by Sara Hubbard
I twist my arms out of his grip and take two steps back.
“Harry, keep your fucking hands to yourself,” Vik says to the guy, surprising me.
The guy holds his hands up and backs away as Viktor saunters past us. He gestures for me to follow. I swallow hard and keep at his heels. When he turns, he almost slams into me. “What the fuck do you want? Interrupting me like that? You think I’m Niko? That you can just beckon me and I’ll come running?”
I decide not to mention to him that Niko absolutely did not come running when I wanted him. Correcting him will only piss him off and that’s not wise, considering I need his help. “I know we’re not friends and you have no reason to help me. But I need to see your brother.”
He runs his palms down his face and turns away from me. After a step or two, he turns back around and comes in close—too close for me to feel comfortable.
“I’m not asking for the world. Just for an address or a number.” I toss out a please. My voice is like a whisper, hanging in the air between us. It reeks of desperation and I pray it will sway him. If he has an ounce of softness inside of him, like his brother, he’ll help me.
“You want to see my brother?” he shakes his head and chuckles. “Pretty sure he made it clear when he got locked up that he doesn’t want to see you. Or has six years without contact been too small of a hint?”
“Like I’m interested in taking him back. I think I have a little more self-respect than that.”
He scoffs and then his lips curl into a smile. “What was it about you that made him so fucking pussy blind? I just don’t get it.”
I roll my eyes at him because I just can’t stop myself. “I don’t know, but whatever it was, he obviously got over it—like you said—so you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to cause any trouble.”
He holds out his hand and I stare at it, unsure of what he wants.
“Give me a fucking pen.”
“Oh.” He’s actually going to help me? And I didn’t have to offer him a kidney. I yank open my purse and pull out a pen. He takes my wrist and I tense as he pulls it in close to him. I stare at him, a little afraid of what he’s doing. But he pulls up my sweater sleeve and starts to write on my arm. His hands are rough, like Niko’s used to be. Up close, I only see Niko when I look into Viktor’s black eyes. My anger with Viktor quiets and sadness weaves its way into my chest.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.
“Like what?” I say.
He lets go of my arm. The heat in his face seems to fade and his brow furrows. The look he often gives me when I see him around is back now. Maybe I got it wrong before. It’s not confusion I saw, it was curiosity. And I think maybe a bit of his own sadness, too.
I break away from his stare and glance down at the street address on my arm. “Sparrow Lane? Is that the cottage you and Niko were building?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah. It’s finished now.”
“He took me there once during senior year. It was so pretty, just down on the lake with all the loons.”
He grits his teeth and wiggles his jaw, the curve of his jaw widening with tension. “Are we done here?”
“Yes.” Asshole.
“Don’t come to my worksites again. I meant what I said. You ain’t nothing to me and I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“I know.” I hold up my arm that he wrote on. “So thanks.”
“Mhmm.” He faces me as he walks backward. After a few steps he turns and goes back to the men he previously left.
I find my way to the woods where the cabin is. There are dozens of cottages out here. It’s a popular spot because it’s still close to town and also to Sterling City and on a lake. Most of the places here are large and spacious, but Niko and his brother built on a large parcel of land that his dad won in a bet. So they didn’t have to worry about neighbors.
The turnoff is far back from the street and down a dirt road. It would be impossible to get to the cabin in a car if there was snow. The road is in shambles with big pockmarks in places. In my old sedan, I’m afraid I’m going to get stuck or blow out a tire on one of the scattered, jagged rocks. Soon, I stop and pull over and decide to go on foot the rest of the way. It’s almost dark and I pull out a flashlight from the glove compartment. Woods don’t scare me. I grew up near woods and we’d play hide and seek in the dark just to make it more difficult to find one another.
Owls hoot in the trees and ruffling branches nearby unnerve me a little because I worry about bears and coyotes, but I’m a pretty fast runner. A light in the distance guides me, and as I approach, I can make out the dark structure that must be the cabin.
I run the flashlight over it. A floor and a half, with a loft upstairs. It’s all cedar with a very light stain, barely one at all. There is a covered porch with a couple of chairs. Soft music plays in the background and through the window, I see him. Beautiful as ever, in a rustic way. The kind of guy who wraps his arms around you and you feel like nothing in the world could touch you or hurt you. That’s how he used to make me feel until he hurt me worse than anyone else ever could. My heart squeezes and my pulse pounds so hard I feel sick.
I try to move, but I can’t. I try to turn and walk away, but I can’t do that, either. This is the way he affected me when I saw him last week. Frozen. In place. In time. Unable to move or recover. I ache for him again, in a way that drives people mad when they separate. Why couldn’t I just stop loving him? It would make life so much easier. My pain begs me to turn and run to my car, but the need to protect my brother is stronger.
7
NIKO: The fireplace is crackling but the flame has lost its luster, so I toss another log on to rejuvenate it. Embers spit out and I flick them off my jeans and onto the hearth. Fuck. They burn the end of my finger and I suck on it as I stand and return to the kitchen.
