The Storm

by Tara Wylde

My fingers dig into the meat of his shoulder and I see him wince as I lean even closer to his ear.

  “Either Arkady or his people have been spying on my house. They trespassed on my property after they were specifically told to stay away. I know this to be true.”

  “Nick – ” he begins, but I silence him by digging my fingertips even deeper into his deltoid muscle.

  “I’m not finished. Yesterday I saw a flash in the hills above the estate. I’ve seen that before, Josef. It’s light reflecting off the lens of a scope. Someone was pointing a weapon at me. At her.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” he moans.

  I keep the worst of it to myself – that whoever was eyeing us through that scope watched us make love in the gardens.

  “Now,” I say. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to accept the Mustang and drive it, publicly, to show how close we still are. That everything is fine between us. Yes?”

  He nods.

  “Meanwhile, you’re going to have another conversation with Arkady. Only this time, you’re going to stress to him in no uncertain terms that he is on a path that will lead him straight to hell if he doesn’t walk away right now.

  “You’re not going to tell him that I’m your friend and that he should respect me because of that. You’re going to tell him, in detail, what I’ve done to people who’ve hurt me or threatened people under my protection in the past. Do you understand?”

  Another nod, quicker this time.

  “Finally, tovarisch, you’re going to tell him that if he comes within ten miles of my property again, or if he watches me or the girl again, from anywhere, I will hurt him in a way that’s permanent and impossible to hide.”

  Josef swallows hard. He of all people knows I don’t make idle threats. So I hope very much that he takes what I say next to heart.

  “And if your son threatens the girl again – if he even so much as looks in her general direction – I will kill him.”

  His shoulders tremble under the weight of my arm, but he says nothing. I finally release my grip and pat him on the back as if our conversation never happened.

  “Drive her in good health,” I say with a smile as I open the big wooden door onto the street. “And think of me whenever you do.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  31. STORM

  “Seriously, you don’t have to do this,” I say.

  Technically, that’s the truth, but to be honest, I’m almost giddy at the thought of Nick sitting there while I model my new clothes for him. And that he asked me to. After giving me his credit card and PIN and telling me to go buy whatever I wanted.

  I mean, come on. I spent my entire life counting every single penny. And this afternoon I bought a pair of boots that cost more than a month’s rent on that shitty Newark apartment. One pair of boots.

  “I want to,” Nick says from his chair in the sitting area of the bedroom. “This way I can see what you bought and watch you change at the same time. I can’t lose.”

  For a moment, I actually wonder if a human can have an orgasm from pure joy alone.

  “Oh, you’re going to be winning after this,” I say as I slip out of my dress. “Guaranteed.”

  I show him the dresses and blouses, the shoes, the jeans, all of which draw smiles and nods. Then I get into the lingerie, which perks him up a bit more and turns me on the point where I can barely keep from just ripping his clothes off.

  But something with him still seems… off. Just like yesterday after we’d made love in the gardens – as if he’s distracted by something. He seemed to like the shirts I bought for him, even promised to wear one tomorrow. Still…

  I change back into the street clothes I wore today and shimmy over to him, dropping my ass into his lap and grinding against him.

  “That’s my fashion show,” I breathe in his ear. “What do you think?”

  “I think it was money well spent,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  It occurs to me with more than a little shame that I’m taking advantage of him. Nick has a life, too, and I haven’t asked him about his day at all. Everything has been about me. I’m new to this whole relationship thing, but it should have occurred to me before now.

  “So what did you do while I was burning through all your money this afternoon?” I ask.

  “Well,” he says. “Now that you mention it, I did a little shopping of my own.”

  I look at him. “You? Shopping? For what?”

  “Why don’t you come with me and take a look?”

  He leads me by the hand out of our room – our room, I still love the sound of that – and downstairs, then out the front door. The dogs sidle up to us as soon as they realize we’re going outside.

  “You shopped for something that’s outside?” I ask.

  Nick smiles and taps in the code to open the garage door. As it rolls up into its housing, I see a new addition to the stable – and one that’s missing.

  “You kind of commandeered my old Corvette,” he says. “I figured I’d get myself a new one.”

  It’s a beautiful machine – low and sleek and futuristic, like something out of an action movie. And it’s the same shade of red as the older one that I love so much. Some couples have matching bowling jackets; we have matching Corvettes.

  Even so, it seems a little out of place with the rest of the collection.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. “I like it. But where’s your Mustang?”

  He shrugs. “I traded it in.”

  “You what? But it was your baby!”

  “It’s just a car,” he says. “And in a way, it reminded me too much of my past.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He takes my hand. “I’ve realized something lately. I spend too much time thinking about what happened a long time ago, and nowhere near enough on what’s going to happen tomorrow, and the week after that, and the year after that. I want to focus on the future.”

  The lump in my throat catches me off guard, and that sense of distorted reality comes over me again. Can this really be happening? Am I going to wake up sometime and find myself back in Jersey, sleeping on the ratty old sofa bed?

  “I want that too,” I croak.

