by Alyssa Cole
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “How did you find me? Are you a reporter? Some kind of weirdo who likes hooking up with pedophiles? Or do you— Do you work for him? For Bardhyn?”
The fear in her eyes made his stomach turn. He was doing a spectacular job of fucking this up. But she had just said the one thing that made it clearer than ever that his initial instinct had been right. She’d said Bardhyn’s name without his prompting. He almost wished she hadn’t and that he had been wrong, but now he could get her the help she needed and have the full backing of the gang task force.
“No,” he said, watching as she inched her way toward the kitchen. He raised his hands to show he meant her no harm but stayed seated. “I don’t work for him. I’m trying to find him and stop him.”
She darted to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing at hand, a cast-iron skillet, holding it in front of her with both hands as she turned to face him.
“And fucking me was somehow part of this plan to find him?” Salomeh’s warm, low voice was now nearly a growl.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said and then corrected himself. “That’s not true. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you, but I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’m so sorry, Salomeh. I’ll make this up to you, I swear.”
His words sounded flaccid even to his own ears.
“Why did you come here? Why didn’t you just leave me be?” she asked, looking utterly torn between anger, sadness, and fatigue.
“Leave you to get beat up by Bardhyn’s men, you mean?” he asked and then ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He wasn’t used to being the one explaining himself. “I came because I needed to make sure you were okay. I know what Bardhyn is capable of, and I don’t know why, but you’re in his sights at the moment. I misjudged the situation spectacularly, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but please believe me when I say I want to help you.”
She shook the pot in his direction as if it were the only way for her to channel her anger with him. Julian decided he would not try to restrain her if she decided to hit him upside the head with it, as she had every right to at the moment.
“Help me?” she asked, dropping her arm. “You can help me by explaining what I’m supposed to think about the man who just appeared out of nowhere and seduced me, who also knows where I live without me telling him, suddenly being connected to Bardhyn, the asshole who ruined my life for no reason. I have made a series of stunningly stupid decisions lately, so why should I add accepting your help to that list?”
“I’m on your side, Salomeh,” Julian said gently. “I will do whatever I can to make this right and to make sure you’re safe.”
“You know how you can help? By leaving. Now. And never contacting me again,” she said, her eyes hard but glittering with tears that she angrily blinked away.
Julian’s gut clenched at the determination in her voice. She meant those words. “I understand,” he said. “But I can’t leave you alone knowing you’re in danger.”
“Are you a cop?” Salomeh asked, and Julian was slightly perplexed at the fear in her voice, at the way she stepped farther away from him.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m working with the Balkan Gang Squad to help take down Bardhyn. They can help you.”
“And help find Yelena?” she asked.
“Yes. These people are the best of the best.”
She had lowered the skillet but still gripped it tightly as she passed him. “I’m going to change into something dry. You’ve already gotten what you wanted, so I guess I don’t have to worry about you breaking my door down. But don’t get any ideas. The only reason I’m talking to you is because you know people who can help Yelena, and that’s the only offer I’ve got on the table right now.”
“Understood,” he said as the bedroom door slammed in his face, leaving him standing alone. He felt oddly unmoored, as if he were a boat that had drifted off from the shore with no compass and no hope of return.
Unbidden, a memory of his mother flashed into his mind.
“You know what they say,” she had told him one day as they walked from getting their weekly food ration. “When you meet your soul mate, it’s like all the breath leaves your body, and all the sense leaves your head. That’s what happened when I met your father. People thought we were crazy, and I’m sure my father tried to have him killed at least three times. But when you find the right one, you know it like that!”
She snapped her fingers in front of his nose, startling him before hugging him to her side and continuing, “Yes, my zemer, my dear heart. It catches you just like that.”
Salomeh interrupted his reverie, walking out of the room clad in an outfit that mirrored his: jeans, a black T-shirt, and sneakers. Her damp hair hung in loose ringlets around her face, hiding the abrasion on her temple. Her dark eyes were unreadable, but her stiff stance and the fact that she was pretending he wasn’t in the same room as her made her feelings abundantly clear. Julian’s breath caught at the need that slammed into him, but he suppressed the desire to hold her close until she eventually relaxed against him, as she had only hours before.
He didn’t deserve anything from her. His hopes for what Salomeh Jones would and wouldn’t do with him would have to be relegated to his fantasies once again.
The tense silence was broken by heavy footfalls on the steps outside the door. It could be anyone, but a familiar sense of foreboding pricked at his skin.
The steps continued past the second landing, moving toward Salomeh’s apartment.
“Are you expecting company?” he asked, just as someone banged loudly on the front door.
“This is the police,” an authoritative voice said from the other side of the door. “We’ve received a call about a disturbance at this address.”
“Did you call the police?” Julian asked, but Salomeh’s wide-eyed confusion answered his question.
“After what they did to me? Of course not,” she scoffed.
Julian’s gaze snapped to hers as he removed the gun from his back waistband, quickly checked the magazine, and then released the safety. She took a step away from him, hand lifting in front of her as if she meant to repel him. He tried to assuage her.
