by Ariel Arnold
USING YOU
A NOVEL BY,
ARIEL ARNOLD
© 2016
Published by After Hours Publications
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction, in any manner, is prohibited.
Due to some explicit scenes, it’s suggested age is 16+.
Other Books By
Ariel Arnold:
Body Language; My Sexy Russian
I Deserve It
Prologue: Ilya
The funeral of Vidor Prakenski was a private affair. Only his family and close friends were in attendance. The Bratva made sure to keep the press away, not allowing them entrance into the graveyard. I looked around at the faces around me as guilt ate me up inside. I should’ve done my responsibility and been there with Vidor. I’d decided to handle something else and give Dimitri a chance to take over. In that small instant, that one decision, Vidor was killed in cold blood as he had been sightseeing.
“He should be buried at home, where he loves, not here in this country,” Nikolai said as he looked at the expensive mausoleum that Vidor’s body was laid to rest in.
Aleksandr’s father placed his hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “I’m sure he would be okay with this. He’s closer to the people he loves the most now.” Nikolai nodded and lowered his hand as Amanda squeezed the hand he held tightly in his.
I glanced away from the couple, my eyes resting briefly on the mausoleum before I settled on looking at a point a bit far away from all of this. I didn’t deserve to stand here and mourn a great leader when I’d done nothing to protect him.
I could feel someone looking at me. I had my suspicions on who it was. I looked to my side and saw Yazmeen looking at me worriedly. “Ilya, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered simply. I didn’t want to talk about anything. I knew Yazmeen; she was a fixer. If she knew I was blaming myself, she’d take it upon herself to convince me otherwise. At this point, I didn’t think I could take her constantly being around me, no matter that she was just worried about my well-being. She narrowed her eyes on me, scanning my face, which I was sure was giving nothing away. People more experienced than her had tried to crack my façade. After a moment, she nodded in defeat and turned her attention back to Aleksandr.
I wanted this funeral to be over. I couldn’t stand being here a moment longer and that made me feel even more guilty. This wasn’t a feeling I was used to. I didn’t dwell on things; I didn’t feel remorse for things I couldn’t change. What’s done is done is my motto. But this was different. The person I’d failed—no, the people I’d failed—are more important to me than anyone else. I’d failed Vidor Prakenski, a man that treated me like his own son. Took me in, helped me to survive the mean Russian streets. And Nikolai, the closest thing to a brother I have, and I couldn’t protect his grandfather.
Right now, all I wanted to do was start my own investigation. I would figure out who it was that did this, and make no mistake, them and anyone involved would pay.
Chapter One: Nana
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, numerous thoughts flitting in and out of my mind. My body and mind had been restless lately. There was this weird imminent feeling that something big was about to happen. Or that something should have happened already. I didn’t know what it was, but at any rate, it was keeping me up at night. Nights of sleep that I desperately needed, especially so since I’d been on the morning shift as of late. Deciding that there was no point in just lying here staring at the ceiling when I knew sleep wouldn’t come, I got out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. Taking a walk and getting one of my favorite snacks at the same time seemed like the best way to get rid of some of this restless energy so that I could get some sleep and be refreshed for work.
My job was demanding physically and emotionally. I needed all the stored energy I could get. Showing up to the NY Police Department exhausted every day was a sure way to get yourself hurt or placed on leave.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I brushed my short hair back off my face as I studied my features. More and more each day, I’d begun doing this. Studying myself and wondering how my sister would look now, if she’d been allowed to reach my age, to live this long. If she were alive today, she’d be twenty-four years old. The familiar ache that came when I thought of Kayla speared my chest and I hunched over. My mind began to spin with memories. Memories of the year Kayla was taken from our family so horribly and the years that followed. How what happened to her decided the course of my life.
May 2012
"You're only seventeen. You don't really know what it is that you want out of life," my mom told me. Her big brown eyes were pleading with me to realize what I was saying wasn't a good idea. I shook my head, knowing that I was disappointing her.
"I know this is what I want to do. I'm not going to change my mind," I assured her defiantly. "After I graduate, I'm signing up for the police academy. I want to make a difference, Ma."
"Does this have to do with Kayla?" my dad asked, his green eyes focusing on me. Mom looked down at the mention of my sister’s name and began wringing her hands together. It still distressed her to hear Kayla's name mentioned. It had been two years, but the pain of her death was still fresh in all our hearts.
"Yes and no," I told him truthfully. Even before what happened to Kayla, I was interested in doing something with law. Admittedly, I was leaning more towards being a lawyer. But after everything, I felt like I needed to be on the front lines. I needed to be the one who snapped the handcuffs on the bad guys and prevented them from hurting anyone. I wanted to become the kind of cop that was dedicated and really cared. I'd do everything in my power to help those who needed it, even if I had to bend the laws to accomplish it.