  We kiss for a bit before Nick taps the button to open the new ‘Vette. The interior is just as sleek and sexy as the exterior. I fawn over it, even though I still prefer the old one, just to make Nick feel good.

  “Why didn’t you sell the Mustang to Frank?” I ask as I step out. “He’ll be ticked. You told him that one day in town that you’d never sell.”

  Nick’s eyes widen for just a moment before he says: “I didn’t want to tell him this, but there’s no way he could afford it. All the parts were replaced with factory originals, and the engine only had 20,000 miles on it. The owner of the Chevy dealership gave me $35,000 trade-in because he knows he can turn around and sell it for $50,000.”

  I nod. That sounds completely reasonable.

  “Want to go for a spin?” he asks.

  “I will later,” I say, sliding my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “But I think we discussed something about you winning a little while ago. Or am I remembering that wrong?”

  A smile lights up his face. “Yes, you did,” he says. “In fact, I think you said it was guaranteed.”

  “Well then,” I say, pulling him back towards the house. “I guess we better get at it.”

  I lead him through the front door, the dogs padding after us, and up the stairs. When we reach the bedroom door, the dogs stop and reluctantly head off into another part of the house.

  A few minutes later, Nick is inside me, driving me wild with desire, pushing every single button until I come, over and over. We finally collapse in a heap in each other’s arms on the bed, panting, until my stomach growls.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Skipped lunch. How about you?”

  “Yeah, me too,” he says. “Let’s go see what we’ve got in the kitchen.”

  As he rolls over and starts to dress, I�
��m struck with a little tickle of doubt in my belly. I distinctly remember smelling cooked cabbage on Nick’s clothes when I came home. And the look on his face when he was talking about the Mustang.

  Why can’t I shake the feeling that Nick is lying to me?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  32. INTERLUDE: JOSEF

  The blazing sun is directly over Josef’s lounger when Arkady finally stumbles out through the sliding doors onto the pool deck, Bloody Mary in hand. His thick terrycloth robe flows out around him like a blanket as he lowers himself onto the lounger next to his father’s.

  “Good afternoon,” Josef says, glancing at his watch. “A little past when we said we’d meet, isn’t it?”

  Arkady groans. “I got in late, Pops. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Josef says. “Young people stay out late. I was like you once, believe it or not.”

  “I don’t believe it,” his son says with a smug grin. “I thought you were born a middle-aged grump.”

  Josef chuckles as he rises from the lounger. He feels a trickle of sweat running down his neck from behind his ears.

  “I need to cool off,” he says, stepping into the blessed chill of the pool water. “You should join me.”

  Arkady downs the rest of his drink and gives his head a shake.

  “Maybe I will. Help get rid of this hangover.”

  “That’s the spirit,” says Josef. “Water is the source of all life, you know.”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Arkady bobs in the shallow end, dipping down to his chin with his knees on the bottom. Josef glides over to him.

  “I meant what I said, you know. I was just like you, once.”

  “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “I was young and stupid. Thought I knew more than I actually did. Pissed people off.”

  Josef catches Arkady rolling his bloodshot eyes, but chooses to ignore it.

  “The difference is that I had something back then that you don’t, son.”

  “Gee, Pops, what was it? I’m dying to know.”

  “I had a friend named Nick Chernenko.”

  Arkady stops bobbing and keeps still. The scowl on his face says he’s not in the mood.

  Fuck your mood, Josef thinks.

  “Look, Pops – ”

  Josef cuts him off as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Nick was a special kind of person,” he says. “Not special as in he was a really good friend, although he was. What I mean is he had… unique skills.”

  Arkady sighs. “What are you trying to say?”

  “One time Nick and I were at a bar in Sheepshead, just the two of us, nobody else from the family. This was back in the ‘90s, when you could still smoke indoors, and there were a handful of bikers playing pool in the back, and they’re puffing on these long cigars that smelled like burning tires.

  “After a while, a couple of girls start telling these guys to go smoke outside. You know how Brooklyn women are. Now, these biker types take that as some sort of come on, and next thing we know, they’re grabbing at these girls, pushing them around. You know what I’m saying?”

  Arkady’s eyes narrow but he says nothing.

  “I’m barely noticing this at the time, but Nick happens to look over and see it. I’m telling him a joke and he holds up a finger and tells me to hang on a second. He walks over with his bottle of Miller Lite to the pool room. He says something to the biggest guy, easily six-foot-six, and suddenly there’s a pool cue swinging at Nick’s head.

  “I blink a few times, there’s a blur, I hear glass smashing and some other noises. Then I see Nick walking back to our table. In the pool room, I see four bikers in a pile on the floor and a bunch of people standing around gawking. I’m talking seven, eight seconds tops and these guys are out cold. Nick sits back down across from me and waves at the waitress to bring him another beer, because he’d smashed his last bottle against the biggest biker’s skull.

  “Finally he looks at me and says, ‘So anyway, three lawyers walk into a bar, then what?’”

  Arkady runs a hand down his face, leaving a sheen of pool water on his skin.

  “I get it, he’s a tough guy. What’s the point?”

