by Wild, Cassie
Each time the phone rang during the night or early this morning, it had been Isabel calling, and I just didn’t know what to say to her yet. I couldn’t apologize without it being a lie, and some part of me was still bothered by the fact that she expected me to just get over everything that had happened.
Maybe if you were honest from the beginning, she’d understand why it’s not that simple, a soft voice murmured from the back of my mind.
I silenced that voice, because the last thing I wanted to do was think about the fight with Isabel. It wasn’t as bad as the minutes of terror I’d experienced as Brooks lay bleeding on the sidewalk, but it definitely wasn’t something I wanted to experience again, even in memory.
I showered quickly and dressed in some of the clothes I’d packed the night before. I’d forgotten my bag for school back at the apartment, something I hadn’t realized until I searched for the small kit of toiletries I always carried with me.
Well, at least now I had a legitimate excuse for not going to class. I had nothing I needed for the day.
Not that Burov would have been satisfied with that. I suspected she would have wanted me to come to school after the shooting, had I not been covered in blood.
Once I was dressed, I took the key Gloria had left for me and locked up, hitching my bag up on my shoulder as I made my way to the stairs. She lived on the fifth floor, and even though there was a working elevator, she called it the box of death. After using it once last night to get up to her place, I could understand why. It rattled, and gears moaned as it levered its up and down between the floors.
Listlessly, I plodded down the five flights of stairs, my mind blurry from lack of sleep and caffeine.
I couldn’t do anything about the sleep, but once I was outside, I turned to go to the small bodega located on the corner, just down the street from Gloria’s apartment.
I got a cup and carried it outside, leaning against the brick building as I sipped.
I had no idea what to do or where to go next.
I took another slow drink of the very hot, very shitty coffee and tried not to feel sorry for myself.
I didn’t entirely succeed.
* * *
Although I’d been living in New York for a couple of years now, there was still so much of the city that was unfamiliar to me. I spent most of the day walking or using the subway as I fought to find a way out of the mess I was in.
It wasn’t a surprise when I found myself in the neighborhood where the school was located. I passed by the building that housed the Burov Academy, the windows dark now that class was out.
I turned my phone back on so I could check the time. Gritty-eyed with fatigue, I saw that it was edging up on seven.
I needed to figure out what to do for the night.
After spending the day on my feet, I was tired and sore.
A familiar sign caught my eye, and I studied the pub where Isabel and I sometimes went after class. She went more often than I did. I was always counting my pennies.
But just then, no matter how tight on money I was, I decided what I needed was a drink.
I had no idea what I’d say to Isabel. I had no idea if I’d even have a place left at the school after missing yet another day. Burov might kick me out just out of spite—and report me to INS for additional revenge.
Getting a drink wouldn’t solve any of those problems, but maybe the noise and activity around me would be enough to numb my mind for a little while.
“Daria!”
I tensed, jumpy at the sound of my name. I could blame it on everything that had happened recently and my current state of exhaustion.
“Hey…”
I tipped my head back and stared up into the blue eyes of Cedrick Waterson, one of the groomsmen who’d flirted with me at Isabel’s wedding.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, flashing me a wide, dimpled smile. “I saw you heading in here. Are you meeting anybody? If not, you want to let me buy you dinner?”
“I…” My belly chose that moment to rumble, and I blushed self-consciously.
“Come on. Clearly, you’re hungry,” he said with a teasing grin.
“Clearly,” I said, pressing a palm to my belly. “But…”
He gave me an appraising look when I couldn’t come up with a decent excuse and held up his hands. “Just dinner, Daria. Between a couple of friends?”
“Are we friends?” I asked softly. We’d bumped into each other a few times even before the wedding, thanks to Cedrick’s friendship with Sean, but up until the rehearsal dinner, we hadn’t so much as talked.
“I don’t see why not.” He offered his arm. “Come on, be a pal. Keep me company.”
I gave up when my stomach grumbled again, even louder than before. “Well, when you put it that way…”
It would be nice to sit down, I decided. Nice to sit and maybe talk and avoid any heavy thinking for a little while.
Six
Brooks
I had the driver park in a small lot just down the street from the Burov Academy.
I had no doubt that the school was closed by now, but I wasn’t sure where else to look. I’d been here earlier in the day and watched through the glass, looking for Daria, but I hadn’t had any luck.
I’d tried calling her so many times, I’d lost track.
The futility of what I was trying to do gnawed at me, but I couldn’t go back to the apartment without her.
I ached to see her.
Her voice, thick with tears as she bent over me while I lay bleeding on the sidewalk was a sound that would haunt me, even more than the blast of the gunshot.
I’d had to quit my search halfway through the day and go back to the apartment to give my statement to the police. I hadn’t wanted to do it, but Sean had angrily insisted I get my ass to his place—immediately.
“You’re the one telling me to play nice with the local cops, brother,” he’d practically shouted at me. “You better do the same damn thing. Be here before they get here.”