Because of those laws that make no sense, no one could help my sister. She was receiving call after call from someone who would just breathe over the line. They never said anything, but they always called, every day. Kayla was afraid and went to the police, but they told her there was nothing they could do. Basically, they couldn't do anything until whoever this unknown person was actually tried to hurt her.
That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. The police are supposed to prevent crimes, not do clean up after they've already happened!
However, that's exactly what happened. After months of tormenting my sister, he finally struck. He grabbed her on her way home from college. He took her, raped her and killed her. He was arrested and tried and is rotting in jail now, but the fact is they couldn't do anything to help my sister. They didn't prevent her from having to go through the pain and horror of that attack. I can only imagine how scared she was and what was going through her mind at the time.
That sick man wasn't punished until after he'd already taken Kayla away from us.
If just one of the officers at the precinct the day she came in took an interest in what was going on, if they went out of their way to help, maybe things would be different now. Maybe Kayla would be here, alive, living the life she was supposed to have.
I intend to be that type of police officer; I'll go the extra mile to help those in need. It's a promise that I made to Kayla as I stood over her grave.
"I really want to do this, dad. It's what I want. Can you guys just support me?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I don't think it's a good idea. What about your health? I don't think you'd be allowed, not with—" He was saying when I interrupted him.
I already anticipated this argument. When I was born, I was born 3 months premature and with a small hole i
n my heart. Because of this, I was weak and sick a lot as a child. I had to go through multiple surgeries before I was in better health. "I already talked with Doctor Sadoff and he examined me and feels that it won't harm me to do this as long as I watch my health and take my medicine," I assured them.
"It's too dangerous. I can't lose another child!" my mom cried out as tears poured from her eyes. My dad gathered her to him and held her in his arms. He whispered to her in her ear, trying to calm her down. He then wiped the tears from her face. His pale skin the opposite of her dark contrasted as they stared into each other’s eyes.
I felt horrible about distressing Mom, but I wasn't going to change my mind.
The next day, I walked into the local hair salon that my mother, sister and I always frequented.
"Nana. I haven't seen you in so long. How are you?" Felicia asked.
"I'm doing good. Just busy with finals and everything." I shrugged as I sat down in the salon chair.
Felicia smiled. "Look at you all grown up now, graduating high school. I know your family is proud. Your grandma sat in this very chair and bragged when Kayla was grad…" She trailed off awkwardly.
Everyone still felt uncomfortable mentioning Kayla.
"Anyway, what do you want done?" she asked, not finishing what she was previously saying.
I took a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror at my waist length hair, before telling her confidently, "Cut it all off."
I shook off all the memories of my past and tried to focus on the present. I couldn’t afford to let myself drown in all the tragedies of the past. Sometimes I’d think of my older sister and remember all the good times we had and a huge smile would pull across my face and my heart would feel light. But still, other times, I’d remember her last few months filled with fear and anxiety, the morning my mother and father had to go and identify her body, and all the ugliness in my soul would come to the surface. I’d have depressing thoughts; I’d be angry and needlessly rude. To prevent that, I try not to think about the past and when I do, I make a concentrated effort to only remember the good things.
“Remember the good things, Nana,” I reminded myself out loud before leaving my apartment.
Pulling my hoodie closer to my body and dropping the hood down lower on my head, I continued walking through the park. This wasn't exactly one of the best neighborhoods and this park was a frequent hangout for bums, drug addicts, and gangs. So, walking through at night most definitely wasn't a good idea, especially alone. But all I wanted was one of Mr. Tan's famous sticky buns and I didn't want to take the long way around. Cutting through the park takes at least ten minutes off my walking time. Besides, most of the time, the people are so wrapped up in their own lives and problems they don't have time to hassle anyone else.
My high-top sneakers crunched the dry leaves that fell from the trees as I picked up my pace, practically tasting the sticky bun in my mouth. Fall had come early and quickly. One week in September, it was still stifling hot and then the next, the temperatures had dramatically dropped. But that's this east coast weather; we're used to it.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up and I felt a sense of foreboding in my belly. Over the years, I'd learned it's better to trust my instincts and my instincts were screaming at me that something was about to go down. If anyone was in the mood to do any mugging tonight, they'd be in for a rude awakening and must have shitty luck to run into an off-duty cop. Unfortunately, I didn't have my police issued firearm with me. I'd left it back in my apartment in my rush to make it to the all-night diner. I did, however, have a small pocket knife stuck into the back pocket of my jeans. I also had my badge slung around my neck. Hopefully, that would be enough to deter whoever it was from doing what they wanted. I kept my pace, walking along as if I hadn't noticed anything was up, but I strained my ears to hear what was going on behind me. I could detect at least three separate pairs of footsteps walking silently as possible behind me. Shit, I thought.
