by Tabatha Kiss
I hesitate for another second before walking out onto the store floor.
Fawn’s Pawn has been closed ever since the Hart twins attacked me here but that wasn’t the only reason why I shut it down. They just so happened to enter my life on the same day my husband returned and turned my world upside down. Shit happens like that sometimes, I guess.
Still, the place never felt the same after that. It used to feel safe. The one thing in my life I had even a ounce of control over. Maybe I’ll reopen someday. Maybe I won’t.
It’s not important right now.
I take a deep breath before following Boxcar upstairs. The door to the apartment is wide-open and I hear his feet dragging from one end to the other. I pause outside to look in.
He stands over the bed with an old backpack laying open in front of him, stuffing a few shirts and another pair of jeans inside. Dark circles stand out around his eyes, even from behind his thick glasses. I don’t think he slept last night. I definitely didn’t.
I step inside and he pauses briefly before going right back to what he’s doing. I move quietly around him and head toward the bedside drawer for my Model 60 revolver. My special occasion gun. My father’s good luck charm.
I turn it over in my palm and open the cylinder to make sure it’s loaded before holding it out to Boxcar.
“Here,” I say. “You’ll need this more than I will.”
He stops and stares at it. “You sure?”
I nod. “Take it. I’ll feel much better about this if you had it.”
“Might have a hard time getting it through security checks,” he points out.
“You’re palling around with Snake Eyes agents,” I say. “Ask Fox. He’ll know a way to get it through.”
He nods in understanding as he reaches out to take it. I flick the safety on before dropping it into his hand. He quickly lets it fall into the side pocket and he zips it up tightly. Boxcar has never been a big fan of guns.
“Did Fox talk to you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
He flexes his jaw but he doesn’t say anything.
“So…” I say, clearing my throat. “There’s one thing about your Paris story that doesn’t really add up to me.”
Boxcar bites his cheek. “What?”
“You say you met Myra in a bar, and then…” I raise my palms upward. “You just woke up in your hotel room?”
He breathes in. “Cal…”
“Alone?”
“This stays between us,” he says.
I pause, hearing his low, serious tone. “Okay,” I say with a nod.
He runs his fingers through his thick hair, messing up the sides for a brief second before running them through again. “Myra slipped me something but I can’t say for sure what it was. I blacked out… and when I woke up, I was alone but there was plenty of evidence to suggest that I wasn’t always.” He looks at me. “What happened to me was wrong, I had no control over it, and it sure as hell wasn’t consensual.”
My stomach churns. “Box…”
“I’m over it,” he says, waving a hand. “I came home, got tested, and moved on. I’d like to keep doing that, if you don’t mind.”
He turns away to stuff the last shirt into his pack.
My eyes water behind my lashes but a few shaking breaths hold them steady.
I step forward slowly and wrap my arms around him.
Boxcar tenses up for a second. “Caleb, I’m okay,” he says. “Really.”
“Well, I’m not,” I say.
He pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. “Don’t stress out about it. Please. You’ve got enough to worry about.”
“I’m gonna kill that bitch.”
He laughs softly. “Sounds like you’ll have to get in line behind the Harts for that one.”
I raise my head to look at him and he flashes that smile at me. The same smile that pulled me in out in Afghanistan. He’s still him after everything that’s happened. Still my Boxcar.
I think back to the desert where this began. Boxcar might still have that smirk but he also has that curiosity in his eyes. Marilyn Black. Snake Eyes. His obsession took over before and I can already see it taking hold of him again.
Can’t really fault him, though. I’m curious, too.
“I thought Marilyn Black didn’t have a daughter,” I say.
“On paper, she doesn’t,” he says. “She was born after Marilyn allegedly died, so they probably figured a birth certificate was unnecessary. Myra doesn’t exist.”
“Which makes her the perfect face for an organization that doesn’t exist, too.” I try and shake the chills off. “I really don’t like the idea of you going without me.”
“I know,” he says. “And I don’t like that it took a stern talkin’ to from Fox to change your mind about it.” He stands a little taller. “That’s something we’re gonna work on when I get back. I don’t want my wife ignoring me anymore.”
“I didn’t ignore you, I just…” I bite down on my tongue. “I just don’t like feeling worthless. I don’t like standing in the back. Front row center. That’s who I am. You know that.”
“You think being pregnant makes you worthless?”
“I didn’t say that.” I look down and shake my head once. “Sure as hell feels like it, though.”
“You listen to me, Caleb Fawn.” He says it so sharply, I nearly flinch. “I would have voted to keep you here whether you were pregnant or not. My instinct always has, and always will be, to protect you. You’re not worthless. You’re priceless.”
I laugh as a lump grows in my throat. “You’re getting pretty good at saying the right thing.”
“Everyone’s got something they’re good at. Happy to say my thing is you.” His eyes wander downward. “And right now, I’m not just protecting you. I’m protecting our baby. I don’t care how much it resembles a tadpole at the moment.”
“Never knew you were so paternal.”