So, I’d gone back to the apartment, and to be honest, my weary body had been grateful for the short rest. Isabel had pushed some food on me, and after the cops finished taking my statement, I left again, feeling almost normal.
Isabel had also given me a couple of places where I might find Daria, including a local youth recreational center where some of the dancers gave mini-lessons to the elementary school kids. Daria liked spending time there, Isabel had told me.
But the woman at the desk told me that Daria hadn’t been in. She’d agreed to take my name and number in case she showed up later.
I had a feeling she wouldn’t, though.
Something told me Daria wanted to be alone right now, and I wasn’t thinking that just because she wouldn’t return my calls.
People flowed around me as I walked down the sidewalk, the unending river of humanity that made up New York City. Within this one single block, I saw several people begging for money, a street musician, a model I was almost certain I’d seen on the covers of several magazines, and two kids breakdancing, a big orange bucket in front of them for tips.
I dropped a couple of bills in as I passed by and got an excited whoop, whoop from the dancers, a couple of teens who didn’t even look old enough to shave.
Finally, weariness dragging at my bones, pain shrieking in my shoulder, I reached the school. I stared in through the windows at the darkened room that featured a wall full of mirrors, a barre running down the length of it. I stared hard, as if that alone would conjure Daria in front of me.
It didn’t, of course.
Feeling defeated, I turned around and leaned my shoulders up against the glass, staring out at nothing.
My mouth was dry. I’d been thirstier than hell ever since waking up from the surgery. I had a bottle of water in the car, but instead of heading toward the parking lot where my driver waited, I turned right and moved in the direction of the pub I’d noticed on previous visits.
It was crowded, p
eople spilling out onto the small terraced area adjacent to the building. I had to wind my way through the crowd on the way to the bar. Once or twice, somebody bumped into me, and I had to grit my teeth against the wave of pain that brief contact sent rippling through me.
I hadn’t taken any of the strong narcotic painkillers the doctor had prescribed, so I wasn’t concerned about the possible interaction with the Scotch I ordered once I finally reached the bar.
Even if I had taken one of the pills, I probably would have ordered the drink anyway.
I needed to feel the burn of it gliding down my throat, and I needed something to block out the noise in my head. The chaos around me could do that, even if just for a minute.
Maybe if I blanked my mind, I’d be able to come up with some clever insight that would let me find Daria.
I wedged myself into a space barely big enough for my frame and flagged down the waiter by waving a twenty at him. He was in front of me immediately, and I added another twenty. “A double of your best Scotch, straight up.”
I had my drink in front of me within seconds while a few of the other patrons who’d been waiting longer shot me dirty looks. I ignored them and turned, bracing my back against the bar, grateful I’d found space next to a support beam so I could protect my injured shoulder.
Somewhere in the pub, a band was playing a very, very bad version of Danny Boy, complete with bagpipes. The bagpiper, whoever he was, was awful. The pipes sounded more like a screeching banshee trapped in puberty than the melodic tune I knew they could produce.
The bad music, the noise, all of it proved to be the much-needed distraction I’d been hoping for, and I let some of the tension drain away as I sipped my Scotch.
Okay. I hadn’t found Daria yet.
I would.
Isabel had said she’d packed a bag, but plenty of her clothes were still in the apartment, and both Isabel and Sean had promised to call when she showed up.
Restlessly, my eyes skimmed over the crowd.
I saw a woman with a pale banner of hair sitting at a small table tucked up against a window. She sat with her head bent close to the man across from her.
The pale blonde reminded me of Daria, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Every time I’d seen a long, slim blonde today, I’d thought it would be her, but it never was.
This time wouldn’t be any different.
But then I opened my eyes and looked back, just as the beautiful woman reached up to brush her hair back.
My heart dropped to the bottom of my feet.
It was Daria.
Hand tightening around my drink, I stared at her hard for a long moment. She was smiling at the man she sat with, and as I watched, he leaned forward and brushed his fingers across her forearm.
Anger jolted through me.
I’d spent all fucking day looking for her, worried and desperate to see her.
And there she was with another man. Smiling at him. As I stared at her, he said something that made her laugh. Swearing, I tossed back the rest of the Scotch before slamming the glass down on the surface of the bar with enough force that it wouldn’t have surprised me if it had broken.
I almost walked over there.
But the smile on her face froze me in place.
I’d been in the hospital for an entire day. I’d spent hours searching for her. I’d called her so many times, I couldn’t even keep track. I’d left numerous messages.
And she was out with a guy.
Fuck the fact that I’d just gotten shot.
She was out with a guy.
I shot him a look that should have annihilated him on the spot, and it hit me. I knew him. It was one of Sean’s friends from school, Cedrick. I couldn’t remember his last name for the life of me, and I didn’t really give a damn either.
No, what I cared about was the way Daria smiled at him.
She looked…comfortable.
Fuck it.