“Open the safety gate on this window,” he said, his eyes trained on her entryway. “We need to take the back exit.”
“I don’t have the key,” she whispered.
“Are you kidding?” Julian asked, giving her a sharp look. “Isn’t that a fire hazard?”
“The super said he was going to get me a key but never got around to it, and I forgot. I thought the gates would keep people out, not keep me in! And why the hell do you have a gun if you’re not a cop?”
More loud banging, more rapidly this time.
“I’m gonna need you to open up, Miss Jones,” the man on the other side of the door said.
Julian began kicking at the gate, hoping it was old and unstable, but it turned out to be old and solidly built instead. It didn’t budge. He aimed the gun at the lock and looked at Salomeh.
“Because they come in handy in certain situations, such as when irresponsible people don’t have keys,” he said. “Go stand in the bedroom. As soon as I get this open, things are going to move very quickly.”
She hurried to the safety of the room, but before he could pull the trigger, a quick blast sounded at the front door and the lock blew off, its inner mechanics scattering across the hardwood floor.
A man built like a linebacker but dressed in a suit burst through the door, headed right for Julian.
“Great minds think alike,” Julian muttered right before the man slammed him into the gate.
Chapter Thirteen
When the huge mountain of a man tackled Julian, Salomeh ducked into her bedroom and pressed herself to the wall, fear freezing her in place. She peeked out to see the man leaning into Julian as if he were trying to squeeze him through the openings in the gate. Julian head-butted the man, revealing more of the a
ttacker’s face.
It was one of the bouncers that had been with Alexi at the social club.
I guess Julian definitely isn’t working with Bardhyn, Salomeh thought. Although that doesn’t mean he’s not a jerk.
He was still on her side, though, whereas the stranger who had blasted his way into her apartment most certainly was not. She was trying to figure out how to launch herself into the attack without making things worse when Julian managed to work his leg up between himself and the intruder. He then used it to push the man away from him, the strain of the action evident in his reddening face. The move didn’t free up much room but gave Julian enough space to free one of his arms and unleash a series of quick kidney blows.
The attacker slackened his hold, and Julian followed it with a sickening kick to the knee that bought the man to the ground.
Secret agent man, indeed, Salomeh thought dumbly.
“Fuck, there’s some guy trying to play hero in there,” a voice said from her front door.
Two more men stepped into the apartment—the other bouncer from the social club and a man she hadn’t seen before.
Must. Not. Panic. Salomeh thought. Her mind raced with possible escape plans, rejecting each one as it arose. She considered rolling under the bed but then imagined herself being pulled out by the ankles, helpless. She could run into the closet, but it was too shallow to provide any real cover. The window in her room looked out onto the front. Maybe she could call for help. It was the only thing that made sense at the moment.
She turned and raced for the window, drawing in her breath in preparation for an earsplitting, attention-attracting scream, when suddenly the wind was knocked out of her, and she crumpled to the floor. She drew her knees up to her chest, innately curling up into the fetal position as if that would ward off any additional blows.
For a second, she couldn’t breathe, and then she could, and the pain in her stomach was so sharp she gagged. The man, the one she hadn’t seen before, smiled as he stood over her.
“I know that had to hurt,” he said, shaking out his fist casually as she writhed on the floor. “If you want something even more painful than that to happen, try moving again.”
She glanced up at him. He was pale and lithe, with coloring similar to Julian’s but lacking his looks and grace. He had a heavy five o’clock shadow that would put George Michael to shame but for the smooth, hairless spots where scars pocked his face.
Salomeh rolled to her knees, taking short, controlled breaths as she willed the nausea away. The man cracked his knuckles as he loomed over her, admiring his handiwork. He grabbed her roughly by the hair, painfully pulling her up from the ground as he spun her about like a puppet.
There was a crash from the living room, but it seemed distant in light of the immediate danger she faced.
“Shit, what’s going on out there?” he asked no one in particular and then growled at her as he tugged her toward the bedroom door. “Come on.”
As he dragged her past her dresser, something black and solid caught her eye. The skillet, and right within arm’s reach.
The dull ache in her stomach and the fresh tenderness of her scalp reminded her that this man would hurt her badly if she tried to fight back and failed.
So she couldn’t fail.
As they passed the dresser, she pretended to stumble, swinging her arm back. Her hand gripped the cool, textured handle of the pan, the reassuring weight sending a wave of calm through her frenzied thoughts.
Swing through the stroke, she thought randomly, recalling her recent attempt to learn tennis along with some of her mentees. She swung the pan down, then up, connecting full on with the man’s head just as he turned to sneer something at her.
The tightness at her scalp was immediately gone as his grip loosened, and he dropped to the floor. He fell onto his back, small juddering movements shaking his body as blood leaked from his nose.
Salomeh swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Two more men, just as dangerous as him, were still in her apartment if Julian hadn’t dispatched them, which he hadn’t, judging from the loud crashing in the living room.