“Me neither.” He shakes his head once. “But something in me just… turned on last night when I saw you standing there with that test. I never really thought about being a dad until then. Now, it’s all I want.”
I extend my hand and he latches onto it with a tight grip. “We’re gonna have a baby,” I say.
He nods. “And… are you okay with that?” I ask.
A tear falls down my cheek. “I’m getting there, yeah.”
Boxcar pulls me closer and embraces me, holding back from squeezing me too hard. Before, that would have bothered me. Pregnant or not, I’m not breakable. But I find myself sinking deeper into his safe and comforting arms.
I rub my wet eyes against his shirt sleeve. “Please don’t do anything stupid,” I say.
He laughs. “I won’t.”
“I need you.”
“Not as much as I need you.” He cups my face and looks me in the eye. “I’ll be behind a computer screen the whole time. No bullets are gonna be flying at me. All right?”
I nod. “I know. But still... be careful.”
“I love you.” He drops suddenly to his knees and I stare down at him as he talks to my stomach. “And I love you, too!” he shouts.
“Oh, god...” He kisses my belly. “You’re not gonna be one of those dads, are you?”
He hops back up. “Damn right, I am.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh.”
“Every baby book says they can hear you,” he argues.
“It probably hasn’t developed ears yet,” I point out. “And what baby books have you even read?”
“A few.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
I raise a brow. “You did not read a few baby books last night.”
He zips up his backpack. “I loaded up your Kindle with some good ones. We need to start preparing yesterday.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I pause, eying my Kindle on the bedside table.
He slips the pack over his shoulder and grabs his messenger bag off the counter
. “I’ll call you when we get to Boston,” he says.
I glare. “Box...”
He points a finger. “No drugs, no alcohol, no sushi. There’s mercury in fish. Very bad for baby.”
My mouth drops. “Wait, I can’t eat sushi?”
“Or processed cheese.”
“You’re kidding.”
He chuckles. “Nope.”
“How is that fair?”
“It’s not. I don’t envy you right now.”
I lay my palms on my belly and look down at the eight more months of prison I’m about to endure as he opens the door.
“Wait, Box.”
He pauses in doorway. “Yes, dear?”
I smile. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” I ask.
Boxcar bites his lip. “Actually…” He drops his bags to the floor. “I’ll do you one better.”
I laugh as he strides back to me. As soon as I feel his hands on me, I give a quick hop and he picks me up off the floor. We kiss, our mouths open and tongues wild, as he wanders over to drop me onto the bed.
“Shouldn’t you get going?” I ask, not really caring as he unzips my jeans.
He slides a hand into my panties. “Yeah, but they’ll wait,” he says, our lips grazing. “I’m Boxcar.”
Eleven
Sofia
My life has only just begun.
That’s the same for most twenty-one year olds in the world but I’m quite certain my situation is more unique than your average young adult.
I never went to school. Beatrix Zappia taught me how to read and write. Other than that, I didn’t need to know anything else. Mathematics and sciences weren’t in their plan for me. History was long forgotten. My purpose was the future. Not mine, of course, but theirs.
The Zappia name. Their bloodline would pass through me. I was a stepping stone, plunked down between the generations and I would be forgotten long before I was even dead.
I am more than what they told me I was.
I am more than what I dreamed I could be.
I am more.
But Sofia Zappia is not yet gone.
“Giovani is here.”
I hear his name and my blood still turns cold.
“Here?” Luka asks. “In Moscow?”
I wait outside the door of Markov’s workshop with one hand on the wall.
“Yes,” Markov says. “One of Stefan’s men spotted him last night.”
“Where?”
“The Chernyy Obuvi.”
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“They sent footage…”
I knew that someday I’d have to face Gio again. Truthfully, I prayed the day would never come. I could still turn back and forget this moment ever happened. Luka would deal with it and I’d be none the wiser unless he told me himself — and he would. Lutrova women are involved in all aspects of the family business.
I’ll find out either way.
I slowly step into the room. Markov’s workshop is always dark and bleak, illuminated by little more than his computer monitors. He and Luka stare at a screen as security footage plays out. A crowded nightclub. A young woman dancing on a pole in the corner with several men sitting around her. They smile and drink and throw money. All except for one.
Gio.
I must have made a noise because Luka’s head jerks back to look at me.
“Sofia…”
He lays a comforting hand on my arm. I try to blink but I can’t pull my eyes away from Gio’s dark features.
It’s him. My ex-husband.
I haven’t seen him in nearly a year but I never forgot every single line of his face. Every pitch of his voice. I couldn’t close my eyes for weeks without seeing his angry scowl behind my eyelids. It’s him, but…
“He looks different,” I say.
“How do you mean?” Luka asks.
I shake my head, unable to answer.
After a minute, Gio stands up from his chair just as the dancer finishes her act. He walks behind the chairs of drunken patrons and into the backroom, following close behind her wide stride.
Markov points at the door as it closes behind Gio. “He went into the back around midnight last night,” he says.
“When did he leave?” Luka asks.
“He didn’t.”