The chicken I started is sizzling on the stove and the smell competes with the fire. Combine that with the scent of the cedar log cabin and the air smells amazing in here. I put a finger in the sauce I made to go with the chicken and scoop some up. I take a lick and let out a little moan when I find it’s fucking good. Just the right amount of garlic and mushrooms. First time and I nailed it. Of course, I’m no chef. Mom worked so much after Dad went away that Claire cooked most of the time. Sometimes I’d help her—when Vik wasn’t around so he couldn’t tease me. In jail, a job in the kitchen came up and I managed to get it. We had limited resources, but we did the best we could with what we had. Doesn’t mean my palate is the best, but this food is good enough for me. I’ll have to let Vik try it tomorrow and see what he thinks.
Thinking of him makes me chuckle. When we left Yuri’s tonight he came grocery shopping with me. He nearly died of a heart attack when I told him I was cooking tonight. And he nearly fell over when I said I thought maybe I’d like to take some classes, because I cooked in jail and I wasn’t bad at it. Cooking calms me and I need some of that now, after my uncle wound me up.
A knock sounds at the door and I look at the window. I see nothing. No car. If my brother or my cousins were here to visit, I would have seen their headlights or their truck sitting outside. This strikes me as odd, so I wipe my hands on my apron and I snatch my handgun from behind some books on the bookcase on my way to the door. I cock it and hold it behind my back while I tread quietly to the door. For all I know, not jumping at Yuri’s offer could have pissed him off enough to have some of his goons rough me up. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him.
I unlock the door and leave it latched, opening it slowly. The cold air blows in but my heart thaws and my mood improves at the sight of Ivy Parker. It shocks me to see her now, biting her lip, her cheeks all rosy from the chill in the air. She made it clear she had no interest in me, so why is she here now? I knew it would take time for her to warm to me again, but I didn’t think it would be a week and I didn’t expect her to show up at my door.
I close the door and unlatch the chain. Before I open the door, I put the gun on th
e adjacent table and hide it under a ball cap. I lean into the doorway, resting my forearm on the wood. She looks up at me from under those long dark lashes of hers. She blinks but says nothing for a beat.
“Hello again,” she says softly. “I…I’m sorry for showing up out of the blue like this.”
“That’s fine. I’m kind of curious how you knew where I was staying, though. Only a few people know I’m here.”
“Viktor.”
“My brother?” I scratch the hair on my head. “Really?” I couldn’t be more surprised if she told me she was flying to the moon.
“It took some convincing, though.”
“I’ll bet.” Vik thinks I’m weaker with Ivy. He’s probably right. But I was also a lot fucking happier. Growing up with my sadistic father, my house was never filled with love or laughter. It still amazes me how much my mother loved him, given how violent he could be. Vik and I were regimented and groomed and trained to be tough and cold.
Always fighting to be strong, Ivy was the one person I could let my guard down with. When I’d fall asleep in her bed, she’d wake me up by tickling my waist. Such a silly thing, but she’d put a smile on my face and I’d wrap my arms around her and I’d let myself tell her I loved her without any trace of fear for the future. The world didn’t exist, just us, alone in the night with the sound of our quiet breathing.
“I want to apologize for last week,” she says.
“You? Want to apologize to me?”
“I know, right?” She shoves her hands into her coat pockets and smiles, the apples of her cheeks even rosier under the porch light. “I’m not going to pretend that I understood why you blew me off the way you did, but like I said, we were kids. I’m sure you had your reasons and it really doesn’t matter anymore what they were.”
“Ivy…”
“It’s fine. Really. It’s just when I saw you, all these old feelings resurfaced and it was hard for me to process them.”
“That’s fair. To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t hit me.”
Her smile grows. “We both know I’m not one to throw my fists around.”
“Not like me,” I say.
She frowns and I know where her mind has gone. Back to the awful night my sister was tortured by a guy that used to work for my uncle. If she hadn’t calmed me down as I beat the life from Claire’s attacker, I would have killed that man even while the cops closed in. I remember standing there, my fists dripping with my own blood and that man’s. I remember screaming as loud as I could while she begged me to stop. She saw me at my worst and, still, she didn’t walk away from me. But that don’t mean she didn’t look at me different after that. She’s got that look on her face now. Something similar to sad, but it’s worse than that. It feels like pity.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, looking to my feet.
“Can I come in?” The wind blows. She hunches her shoulders and shivers.
“Sorry. I’m being rude. Of course you can.” I take a step back to let her pass. She walks inside and wanders the cabin, running her hands along the bookcase near the front window and then along the stone mantle on the fireplace. “This place is amazing. Viktor and your cousin did a great job finishing it.”
“Hammer.”
She tips her head to the side as her forehead scrunches up. “Hammer?”
“My cousin, Reed. He was the one who helped Viktor. He fell on a hammer when he was twelve and had to get a metal plate on the back of his head.”
Her face brightens. “I remember him. I never knew you called him Hammer, though.”
“Seemed to fit.”
She raises her eyebrows, a small smirk on her face.
“There are a lot worse nicknames,” I say.