She looked at the man on the floor one more time and then reached for the distinctive shape she saw outlined against the fall of his suit jacket. The gun shook in her hand, but she mustered her courage and stepped slowly into the living room.
Julian was fighting the good fight, but he wasn’t superhuman, and there was only so much he could do against two large, trained fighters. He staggered, missing the jab he threw. The largest attacker took advantage of this and pulled him into a bear hug with his arms locked against his sides.
“We’re supposed to bring him in, not kill him,” one of the men said. “Even though I think this motherfucker broke my kneecap.”
“Wait, this is the guy we were supposed to get this morning? And he’s randomly here at this broad’s house? Life is funny sometimes, ain’t it?” the other man asked casually. “This means I can be home in time to watch the game. Can we kill the bitch?”
“Yeah. He said to get it over quick, but I don’t think he’ll care if we have some fun with her,” the man holding Julian said, his voice strained as Julian tried to fight him off. “He has a hard-on for this guy.”
Julian struggled even harder at these words, and just as the second thug pulled his arm back to punch him, Salomeh spoke.
“Let him go,” she said. Some vicious part of her enjoyed the look of surprise on all three faces when they turned and saw her with the gun.
“Come on now, sweetie,” the second thug said, “You’re not gonna shoot anyone. I bet you don’t even know how to use that thing.”
The condescension in his voice steadied her. She was used to dealing with assholes. They usually weren’t trying to kill her, but this was something she could deal with.
“What makes you think I don’t?” she asked. “Do you know whether or not my dad was a military sharpshooter who took me to the range every weekend? Or whether I am?”
She clicked the safety off, mimicking what she had seen Julian do to his gun earlier, and realigned her aim. “Let him go,” she repeated.
The man started to reach into his jacket, and for one terrible second, Salomeh thought she’d have to pull the trigger. And then some intuitive part of her brain reacted to his movement, and she did.
He cried out and dropped to the ground, his hands clamping over his thigh. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his gray pants a dark vermillion.
“You shot me, you fucking bitch,” he said in disbelief, glaring at Salomeh before squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.
I did, Salomeh thought with a mixture of pride and disgust.
There was a sudden gurgling noise, and then Julian was no longer being restrained and was launching himself toward the man she had just shot. One hand clamped onto the man’s head and the other on his neck, and then Julian twisted. The movement was ruthlessly efficient. There was a dull crack, and Julian let the body fall to the floor, its movements sickeningly awkward.
She glanced over at the man who had been holding Julian. He was on the floor as well. A gun lay at his side where he had dropped it. His hands were clamped around one of her expensive kitchen knives, a housewarming gift from her parents, that was now lodged in his throat. She pulled her gaze away from the macabre scene to focus on the gun on the floor, which had probably been trained on her while she had obliviously stared at the man she’d shot.
“Salomeh, we have to go,” Julian said. It was strange. His voice was still warm and caressing, still made her want to run into his arms and forget the world. But he had lied to her, and he had killed these men right in front of her with no hesitation.
Salomeh stared at him for a long moment, into green eyes bright with concern, and finally lowered the gun.
She felt nauseated yet again, but Julian slipped the gun from her grasp, replacing it with the warmth and comfort of his hand. He was breathing heavily, and there were small cuts all over his face, b
ut they had survived.
Salomeh squeezed his hand hard, as if the pressure was the only thing keeping her from flying to pieces.
He turned and shot through the lock on her window gate, his initial goal finally achieved, and then dragged her toward it.
Salomeh avoided thinking of the carnage strewn about her cozy apartment. She watched Julian’s movements as he pried the gate open and hopped out onto the fire escape. Just as he took her hand to lead her through, another man stepped in through the front door, gun in hand.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Julian muttered. He pulled her off her feet and through the window with one arm, placing her behind him as he fired off two shots at the new intruder.
“Start heading down,” he told her, and Salomeh rushed down the rusted metal steps, hoping that the fire escape was strong enough to hold both their weights. Julian fired off another shot, and then she felt the vibration of someone scrambling down behind her. She looked up, relieved to see it was him.
“Keep going,” he said. “Does the alley lead to the street?”
“Yes,” she said, and then her feet were on concrete instead of metal, and she was making a break for the street with Julian close behind her. The end of the alley was in sight when a man stepped out from a recessed doorway.
No, Salomeh thought. We’re so close!
Something wild possessed her, and instead of slowing down, she sped up. In a few steps, she was an arm’s length away from the man. She stopped short and delivered two quick jabs, one to his throat and one to his nose, followed by a hard kick to his groin. She did it so fast she surprised herself. She had obviously surprised him too, since he had put up no resistance. The man fell to his knees, and Julian came up from behind her and finished him off with a hard right to the jaw.
Julian turned to look at her, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”
“I took self-defense classes at the YMCA,” she said and suddenly found herself laughing. Despite the man she had hit with the pan, the man she had shot, and the man on the ground in front of her, she laughed. The events of the morning were catching up with her, threatening to overwhelm her, and her body was releasing that stress in the strangest of outlets.