by Nina Park
People always talked about going up stairs being exhausting, and it was, but going down stairs, if you did it hard enough and fast enough, was also pretty damn tiring. You had to keep your balance, keep up the right pace, plan the quick turns around the corners of the stairs. You had to ignore the sounds above you of the men in pursuit.
They were only five flights up, which was good; Vincent was breathing hard by the time they hit the ground floor, and Alina was stumbling just a little bit. He took her arm again, leading her quickly through another set of doors he'd checked out when he'd planned potential escape routes from the building. It was the less obvious exit, and he'd calculated they had just enough time to get through before the men in pursuit would turn and be able to see clearly which way he and Alina had gone.
He pushed her through the doors that led to the basement of the hotel, pressed her against the wall, then leaned over her, shielding her with his body. He pressed a finger to her lips, reminding her to be silent, then reminding his own body that just because he was close to her and adrenaline was running very high, that didn't mean what his body meant for it to mean. She certainly felt him, stiff against her thigh, and she grinned just a little against his finger. She was too careful to laugh at him or even try to cop a feel, but it was a brief moment of levity, and it felt good.
He heard footsteps slam down the rest of the stairs, and then a quiet moment at the base of them, presumably as the pursuers tried to decide which way they had gone. He kept his hand close to his holstered weapon and waited, poised on the edge of violence.
And then he heard footsteps going the other way. Away from them. He let out a quiet, light breath of relief. Alina seemed to feel his relaxation as well, and she gave way just a little bit. He felt her shaking against him now, her breath coming out just a little harsher. He stayed exactly where he was, giving her the dark and the pressure and the safety she seemed to need to regain her composure and let the adrenaline pass.
Not even the cabin she had mentioned seemed safe. Nothing that had even the slightest ties to the Costas was going to be a safe place to hide. He had to get her somewhere that had no connection to anything, and he had to do it now.
And he had to figure out what the hell was happening, and how to get them both out of this.
Chapter Nine
Alina was happy to follow Vincent's lead through the elevator, rushing down the stairs and hiding in a dark hallway. The dark hallway part had been particularly nice, a good break from the sheer terror of not knowing what was happening and just relying on the instincts trained into her from childhood – when the people who are supposed to protect you tell you to do something, you do it – to keep herself together and not give over to the climbing fear.
As he led her out into the parking garage, to his car, and then peeled out of the parking lot, she was less patient. She let him drive for a little while without saying anything. He was clearly coming down from his own energy rush, and she wanted to give him the space he needed to breathe before she started making demands.
That lasted for maybe ninety seconds.
"Tell me what's happening," she said, and she used the most no-nonsense tone she'd ever learned from her father.
Vincent gave her just a little bit of a look, a tiny amount of a smile, and then he started talking. "It's about your dad."
Even with the warning, she froze. "Tell me."
"I'm sorry, Alina—"
"No. None of that. No condolences. Just tell me, straight out, what's going on. When I know, I can cope, so you have to just tell me all at once."
"Dez said he's dead."
The words rocked her hard, and Alina put the heel of her hand to the center of her chest, trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest and running away. She'd been expecting this for a while, she had to admit that. If he were alive – it had been almost four months since Vincent had taken her away from school, surely if he were alive, she would know it by now. He would have come and gotten her or told Vincent to bring her home.
Wait.
"Who's Dez?"
At that, Vincent went completely still. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and careful. "You don't know?"
"Should I?"
Vincent was quiet until they got to a large parking lot. He turned off the lights for just a moment, then turned to her. "I'm surprised your father never mentioned her."
"Spill it, Vincent," Alina said, putting as much of her father's insistence into her voice as she could. "Who is this woman?"
He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. Over the past few months, she'd come to understand that this was a sign of total nervousness. She understood why in a second – and her only confusion was why her father hadn't mentioned having a new girlfriend.
"How long has he been seeing her?"
Vincent gave her a long, sideways look; she could see the relief in his eyes at not needing to explain that her father continued to have a romantic life – and, most likely, a sexual life – after her mother had died. He'd mentioned women over the years, but only in passing. It hadn't ever bothered her. The women hadn't ever tried to get in touch with her or be her friend, so Alina was more than happy to have her father shared – as long as he wasn't sharing himself when he was with her.
But it was hard not to notice that he'd never mentioned this woman. And he truly had been more distant the last few times he'd taken her to exotic locations during breaks. Was it because this woman had his attention? She didn't want to be jealous... but also it was confusing and concerning that her father had done this.