  Josef sighs as he wraps his forearm around his son’s throat and pushes down on the top of his head until it’s submerged. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, but he can’t let up for a second. His son has always had to learn things the hard way; Josef knows this. He blames himself for not making the point clearly the first time.

  Arkady struggles fiercely, and he’s stronger than his father. But Josef has leverage, and the desperate strength of a father trying to save his son’s life. He counts out in Mississippis, all the way to thirty, before he finally lets go.

  His son breaks the surface with a huge gasp, gulping in air and blowing water and snot out of his nose.

  “JESUS FUCK – ”

  Josef grabs him again and sends him back under the surface. This time Arkady is weaker from lack of oxygen, but his panic is giving him more fuel than Josef would have believed. He makes it to twenty Mississippis this time before letting him up.

  Now Arkady staggers to the edge of the pool and steadies himself, coughing in great, ugly barks as he tries desperately to fill his depleted lungs. Josef lets him do this for several seconds before he speaks.

  “Do you have any idea why I’m doing this?” he asks.

  Arkady turns and glares at him with blazing eyes that are crimson with broken blood vessels.

  “Because you’re a sadistic fuck?!” he barks, then collapses into a coughing fit.

  Josef floats over to his son and waits until the wheezing subsides.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  Still glaring, Arkady manages to nod. Satisfied that his son isn’t going to choke to death, he grabs the boy’s throat and slams his head against the tile edge of the pool.

  “I’m doing this,” he whispers savagely in Arkady’s ear, “because I would rather you drowned by my own hand than suffer whatever Nick Chernenko will do to you if you fuck with him just one more time.”

  “I didn’t – ” his son croaks.

  “He KNOWS, you stupid little bastard!” Josef screams. “You’ve been at his house! You’ve watched him through a spotting scope! After we both told you to drop it!”

  He lets go, shocked at his own trembling as adrenaline courses through his body in time with his heartbeat. He didn’t know a person could feel such fury and such fear at the same time.

  Arkady steadies himself with a hand on the pool edge as he bends over, choking and retching into the water.

  “Tell me you get it,” Josef says quietly. “Look me in the eye and tell me you understand that Nick will kill you if you don’t stop.”

  His son’s gaze is unreadable as he looks up, his hand at his throat, his chest heaving.

  “I understand,” he husks.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Tears well in Arkady’s eyes, and Josef’s stomach finally unclenches. He’s made his point.

  “I understand,” Arkady sobs.

  With an overwhelming sense of relief, Josef takes his son tenderly in his arms and puts the boy’s head on his shoulder. How did it come to this? Where did they go wrong with him?

  “I’m so glad,” he whispers in Arkady’s ear. “I was so scared I’d lose you.”

  “I won’t go near him again,” the boy says. “Or her.”

  Josef holds him at arm’s length and looks him over. Other than the red eyes, he doesn’t have any noticeable marks. Pam will just assume he’s hung over a little more than usual.

  “You should get some rest. Go inside and lie down. I’ll tell your mother that you’re not feeling well.”

  Arkady climbs slowly and silently out of the pool, stopping to steady himself on the side of the lounger as he picks up his robe. He wraps it around himself and shuffles slowly back in through the sliding doors.

  Once the boy is out of sight, Josef heaves
a massive sigh, shaking as he exhales. He can’t remember the last time he felt so horrible, so out of control. Only a child could possibly make a man feel this way, he tells himself. You’re still in charge of the family. Still in control. You’re not weak.

  Then the sound of Nick’s voice in his ear again: I will kill him.

  He shudders. By late afternoon, he will have finished an entire pint of Green Mark on his own.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  33. INTERLUDE: ARKADY

  “Nick Chernenko is fucking dead.”

  His voice still sounds full of broken glass, and his chest still feels a little stab when he takes a deep breath. But it doesn’t matter; he’s still in charge, and his companions are still ready to follow him, no matter what.

  Darya runs a hand through her green hair, her eyes dancing.

  “What about Jessica?” she says. “Are we gonna finish what we started?”

  Darya’s apartment is virtually brand new and runs almost two grand a month, but it still looks like a crash pad for homeless people. Pizza boxes and alcohol bottles strewn everywhere, huge stains on the furniture, debris littered all over the floor.

  “I don’t know yet,” Arkady says thoughtfully, scratching the remnants of his last line of cocaine from the end of his nose. “I think I’ll take my time with that one.”

  It’s just the two of them in the fading afternoon light. Normally, Andrei and Val would be here, too, listening but not offering any input because they’re too fucking stupid. But ever since Arkady’s father found out about his first encounter with Chernenko, he doesn’t trust them. One of them must have squealed.

  “So how do we do it?” Darya asks.

  “From a distance. My little swimming lesson with the old man taught me one thing: not to get close enough to Chernenko that he can see us coming.”

  “I still think I could take him. If it hadn’t been for those fucking dogs – ”

  “You still would have gotten your ass handed to you,” Arkady says matter-of-factly. “Pops told me Chernenko used to be an enforcer. Afterwards I asked a couple of the old guard about him. They had stories that’d make you shit your pants.”