.
“Hey, where are you going?” Tonya asks.
“To find my woman.”
“Tell your woman that the decent thing to do before you leave is to say thanks to the person who sacrificed her bunk for you!”
I suppress my smile. “I’ll tell her.”
Tonya opens her mouth, then lets it fall closed again.
I wait patiently. Silence opens more doors than force, sometimes.
Then she mumbles something, but it’s too low for me to catch.
“What was that?” I ask. “Speak up.”
She pauses, considers repeating herself. Then she changes her mind.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Never mind.”
I leave Tonya to her lone bunk and make my way back outside. I’m frustrated enough to punch a hole in a wall.
But that won’t get me anywhere. I need to focus. Find a new way forward.
I’m driving aimlessly through town, trying to blow off steam, when I pass a bus terminal.
That’s as good a lead as any, I suppose.
I park, hop out, and check the schedule, wondering where the fuck Esme had decided to go next.
Tonya was right about one thing: with a newborn in tow, she can’t have gone far.
And then something catches my eye as I’m staring at the maps detailing all the different routes.
I see the ocean.
Months Earlier
“That’s one thing I miss about the compound,” Esme tells me as she places her head against my shoulder. “The ocean. It was so close, I used to go for midnight runs when I needed an escape.”
“The ocean, huh?”
“Cesar loved it, too. We always used to joke that we’d get a little hut on the ocean one day. No one else around for miles. Just us. I’ve always wanted to live by the ocean.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve been near the sea,” she muses. “I miss it.”
“I’ll get you to an ocean soon,” I promise her.
“Yeah?”
I nod and kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. We can take long walks on the beach and our child can splash around in the water.”
She smiles—a bright, open smile that leaves me with a fierce sense of pride and possession. “That sounds perfect,” she nods. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“You know what I want?” I ask.
“What?”
“I want to recreate that day on the beach on our honeymoon…”
Esme’s cheeks blush scarlet as she remembers the longing that unleashed between us on the beach that afternoon. The day we broke through together.
“One day,” she murmurs through the blush. “One day.”
The beach. She went to the fucking beach.
I leap in my car and rev the engine as I head towards the beach town that’s only an hour from where I am.
The map has indicated that it’s a small little backwater place. If she’s still there, it shouldn’t be a problem to track her down.
I have a gut feeling that this is it. This is where I find her.
The question is, once I do find her… then what?
I don’t allow myself any time to focus on that right now.
First, I’ll reclaim my wife and my child.
The rest—I’ll worry about later.
30
Artem
Three hours.
In the end, that’s all it took. That’s how long I needed to close the final distance.
It was surprisingly easy.
Once I’d gotten to the surprisingly pretty beach side town, I’d made some inquiries and checked in at local pubs and cafes.
The fourth time I’d thrown the lure into the water, I’d gotten a bite. The owner of a café had pointed me in the direction of a day care center in the heart of the town.
I’d walked in at seven in the evening and asked to speak to someone in charge. A short conversation later and the blonde behind the receptionist’s desk had given me an address.
That address belonged to a small, subsidized apartment complex not too far away.
I park my car
on the street, just in case Esme is watching through the window.
Even from a distance, it looks shabby at best. It turns my stomach to know that my wife and son are living here.
Apartment three-fourteen. That’s what the girl told me.
There are no elevators, so I take the stairs up to the third floor and I walk down until I hit the right place. The whole place smells like disinfectant, cigarette smoke, and the salt of the ocean.
There is a window set right next to the door, but the curtains are drawn so I can’t see inside. I cover the peephole with one hand.
Then I take a deep breath and knock twice. I knock softly, calmly, even though every nerve ending in my body is screaming to kick the door in and drag her out of here at once.
No response.
I wait, but I can’t hear a thing from inside.
Is she here?
The woman at the day care told me that Esme’s hours were nine to six, which means she would have left at least two hours ago.
I knock again, this time a little louder than before.
The wait is killing me. I feel like I’m going to choke through the silence.
Just when I’m contemplating knocking down the door and forcing my way in, I hear soft footsteps. I keep my palm pressed firmly against the peephole.
“Who is it?”
I feel my body go still with recognition at that soft lilt.
Esme.
I’d finally found her.
“Who is it?” she calls again. I can hear the reluctance to answer in her tone.
I don’t answer but I knock again. I hear the bolt being undone and a second later, the door opens a crack, chain rattling.
Two large hazel-gold eyes look right at me.
Then she gasps.
She slams the door shut at once. I freeze for a moment at the sheer fucking audacity. As if a door will keep me away from my wife and son.
But then I hear the chain clank. The doorknob turns once more.
And then the door swings inward.
Esme just stands there, staring at me as though she’s confronting a ghost.
“Artem?” she says at last. Her voice trembles like she’s not sure whether to cry or scream.
“Can I come in?” I ask. It’s taking all of my willpower to stay cool.
She drops her hand and moves back, letting me in without a word.
I’m not fooling myself into thinking that she wants me in her space, though. I’ve taken advantage of her shock to get this far.
I have a feeling that shock is about to fade very, very quickly.
“You found me,” she whispers.
“It took me some time, too.”
I scan around the apartment—if you could even call it that.
It’s comically tiny. The kitchen and living room are basically one space, but there are two doors in the left-hand wall.
One is open—the bathroom.
The second door is closed. Which makes it a bedroom.
And if the living area is empty…
The bedroom is where my son lies.
“He’s sleeping,” she says quickly, noticing where my gaze is focused. “I just got him to go down.”
I turn to her, my gaze is sharp, angry… accusing.