"Couple of years now," Vincent said. He pulled the car back onto the road. Maybe it was for their safety, or maybe it was because he knew she was less likely to hit him when he was driving. Jerk. But he was right. "She's pretty close to him, Alina. It never occurred to me that he wouldn't have—" He sighed. Smart guy – didn't want to get in the middle of that conversation. "Anyway. She called me – told me he was gone. I don't know if it's true. I need to be real clear about that. But when I went downstairs, and there were hitters I recognize coming in."
"You think she sent them?" The evil bitch who came for the loving man trope was a little tired, but then life wasn't a movie. And who else would it have been?
But Vincent hesitated. "I don't know who sent them. I just know that something's going on, and I don't know who to trust."
"And so the solution is to trust no one?"
"Basically, yeah."
"How very Fox Mulder of you."
It was easier to be snippy and snide about his method of protecting them – her – than it was to think about everything happening right now. Her father was, maybe, dead. He'd had a girlfriend that he had hidden from Alina for years. She'd thought of herself as keeping secrets from her father. She hadn't told him that she never wanted to come back to the Costa family or be involved in his business in any way. She hadn't told him that she wanted to travel, get a job, never really settle in one place. She'd never even really told him about Johnny. There hadn't really seemed to be a point.
Alina’s arms wrapped around her stomach, and she thought of one more thing she would never get to tell him. That was really the thing that was tearing her up. The idea of her father never being a grandfather. Somehow, with all the distance she'd thought of putting between them, it had never occurred to her that he wouldn't be able to hold any babies that she had. Her father was young, just in his mid-50s. She'd thought they would have plenty of time together – and that they'd spend it together. That he would be part of her life for a long time.
Vincent cleared his throat, and Alina glanced over at him. His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and he clearly had something to say. Alina wanted to prompt him, to help make it easier, but she simply didn't have the energy. The most she could do was give him the quiet he needed to work up the courage for whatever he had in his head.
"The thing is," he said eventually, "Nick gave us both IDs, but they're not meant for the long-term. They w
ouldn't hold up to real scrutiny. But I can change that. I know people who could backfill stuff, get you all the documents you could need."
"What good would that do me?"
"You don't want this life, Alina." Vincent's voice was quiet, soft even. It was a little strange to hear. "You've said so half a dozen times. You don't want me – no, stop arguing, you know you don't. Not like this. Not with my hands covered in blood, not on the run. I'm scaring you right now, just by knowing how to get through this insane situation."
He wasn't entirely wrong. This mess happening right now, this was all the reasons she'd started to be afraid of her father's world. Vincent wasn't just in it – as far as she knew, he was in it by choice. He liked the power that came from association with the Costas. He liked his life. She'd been shying away from that truth from the moment he'd come back into her life. But still.
"What difference does it make? How would that help us?"
"You could leave," he said, still quiet. "I could – it doesn't matter, you would be believed to be gone. You could take a new self. Go back to your college boy. Tell him the condom broke, that the kid is his, that you took off because you were scared. He'll take you back. He wanted you, you knew that. You know that."
She shook her head. "He's moved on by now. Johnny and I weren't attached."
Vincent's hands tightened even more on the steering wheel; she almost worried it was going to shatter under his grip. "A girl like you gets what she wants, Alina. You know that. If you want that boy to pay attention to you again, he will."
"And what if I don't want that?" Because as much as she didn't want the Costa life, she wanted this man. It wasn't just the incredible sex, it was the way they'd started waking up together, going to sleep together. The way they argued over the different contestants on The Bachelor or laughed at the way the chef behaved on Hell's Kitchen. It was how he'd picked every single pea out of her chicken fried rice the day that peas made her sick.
The idea of walking away from a guy who cared that much, and back to a guy who would have – well, there was no real understanding of how far Johnny would have gone that night if Vincent hadn't intervened (far enough, was the point) – was illogical.
Vincent shrugged again. "I'm sure someone could shunt off enough money from your trust funds, or the stocks, or something, to make you comfortable for a long time. You could travel. Find another rich husband. Hell, find a rich wife, I don't know. But you – you don't have to do this, Alina. I don't want you to do this out of obligation. I want you to be happy."
Coming from a six-foot-tall brick of a man, it was a surprisingly sentimental speech. She reached out and pressed her open hand against his thigh.
"That's not what I want," she said, trying to keep her tone quiet and soft, like his. "I get why you think that, but I want – what I want has changed. I want to be with you, in some way. I know you think that when we get out of this, what we want will have changed. And maybe you're right. Probably you're right. But this is good enough that I don't want to give up, okay? I want to give this a real try. And even if we don't work out, you deserve to know your kid. You can't do that if I up and disappear."
Vincent shook his head hard, his tone growing angrier. "I don't think you're listening to me. Or even to yourself. You're setting yourself up for years of running, misery, who knows what else. You're setting your baby up for that life too."
"Our baby."
