by JA Huss
“Oliver?”
He just stares at the ceiling.
“Oli?”
“Sorry,” he says, distracted. “But you know what I just realized?”
“What?”
“It’s been eleven years.”
“What?”
“The eleven-year anniversary was two weeks ago and I never even noticed.”
“Do you usually notice?”
“Every fucking year,” he whispers. “Every fucking year I get up, get on my bike, and ride until the day is over.”
Suddenly he makes a lot of sense. “‘Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road. Healthy, free, the world before me. The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.’”
“Yeah,” he says. “When I came home from Brown about a week after the accusation, the first thing I did was stop by the tattoo shop to see my sister, Jasmine. I had a thing for that poem. Song of the Open Road. I already had the bike. She did it the summer before I left. The second I turned eighteen—and I do mean the second, because I was hanging out in the shop the night before my eighteenth birthday—I had her ink me up.”
He stops to smile. Like this is a really good memory.
“My fucking parents. My dad threatened my Uncle Vic. Said if that tattoo machine put one speck of ink on his only son a minute before he turned eighteen, he’d kick his ass.”
I picture it in my head. I don’t know who would win that fight. Probably the guy who had something to fight for, and not something to fight against.
“He was being dramatic. They used to fight a lot, but hadn’t fought seriously for a few years. Vic took the warning to heart. Anyway, Jasmine had already done the bike. So that evening I came home from Brown she did the words. Because all I wanted to do was disappear. And it didn’t seem fair that I couldn’t. I was out on bail.”
God, that sucks. “You know what I was doing that night?”
Oliver pulls himself out of his past and enters mine. “That night?”
“The night you were accused of rape I was getting my throat cut.”
“That night?” Oliver squints his eyes at me.
I nod. “That same night. I was eleven.”
“What the fuck?” He’s looking at me like he has no idea who I am. And he doesn’t. Not really.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it means. I was young. I had some clue what my parents were into, ya know? But not really. Little kids have a hard time imagining the dirty shit that happens in the dark. So I would hear the word Bratva and my American mind would translate it to brothers. I called the Vory uncles. My father was Shestyorka. Associate. A nobody. But he wanted to be a somebody.”
“No,” Oliver says. “Tell me he did not give them permission.”
“He did. I didn’t understand then and I don’t understand it now. Because I would never let anyone hurt my little sister. No matter what the promise was. I’d take her cuts myself before I let them do that to her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Oliver asks, propping himself up on his elbow.
“I think they loved me,” I continue without answering. “My parents. They left me money after it all went to hell. An escape plan. A very well-thought-out escape plan. That’s how I got here.”
I want to tell him that last tiny detail about how I got here. But I can’t. Not yet.
“But before it went to hell, they made my father Vor. Thief. Bratva. Family. He earned his respect by letting them cut me with that scalpel. I wasn’t supposed to fight back.” I look up at Oliver. “But I’m just a fighter, I guess.”
He traces the words that cover the scar on my shoulder, looking down at it for a few seconds before looking back up at me. “This one was an accident.”
I nod. “And it wasn’t pretty. But it was my fault. They made that very clear when they sewed me back up.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
It’s funny how you hold things in for so long they almost start being a fantasy. But then there is one moment that changes everything. One moment and the words just come spilling out. One moment to make them real again.
“But just because you’re made Vor in the Bratva doesn’t mean you stay that way forever.”
“What did he do to lose favor?”
“He refused to give me to one of the Italians. The one who cut me.”
“Lucio Gori.”
“Senior,” I add, because it makes a difference. “Senior. I was promised to Senior and Victoria was promised to Junior. At least he was close to her age. I lied about which one did it because I wanted Tori to feel a connection to me. But it wasn’t Junior who ruined my life. It was his father.”
“Did he rape you?”
I don’t answer.
“They killed my parents a few months before I met you.”
Oliver sinks back into his pillow. His arms tightening around me once more. “I don’t need to know the rest.”
No. No, he really doesn’t. And I don’t need to talk about it either. I came to terms with it a long time ago. No amount of talking can change the past.
“Where did you really go when you left me?” He asks the question with fear in his voice.
“I lived at Lucio’s house. But it didn’t matter. Lily was here at the Parson School for Girls. Far, far away. Just like I planned.”
I wait for the next question. Why did you come back? But he is silent for a very long time after that. Ten minutes. Fifteen, maybe.
He leans in and kisses my neck. The place he likes to start. Right where the scar begins. I have always wondered how he knew. The cut goes from ear to ear. How did he know that the starting point was on my left side instead of the right?
I don’t know.
“We better take those pictures. It would be a shame to waste the moment.” Oliver slips his arm out from under me and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
I sit up in bed but don’t make to get out. “Do you really think we need to keep this moment?”
Oliver is pulling a pair of jeans on. I stare at his tattoos while he does this. The ravens. The words. The wings. The bike. More words. “Fuck, yes,” he says in a low, deep voice. “Fuck, yes, we need to keep this moment.” And then he looks at me.