I stare at the screen as another girl takes her place on the stage. “He’s still there?” I ask.
Luka lays a steady hand on my back. “Did they check the alley exit?” he asks.
Markov nods. “He never came out and there are no ways out underground. Gio is still there.”
“Sofia…”
I look up from the screen, feeling Luka’s hand grazing my cheek. “Excuse me,” I whisper.
He lets me go as I walk away. His warm fingers slip from my skin, leaving me cold as I wander into the hallway. Soft whispers fade off behind me as my pulse takes over in my ears.
I find my way upstairs to our bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed in the dark and stare at the wall.
Gio.
I’ve plotted revenge against him since I was five years old and he claimed me as his property.
She is mine.
Don’t touch her.
Daddy said she was mine so you can’t touch her.
She is mine.
I close my eyes, fighting the darkness to find the light hidden somewhere inside.
Hidden within the little boy in the garden shed with the silver eyes.
He reaches out to me and I smile.
“Sofia.”
I feel him kneel in front of me. He lays his hands over mine in my lap.
“Look at me, lyubov’ moya.”
I do as he says, forcing them open to look at him. Luka gazes at me in the dark, his face soft and calm. He fills his lungs, breathing in through his nose and I do the same. We exhale together.
“I promised you I’d find him,” he says slowly. “I swore to you that he’d suffer until his last breath, Sofia. I won’t let him hurt you or our son again. Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not.”
His brow furrows as an odd sense of calm settles in my chest. Gio is here. My worst nightmare has come to pass, and yet…
“I don’t fear him,” I say. “Gio can’t hurt me anymore.”
Luka leans in as tears fill my eyes. “Then, what’s wrong?” he asks.
I look at him. My real husband. The father of my son. A weight rises off my chest. I turn my palms up and entwine our fingers together.
“We’re going to get him,” I say. “Aren’t we?”
Luka’s concerned eyes shift slowly, filling with a light that can only be described as sinister. “Yes,” he answers. “We are.”
I inhale a deep breath, hold it for a brief moment, and blow it out through my lips.
At the end, I smile.
Twelve
Dani
I am the master of my machine.
I lay my hand over my heart and take a deep breath. Air fills my lungs. I hold it there until it hurts and spit it back out again.
It’s not working. My usual fix for crippling stage fright has lost its effectiveness, though my life lately has been a lot more complicated than missing a cue or forgetting a line.
If I’m ever going to get out of this bed, then I need a new mantra.
What would Fox do?
He’d get up. He’d pack a bag. He’d—
Let’s start slow now, shall we?
I feel my heart thumping against my ribs, hard and steady. I take another breath, filling my whole body and holding it in while I repeat the words in my head over and over again.
What would Fox do?
I exhale, slow and controlled.
He’d get out of this fucking bed.
I turn and plant my feet on the floor.
He’d stand up. He’d pack a bag.
I stand and head toward the closet. My belongings stare back at me; a huge assortment of designer dresses and bright-colored blouses and kitschy handbags and shoes. T
hey feel less important every day. I can’t even remember why I thought they were in the first place.
I grab a plain black shirt. A gray one. Another black one. Colors to get lost in.
I reach for the large suitcase I usually travel with and pause, thinking twice about it. I grab the carry-on instead. It’s much easier to move with the smaller one.
That’s my girl, I hear in the back of my head. My fiancee’s voice.
I smile at the thought before getting back to work.
I move faster, grabbing only what I know I’ll need and abandoning the rest. A few pairs of clean undies. A comfortable sports bra to run in. My toothbrush.
A hat. Fox said to wear a hat. I return to the closet to fetch a beanie from the drawer of winter hats and gloves but again, I pause. Beanies are great for keeping warm but they don’t obscure — not as much as a movie star like Roxie Roberts needs to be obscured.
I turn around to look at the back of the door, finding Fox’s baseball cap hanging from a hook. I slide it off slowly. It’s old and worn, fabric coming loose in a few spots but it will still do its job.
I bring it to my nose. His scent still clings to the fibers. My eyes moisten, ready to spill over as soon as I start to fall apart, but I hold it all back. That’s not what he’d do right now.
He’d keep his shit together and move his ass.
I close the closet behind me. I’ve taken all I need from it now. I stuff the little bag full of money and IDs inside the suitcase. I shove the phone in my jeans pocket. I tie my hair back in a loose ponytail and pull it through the back of the baseball cap as I fit it onto my much smaller head.
It’s time to go.
One last look. One last walk through the hallway of the home we shared. The life we tried to start but even Fox knew it wouldn’t last. Not forever.
One last goodbye.
I reach the front door and stop. Two police cruisers sit outside. Three officers linger at the gates, another one standing in front of the terminal, ready to hit the call button. They must be here to question me after that massacre at the theater last night. My heart aches for Lena. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed-up in this. I’m so sorry...
The terminal next to my head chimes as the officer presses the button. I bite down, thinking carefully. Would Fox stick around and answer their questions? Would Fox risk our enemies catching wind of where I am?