He slapped the steering wheel hard. Alina yanked her hand back and pressed herself up against the door. She didn't want him to see her afraid of him, but she didn't know how to breathe at that moment.
"It doesn't matter," he snarled out. "Don't you see, dammit? I'd do anything to protect that kid, and if that means that I never meet it, but it's safe, then I will fucking do that."
"Okay," Alina said, her hands raised to ask for peace. "Fine. Okay. I get it. But I have to know what happened to my dad first, okay?" It wasn't hard to make tears pop up in her eyes. It would have been harder to keep them hidden any longer. "I can't just disappear if he might – if he might be out there and need me. Does that make sense?"
Vincent sighed, rubbing his eyes for a second, then nodded. "Of course it does. I think it's fucking stupid, but it makes sense."
She could tell that he wasn't even close to done with the conversation, but he would let it go for now. Sometimes that was the best you could hope for in an argument.
There was absolutely no way she was going back to Johnny or anyone else at that school. She didn't know what her life would look like walking forward from here, but she knew it wasn't going to be like it was. All that time, her father had been shoving her out of his life. She understood why, and she'd gone along with it. But that wasn't fair, or right. She couldn't make a new life by running away from her old one. She could try and find a new way forward, but it had to rise from what she wanted and where she was going. Otherwise, it would be just as controlled as before – and she wouldn't actually have a single mote more control than otherwise.
She rubbed her hand over her belly. It had started to swell, though she doubted anyone but her and Vincent had noticed. She'd always had a softer body, and the growing curve was more obvious in its firmness than it was in how it changed her shape. Her boobs were incredible though, overfilling her bra and so sensitive that she hated wearing one. Vincent had been taking great pleasure in tormenting her.
I'll find a way to protect you from all this, kiddo, she thought, looking down at her belly, and the life that was slowly growing there. I swear I will. But if we're not both happy, then what's the point?
The little bundle of cells obviously didn't give her any kind of response, but it felt good all the same. To think that she was a mother, looking out for her child. That felt like what she was supposed to be doing. Sobering, intimidating, and powerful all at once.
She looked at Vincent, his hands slowly relaxing on the wheel as he settled into the routine of driving them away from the danger. She knew he was keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, looking for any signs of a vehicle that might be tailing them. She knew that he would do all the right things to keep them safe. Something else would come along at some point, and she would have to act and do her part.
But for right now, this was his. And she could rest.
Chapter Ten
Vincent watched Alina until her body relaxed into sleep. It was hard to keep up the façade; his body was trembling with the adrenaline drop, his eyes were swimming with exhaustion, and his mind was foggier than he liked. He wanted to pull over and sleep, but there was no way he could do that until he'd put more distance between them and the hitters who had been at the hotel.
What he couldn't understand was why he and Alina mattered so much. She was Frank's daughter, he was protecting her, but why? Why did anyone give a shit? The Costas would never allow a woman to take over the family, so there was no point in coming after her. Her death wouldn't even particularly send a message to anyone. Not even Frank if they'd already killed him. So what was the damn point of this?
He was usually pretty decent at figuring out patterns in situations like this, but right now, he didn't have a damn clue. He'd even tried to find an angle where they might be coming for him, but that didn't make any sense either. He wasn't anyone within the Costas. A bodyguard, one who'd gotten a little closer to Frank than the average, but really, he was on the detail as an extension of Nick's sphere of responsibility.
The smart thing to do would be to get a clean phone and call Nick, but he wasn't ready to take that risk. He had no way of knowing what was going on or who was safe to contact. He'd been telling Alina the truth when he said that. When he said he didn't know where he was going, well… that was a little different.
He pulled into an all-night convenience store after a little while, once he felt safe enough to make that ten-minute stop. He parked somewhere he would be able to see the car, and Alina, from all internal points, then went inside.
His mental shopping list was pretty simple: t
wo prepaid cash phones, one for him and one for her; energy drinks; a couple of sandwiches; and one of those little packs of hummus and pretzels for her – if she didn't eat every few hours, she got sick. She'd mostly stopped the random sickness of her earliest pregnancy, but this one detail had remained true.
When had he become the kind of guy who would be sure to get his girl a few snacks so the baby wouldn't leave her queasy or nauseated? He tried to tell himself that this was because he needed her to be okay if something came up again, and they needed to run, but that was a load of crap. He was worried about her. About the baby. And he wanted to take care of them.
Vincent tossed a sandwich for himself into the pile of gear and paid with cash. The bored clerk looked half asleep or totally stoned and wasn't much for even "thank you and have a nice night" conversation. Which, of course, suited Vincent just fine. He wasn't the type to shoot some random asshole just because said asshole had seen his face, but at the same time, why take chances? The more anonymous they were, the better.