His eyes are no longer rain showers, but a tornado of hate, and anger, and fear.
“Because this is the moment that changes everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine - OLIVER
My hands tremble with anger as I adjust the aperture setting on the camera so we can take advantage of the low, early-morning light streaming through the garage bay windows down on the far wall.
“Are you going to be in the pictures?” Katya asks, self-consciously pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.
“Sure,” I say, smiling at her to hide the violence thundering inside me. “But let me get you first. Turn over.”
She does. I walk over to her once the camera is set, and start arranging the white sheets into a sexy puddle. Drape it here and there. Cover her pussy that peeks out at me from between her ass cheeks. But just enough to hide what’s mine and not enough to hide what’s her. I want to see her curves. I position her hip this way. Her arm that way. Prop her up on one elbow, tip her neck back so I can see that scar. That fucking scar. All the scars will be in this image. It will be a tribute to her journey.
Maybe she started life with those fucked-up assholes. But she’s gonna end her life with me, so help me God.
I am going to kill someone over those scars.
Maybe a lot of someones.
Who cares anyway? I already killed that driver of Claudette’s. Nolan already killed Boring Richard. Paxton already killed Claudette. If Victoria had her way, she’d have been the one to kill Gori Junior.
What’s a few more kill shots on the score card?
“Oliver?” Katya says, breaking my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling at her as I pretend to adjust the sheet one more time.
“Do you think this will turn o
ut OK?”
I grin. Kinda big to ease her mind. The last thing I want is to make her worry. “I’m an excellent photographer, Kat. Trust me.”
She shakes her head. But she’s laughing. “You know what I mean.”
“I know,” I say, a lift in my voice. “Nothing’s gonna happen. It’s all just bullshit under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.”
She bites her lip. Wrong answer. I can’t lie to a girl like her. And she’s not really the girl I thought she was, is she? I knew something happened. I knew she wasn’t in school these past four years. But I realize now that the reason I didn’t look too closely was because I was afraid of the answer.
No. Lucio Gori—Jesus fucking Christ. I didn’t even know the guy existed until Tori told us about him. So no, it’s not like I didn’t want to see that. I just—fuck.
“Oliver,” Kat says.
“It’s fine,” I say. My smile is strained this time. “I mean, I know it’s not really fine, Kat. But it’s going to be fine. OK?”
“How do you know?”
I walk back to the camera and set the timer to take a picture every thirty seconds. I can sort the good ones out later. The digital beeps begin as I stare at the only girl I’ve ever loved. “I know because we have a whole team of people on our side, Katya.”
“They have two organized crime families.”
I think about that for a second. “So the Bratva wants you dead?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Another beep. Another moment captured.
She turns and strikes a new pose. I’d forgotten. She does this for a living.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I’m not one of them anymore. I was given to Gori.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not.”
Another beep.
“Come get in bed with me,” she says. “I’m tired of being the only person in the picture.”
I can do that. It’s not even a sacrifice. “Scoot down this way. On your stomach, head towards the camera.”
“Sounds kinky.” She laughs.
How can she laugh? Unless it’s fake. Like my smile.
She repositions herself the way I ask. And I drop my pants and get back into bed. I arrange my legs on either side of her ass, then give her a nice slap that leaves a bright red handprint.
“Mmm,” she murmurs.
“Open your legs,” I say.
She can’t open them wide. I’ve got her caged in with my thighs. But it’s enough room to slide my cock into her pink opening.
“Mmmm,” she moans again.
The shutter is beeping away every thirty seconds. I grab her hair and pull, making her arch her back, and when I don’t ease up, lift herself up onto her hands. Breasts forward. My written art on her front ready for its close-up with the camera.
I let go of her hair and grab both wrists, gently twisting her arms behind her back so I can hold them there. I sit back so she can rearrange herself. So she can sit back and kneel in front of me. She leans into my chest. The back of her head resting on my shoulder. And she sighs.
“Don’t worry,” I say, trying to make it better. “I can fix this.”
I think I can. I really do. I think I can fix her problems. Victoria and West will be happy to help. Pax would never say no to me if I asked for a favor. Mac and Nolan, well… I think we can keep them out of it and still get the job done.
We fuck for the camera like that. My mouth on her neck. Whispering all the things she needs to hear. But it all comes down to this. “I love you,” I say, closing my eyes and burying my face in her hair.
I know I can fix her problems. Her problems don’t really worry me.
My problems though?
That’s a whole other matter. And it would really suck to save her and leave her alone in the end. It would really, really suck to lose in order for her to win.
But I don’t care. It has to be done. I will go down fighting and I will be OK with it as long as I know she’s safe when it’s over.