“Phoenix,” I murmur.
I have the satisfaction of seeing her flinch back with shock.
“How did you know?” she asks.
“You left quite the trail behind you.”
“Who did you speak to?”
“Who didn’t I speak to?” I counter. “There was Sara, Geoffrey, Maisie, Tonya… Did I leave anyone out?”
Her eyes glaze over at my tone. She pivots away from me and hugs her arms across her chest.
I wince at her obvious fear.
I had planned on holding back, taking it easy on her.
These past few months can’t have been easy. I can see the truth of that in her excessively thin frame, her hollowed-in cheek bones and the dark circles under her eyes.
She’s still as beautiful as ever. Nothing can destroy that.
But her beauty is more haunting than glowing now.
“You can’t even look at me,” I spit.
At that, she turns on me, angry as hell.
I see the spark in her eyes, that old fire that used to infuriate and attract me in equal measure.
“What do you want from me?” she demands. “I did what I had to do!”
She’s upset and clearly rattled to see me, but I can see the underlying emotion hiding just underneath indignation.
She wants me to understand.
She wants me to absolve her of her guilt.
She glances towards the closed bedroom door before her eyes flicker back to me.
“You could have stayed,” I say quietly.
“You told me we could be a family,” she throws back at me. “You promised me a different life. You told me you would leave the Bratva behind.”
“Esme—”
I move forward, my hand reaching out to her.
But she flinches back, a sob escaping her lips. She looks so… worn out, almost defeated.
“Is this life better?” I ask.
Her eyes flash. “Fuck you.”
I’m angry, too, but my anger is quickly fading as I face those startling hazel eyes of hers.
What does our son looks like? Is he more Moreno or Kovalyov?
I won’t care either way. I’m just curious, desperate for more.
Of him.
Of her.
Of us.
“Esme…” I try again, moving closer.
Another step back and she’s going to hit the wall behind her. There’s nowhere else for her to go. This shoe box of an apartment doesn’t leave her very many opportunities for escape.
She shakes her head. “No, Artem,” she says. “It’s not that easy. What do you want?”
“I want you,” I answer. “I want my son.”
She keeps shaking her head, but she looks as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.
I can see the need in her eyes. She’s missed me.
“Did you really think I’d just let you go?” I ask quietly.
“I thought you did,” she says, and her voice hikes up with emotion.
Hurt. That’s what I’m hearing.
For a while there, she really believed I’d given up on her.
Shame fills me as I realize, that for a few grief-stricken months… I had.
“I thought it was what was best for you,” I admit.
“And now?” she asks.
“Now I’m thinking straight for the first time in months. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what’s best for you… is me.”
Her nostrils flare for a moment, whether from fear or anger, I can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s both.
“Are you still with the Bratva?” she asks.
“I’m standing here in front of you, aren’t I?” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I came for you.”
She stills for a moment, as a blind, desperate hope floods her face. I know how my words come across. I know how she’s interpreting them.
And miserable bastard that I am, I don’t correct her.
Because correcting her might be risking the opportunity I have in front of me right now.
The opportunity for her to hear me, listen to me, give me a chance to show her what life could be if we were together.
“You did?”
“Yes,” I rasp. “The Bratva means nothing if I don’t have you, Esme.”
Her eyes are filled with tears. The gold of her irises are like beacons and I can’t stop myself any longer.
I grab her neck, running my fingers over her jaw for a moment.
Her hand settles on my chest as her eyes lock onto mine.
I see the desire flare on her face just before I slam my mouth down on hers.
She releases a moan that reverberates inside me, setting off a long-suppressed urge that I’ve been fighting these many
months.
Her lips part easily underneath mine and I feel her tongue wrestling back as I push her up against her shitty apartment wall.
She feels tiny against me. As lean and lithe as ever. Like she didn’t just give birth.
But I move carefully anyways. Her body gave us a son. As much as I want to ravage her, break her just to build her back together—I also want to respect the miracle.
It’s the same struggle as always for us.
Violent love can’t run unchecked.
But fires need sparks to come to life.
I pick her up and her legs wrap around my waist. I’m already hard, painfully hard, but I ignore the strain in my pants as I pull the white cotton dress off Esme’s shoulders.
The dress comes apart in my hands and I toss it to the side. She’s not wearing a bra, and only a pair of tiny black panties.
She gasps as my head dips down towards her breasts. They’re the only part of her that has gotten bigger. I cradle the beautiful round globes in my hands, exploring them greedily.
“Don’t squeeze too hard,” she warns me, mid-moan. “I’ll start lactating.”
Fuck.
I didn’t think that was the kind of thing that would turn me on, but apparently, it does. My cock jumps impatiently and I know I need to get my pants off immediately.
I gently run my tongue over her nipples without putting much pressure on them. She groans with pleasure as I slip my hand into her panties and start running my fingers between her lips.
She’s nice and wet already. I reach up for the swollen nub of her clit.
“Oh, Artem,” she groans.
I can tell from her breathless moans that she’s been craving me as much as I’ve been craving her.
Unable to take it anymore, I fumble with the buckle of my pants, but Esme’s hands reach out and push my hands away.
She takes over and undoes my buckle and zipper. I don’t think she even notices the gun strapped to the waistband as she pushes down my pants, then my boxers.
As they pool around my ankles, I step out of them and kick them both away. But before I grab hold of her, Esme has ducked down until she’s on her knees in front of me.
She looks up at me with hungry eyes as her hand circles around my shaft. She keeps her eyes on me as she strokes my cock. Then I watch as her tongue slips out and starts stroking against me.