“Since when do you cook?” she asks as she takes off her jacket. She wears a long-sleeved shirt now, thin and long, that hugs the curves of her ass where they meet her leggings. Her breasts are just enough to fit into the palms of my hands. When her back is turned, I readjust my dick and try to think of anything I can to tone it down.
“It’s just chicken with some sauce,” I say. “I didn’t use a recipe or anything. Just kind of threw some stuff together.”
“Is this a new talent?” She pulls the sleeves of her shirt, to hold the hem in her hands, like she used to when her nerves kicked in. I somehow forgot this habit and it makes me smile. I have a stool by the island and she hops up on it while she watches me stir the sauce.
“New-ish. I learned in prison a couple of years ago. Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”
“But, are you better than me?” she teases.
“You’ve got to be joking? Last time you cooked for me, the fire department ended up in your house and your mother needed a new kitchen.”
Her cheeks flush and she tips her head as she tucks her long hair behind her ears. “I’m pretty sure that never happened.”
“Then you blocked it out.” I flash her a wink.
“Jerk.”
“I get told that a lot.”
“By the guys in prison?”
“Yeah. They used the word jerk a lot.”
She lets herself laugh a little louder now, her nervousness fading, if only a little. Just like that, this feels good, like it used to.
“I think their language might have been a bit stronger,” she says.
“I think you’re stereotyping. Some of the guys I knew in there were highly educated. But then, we didn’t have much else to do with our time.”
“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop?” she says, and I seem to recall that’s a proverb or something like that.
She couldn’t be more spot on, though. The guys that kept their heads down and focused on working or reading or educating themselves tended to keep clear of trouble. I wanted to do my time and come home safe, not in a body bag.
I grab some plates from the cupboard. They’re mismatched and plastic and I’m pretty sure the one with Superman on it is the same one my mom had in her kitchen when I was growing up.
I set the table. “Hungry?” I put a plate down for her before she responds.
“Sure.” She tries to take some cutlery from me, but I gently push her hand away.
“Don’t worry about it. I got it,” I say.
“What did you do with your…time?”
I hitch a shoulder. “I tried to stay out of the bullshit and there was a lot of that. I did end up getting my GED.”
“That’s really great, Niko.”
“And the rest of my time I worked out…cooked. Read a lot. More than anyone could read in a lifetime.”
“I wish I had the time to read.” She approaches the table, hiking a leg up and hugging it to her chest as she sits down on the chair. “I pretty much work every day. And I have for years. Mom’s medical bills were a bit much. And then there was the funeral—I don’t know if you heard about that. I shouldn’t assume.”
I lean back against the counter. “I did, and I’m real sorry. I…ugh…I did write you when Vik told me, but I…I just never got around to sending it.”
“You wrote me?”
I shrug and return to the stove, grabbing the pan and taking it over to the table to remove the chicken with tongs. I put one breast on her plate and then put one on mine, before following up with the sauce. She stares at me while I sit and I won’t meet her eyes. I focus on the chicken instead.
“Why didn’t you send it?” she holds her fork mid-air, waiting on me to answer before taking a bite. I don’t want to get into this. Talking feelings has always been hard and it’s worse now I haven’t been close to her in such a long time.
“It had been a few years. I guess…I didn’t think you’d want to read it.”
The silence in the room seems to grow, and with it, the level of awkwardness. I don’t know what to say to make her understand what I did. I can tell she’s looking for answers. But neither of us is willing to talk about the elephant in the room. Surprisingly, she’s not bringing up her brother, either. I guess that wi
ll come later.
When we finish eating, I offer her some beer, but she says she doesn’t drink. I follow her lead and pass as well, although a beer would help me navigate my conversation with her. And the strong taste of ale in my mouth right now would be better than any desert I could make. Plus, it might take off the edge. Only when we’re sitting on the sofa by the fire she does get to the point of her visit. And like I expected, she’s here for her brother and not for me.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I came over tonight?” she begins.
I wait for her to continue but she sure takes her time and soon I have to encourage her. “Ivy, just spit it out.”
She heaves in a breath and starts rotating the silver ring around on her finger. “Do you know?”
I shrug.
“Niko, please. Do you know?”
“I do.”
“What’s Yuri going to do to him?” Her eyes are glassy and her bottom lip quivers enough for me to notice. I reach out and take her hand and I breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t pull away. Her soft, delicate hands are cold, so I slowly run my hand over top of hers to warm it up.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Oh, God.” She shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair. “When? Now? Is he safe now? I left him alone at my apartment.”
“He’s safe for now.”
“What do I do, Niko?” Her face is strained, her eyebrows knitted. She’s all tangled up inside with worry and I can’t stand to look at her like this. I’d decided to help Jack until Yuri added Brent’s hit as an added cost for mercy. Now…I can’t imagine saying no to him. He could add a half-dozen other tasks and I’d ultimately agree. Because as she sits here focused on her brother, all I can think about is taking a bullet to keep her whole. Six years. Six fucking years and she still owns me. She has no idea how much. I’m about to give up my future for her. About to live a life I don’t want anymore.
“You don’t do anything,” I say. “I’ll handle it.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s done. Yuri won’t touch your brother. I promise.”