Chapter Thirty - KATYA
I can feel the tension in Oliver’s body as we make love and take pictures together. But the lovemaking is soft and slow. More tender than we usually do it. And after we climax, and after we take about a hundred pictures to commemorate the occasion, we are right back where we started this day. In bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“We’re not making much progress,” I say, smiling even though it’s not a light moment. The sex started out filled with apprehension and uneasiness but I’m relaxed now. It’s funny, knowing what I do. What’s coming in the next day or two.
But Oliver always did that for me. Life was so complicated back when I first came to this town. I was a bundle of nerves. Scared and on the verge of panic at almost every turn.
And then I sat on that bench. And Oliver Shrike came walking across the street to save me from a would-be predator.
I smile.
“What are you thinking about?” Oliver says, his voice thrumming against my back.
I wonder if I could possibly put it in words. I don’t know, but I try anyway. “You know, like… there’s usually a moment.”
“A moment?” he asks, playing with my hair.
“In an action movie or a thriller book.” I turn my whole body so I can look at him while I talk.
“Go on,” he says, smiling without the tension.
“So in those kinds of movies or books it’s all go, go, go action. The stakes just keep getting higher and higher. And luck keeps running out. But then there’s this break, right? A slowdown of sorts. And people can relax for a second and catch their breath.”
“Right,” he says. “I’m with you.”
“And everyone starts thinking, We can beat this thing. It doesn’t matter what the thing is. Alien invasion, or imminent terrorist attack. or something stupid, like getting caught in a lie. Whatever. There is always this moment that tricks them into feeling good. I feel like I’m that moment with you.”
“Kat,” Oliver says. “It’s gonna be fine. I promise.”
“I know. I believe you.” And I do. So my smile isn’t even fake. “But that’s my point. The characters always believe it. They have that one night together where they get a good meal, or fuck like bunnies, or get away with the lie. And they know that nothing can beat them in that moment. Nothing. They hold all the power. They have all the answers. They are the good guys and even though they are out-weaponed, or out-financed, or ill-prepared and things look like this is for sure gonna be the end—they have all the heart it takes to fight that one last battle and win.”
He leans in and kisses me. And I know he does this because he understands the moment I’m talking about. It’s the moment right before the shit hits the fan.
The moment when the aliens kill one of them and leave the other one alone to finish the job and live on forever and ever knowing they won and they failed at the same goddamned time.
It’s that moment when one of the good guys is about to disarm that terrorist bomb but instead it goes off in his hands. So the partner has to go on. Get that last bomb. Save the world… alone.
It’s that moment, after the ship sinks and there’s just two people in that lifeboat. They are out of water and food. Have been for too many days to get through another one. And then they see land is just up ahead. They are saved.
But there is another moment in those movies or books. A moment when the boss alien captures the last hero and no one else has a chance. Or the moment when the terrorist figures out where the lone partner will be and meets them there to make damn sure that bomb goes off. Or the sharks come and now the two survivors understand what fear really is. What failure really looks like. They can’t both make it to land. There must be a sacrifice.
“The hopeless hope moment,” I say. “When the sharks come and you know you’re done for.”
“Real life isn’t a movie.”
“I know.” I sigh. “Believe me, I know. If this was a movie someone would’ve
saved me. Even if Gori Senior had his fucking cock out, ready to rape me. In a movie someone would’ve stopped him at the last second and made it all OK.”
“Fuck. Kat—”
“No,” I say, putting a hand on his chest and looking him in the eyes. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. I guess if I wanted you to save me I’d have been honest with you from the start. But instead I’ve been lying about everything.”
“Kat, listen to me, OK?” His eyes track back and forth between both of mine. “I know more than you think.”
I snort out a laugh. “No. Oliver. You don’t.”
“Trust me, Kat. I can handle this.”
But isn’t that what they all say? And the one left over to save the day falls for it every single time. “I know better, Oliver. I know better.”
“Well,” he says, still looking at me with that intense stare. “You might know more about me than most. I’ll give you that. But you know a whole lot less than you should.”
“They’re coming for us.”
“I know.”
But I shake my head. He can’t know. I don’t even know what’s really happening. And I have a hell of a lot more information than he does.
“I got this, Kat. I promise. I swear. And I would not just say these things to you if I didn’t mean it, OK?” He cups his hands to my face to make me look at him. Take him seriously. Believe him.
I nod.
“OK?” he asks again.
I nod bigger this time. “Yeah, OK.”
But I don’t believe it for a second. Because that’s what they all say in the movie. They make promises. And they make plans. And then all those plans go to shit, someone dies, and then even if they pull off a win in the end… it’s not sweet anymore. There is no true win, is there?
“This isn’t that moment, Kat. We’re not there yet. I swear. We’re not even close.”
I sigh and give in. That’s my role in this scene, right? Give in to his promises of salvation and let my guard down.
“OK. I guess you’re right.”
He doesn’t believe me either. He knows we’re there. Hell, our deadline ran out a while back, I think. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if I never see him again after we leave this house this morning and go our separate ways.