One, maybe even two, I felt confident in handling, but three? Without my gun, I feared I didn't stand a chance.
Chapter Two: Nana
I continued to walk, knowing that they would soon make their move. We were in the middle of the park and they couldn't afford to let me get any closer to the exit, or I would be able to escape them. I debated on what I should do. Stop and confront them head on or try to make a run for the park’s exit, which was a good ten-minute walk from my current location?
"Hey, baby, wait up!" a male voice called out from behind me.
Times up for decision making. I stopped and turned around to face the direction of the voice. In front of me stood four young boys. I groaned. There was one more that I hadn't anticipated. Also, they looked like teenagers. Teens are always more volatile and unpredictable than anyone else.
"Listen, boys, whatever you have planned, you don't want to go through with it," I told them, hoping they would see reason.
The one who was slightly in front of the rest—he looked Hispanic—grinned. "Nah. I'm pretty sure that I do." He stepped forward, coming closer to me and the other three followed his lead.
"No, you don't," I said firmly, all the while getting my body into a fighting stance. I was about to open my mouth again to tell them just who they were messing with when a shadow to my right moved and became a large man. I jumped slightly, moving away. I didn't even notice him there. How could a man his size be so silent? I also groaned in dismay. The odds were not in my favor. With this new addition, that made it five to one.
"The girl is right. You should stop what you're doing and go home," the shadowed man said calmly. I noted that he had an accent, one that I couldn't pinpoint. Then, more importantly, I noticed that he was standing up for me, which meant he wasn't with the others.
The boys paused in their advance and eyed the newcomer. They seemed reluctant to come any closer. I could understand their hesitation. Though there was four of them, my would-be rescuer was huge. I couldn't see much of his features because of the trees covering the moon and the area we were in strategically had no lamppost. But what I could see of him was a tall stature, wide, broad shoulders, and a solid build. He looked like he knew how to handle himself.
The boy who'd spoken up before cracked a grin and tilted his chin up. "You should mind your business, white boy. I have no problem fucking up a gringo that doesn't know when to go his own way." His friends hooted and hollered, egging him on. I could hear my rescuer audibly sigh.
"I'm not in the mood for this, but I will hurt you if you make me. So, I say once again. You boys should go home to your mudders."
Once again, the accent had me wondering about him. German? Russian? Ukrainian? His pronunciation of certain words had me leaning towards Russian or Ukrainian. If so, he picked a hell of a time to be out and about at night alone. Because of the Bratva taking over a lot of the business in this area, they'd be in some tenses stations with the local gangs. There had been a lot of ethnic killings lately. Russians being killed by the local Hispanic and Black gangs.
The same boy laughed aloud. "This nigga said go home to our mudders," he said, making fun of the pronunciation of mother.
"Let's body him," another of the boys suggested. This one looked to be black instead of Hispanic. His friends shouted their encouragement, "Fuck yeah. He's one of those prissy ass Russian mobsters. Look at his suit; he thinks he's big shit," another said before spitting on the ground as if in disgust.
"Let's get him. I bet you Darius gives us a promotion."
My ears pricked up at the name. Darius was none other than the leader of a powerful street gang called HBD, the H Block Devils. HBD consisted of most of the young boys who lived in this area. Most gangs admitted members based on race. Asian gangs, Hispanic gangs, Italian, etc. HBD, however, employed anyone living in the neighborhood, no matter ethnicity, as long as they proved their loyalty. HBD especially had been clashing with the Russian Bratva.
I glanced at the man standing in front of me. C
ould he possibly be a member of the Bratva? From what I've heard, though, they were all ruthless and cold, so why would one of them stop to help a woman they didn’t even know? "You should probably get out of here now," he said to me, startling me out of my thoughts once again. I blinked at him in confusion. His eyes were still focused on the group of boys, but I'm sure he was speaking to me.
"What?" I asked.
"Get out of here. They want a fight and they aren't going to give up until they get it," he told me.
I shook my head even though he mostly likely couldn't see me because he kept his gaze fixed. No way was I going to leave this man to be jumped and possibly killed by a gang of thugs because he tried to help me. "I'm not going to abandon you," I said firmly. He took his eyes off them and glanced back at me with a look of surprise in his eyes.
His slightly long hair hung in his face a bit, covering a little of his eye and I felt the urge to brush it back for him. Feeling disconcerted about my wayward urges, I instead took my knife out of my back pocket and snapped it open. He took one last glance at me before turning his attention back to the boys, who were coming forward, intending to circle us.
"Stop," a voice called out just as I was raising my knife, preparing to launch myself at whoever struck first. Another male emerged from the shadows and I wondered absently how many men were hidden in the damn bushes of this park.