She hadn’t bothered to call and check on me or come see me in the hospital. Instead of being there when I got to the apartment, she’d taken off. I could understand that she might have needed some space, but if I’d meant shit to her, she would have at least called.
And she hadn’t.
So fuck it and fuck her.
I left without her ever noticing I was there.
* * *
“I need your driver to pick me up in the morning,” I told Sean.
He sat at his desk, the computer screen reflecting in his eyes. “Going out to look for her again?”
I laughed sourly. “No. I don’t need to. I saw her earlier.”
Something flickered in Sean’s eyes, but he didn’t ask any questions other than, “Why do you need my driver then?”
“To take me back to the train station. I’m going back to Philly.”
His face tightened in concern. “The doctors wanted you to be with somebody for a few days more.”
I gave him a one-sided shrug, although even that made the skin on my upper chest pull away in pain.
“Then I’ll stay with Declan, but I’m going to Philly tomorrow, regardless. Can I use your driver, or do I need to arrange for a car?”
Seven
Daria
Sitting down for a while with Cedrick and having some food and time to rest had done amazing things for me.
It had given me time to regroup on a subconscious level. After taking a step back, I now had a different perspective on the fight with Isabel.
She was just now coming to grips with the kind of people her brothers and father were, and it couldn’t be easy. It had been hard for me to believe it, and I had been the object of all their horrible actions. I wasn’t even related to them, and it had been a brutal, icy shock.
It was little wonder that Isabel was still trying to accept it.
And she was. I’d seen the struggle in her eyes while we argued. More than that, I’d seen it in the quiet reflection that so often overtook her ever since we got back to New York.
She saw the world through different eyes now.
I didn’t think she liked the view, either.
It worried me some too. Because I knew Isabel. Once she had decided where she stood on this, she could find herself in trouble. I didn’t think Basilio would ever hurt her, but if she went to her family and demanded answers…how would her brothers handle it? I’d seen them with her, and I knew they loved her. At least, it was obvious Duardo did. I wasn’t sure if Marcos even understood the word.
If she didn’t side with them, how would they take it?
More than that, I was still concerned that the bullet Brooks had taken hadn’t been some random act of violence or stupidity.
No, I was certain it had been planned.
Premeditated.
Either whoever shot him hadn’t wanted to kill him, or the gunman was a bad aim.
But it hadn’t been an accident. It just didn’t fit.
For a good hour after I thanked Cedrick for the lovely dinner and said goodbye to him, I had wandered the neighborhood, trying to think.
I’d circled the block more times than I could count, and after one final circuit, I came to a stop in front of the school.
I was tired of looking over my shoulder.
I was tired of being afraid.
I didn’t want to worry that something might happen to Isabel or Brooks.
Or me, for that matter.
But I had no leverage that I could use to secure my safety, or theirs. I needed some.
Which was why I stood brooding in front of the school, staring at the night-darkened windows.
Leverage, in my mind, was something I could hold over them should anything happen to me, Isabel, or Brooks.
I didn’t have that.
But I knew how I could get it.
The plan had been burgeoning inside my head for a while, almost the entire day. Now, as I contemplated the Burov Academy, I wondered if I could actually carry it out.
It was a risk. A big one, and if I screwed up, I didn’t k
now if I’d be able to get myself out of trouble.
But in my mind, it was worth the risk.
Now, I just needed to put my plan into motion, although I was sort of limited. I had to get to Miami, and I didn’t have the money to do it on my own. I guess I could have looked at traveling by bus, but that would take several days, and the very idea of that made me shudder. If I had a couple of days to do nothing but sit and think, I might lose my nerve.
This was my best option.
Slowly, I reached out and pushed the buzzer on the wall next to the front door.
Long moments of silence passed.
I pushed it again.
Burov’s voice came on the line, slurred and full of irritation. “What do you want?” she barked in Russian.
I responded back in the same language, telling her who I was.
There was no response, but after a few more seconds, I heard a click at the door.
She’d buzzed me in.
I took care to close the door behind me before starting for the stairs at the back of the school.
I’d been to Burov’s studio flat once or twice, when she’d discussed having me move in with her in exchange for handling the chores in the apartment. I hadn’t talked to her alone since I’d seen her in Miami, and I didn’t relish the idea of facing her now.
But it was crucial.
Blowing out a slow, controlled breath, I mounted the stairs.
My heart knocked up into my throat, and I hesitated outside the door briefly, willing myself to remain calm. Or at least look calm.
Once I thought I could do it, I knocked on the door.
Burov kept me waiting.
It wasn’t a surprise.
An irritation, yes, but not a surprise.
Finally, she appeared, opening the door and standing there dressed in a silky nightshirt, a lace robe thrown over it. She’d removed the makeup she wore like armor. She was still a beautiful woman, and without the deep red lipstick and heavy eyeliner that was her normal mask, she looked…younger. I might have even considered her vulnerable if it wasn’t for the glint in her eyes.