by Lake, Keri
I opted for the knife, lifting it with shaky hands from the table.
Dmitry gave Aleksey a nod, and the giant knelt down behind me, until he’d become my height. Still, he didn’t look at me, as he lifted my hand and turned the knife over so I was clutching the blade.
“Aleksey was trained as a soldier for the Vory. He’s very good at weapons.” Dmitry took a seat on the patio and lit up a cigar.
The giant finally spoke, using a language I didn’t understand, and tapped the knuckles of my right hand, while patting my left hip.
“He says, to properly throw a knife, it has to be in the hand opposite the leg you keep forward for stability. You throw with your upper body,” Dmitry translated, before taking three puffs of his cigar, letting the smoke gather around his face.
I nodded and allowed Aleksey to position my left leg one step ahead of my body. My bones could’ve crushed to dust in his big palm, as he drew my arm back and more of the language I didn’t understand came as a command from behind.
He extended his heavily tattooed arm beneath mine, flattening his palm, so mine sat atop his, and I somehow understood he wanted me to use my non-throwing hand for momentum. Gripping my wrist, he tugged my knife-toting hand back and guided a false throw for practice.
We drew back once more, taking the initial position from moments before, and in the next breath his hand snapped mine forward, and the knife flew out of my fingers, missing the target. I could feel the power in his arms, the strike almost knocking me senseless.
“Again,” Dmitry commanded, peeling his gaze from where my last throw had landed.
I walked forward and unstuck the knife from the ground where it’d lodged itself, before returning to my position in front of Aleksey, who reset my leg and raised my outstretched arm.
“Imagine the target is the one who left those bruises on you this time.”
Gaze lowering, I frowned, and guilt snaked through my blood, imagining my mother standing before me.
“This troubles you? Then, imagine someone else.”
Easy enough. I thought of my mother’s boyfriend, Pigman. I hated him enough to imagine a blade slicing through him.
Aleksey tugged my hand back again, and together we tossed the knife, only grazing the tree, but I celebrated the near miss with a smile.
Dmitry said something to the behemoth in his language, and his deep chuckle raced down my spine. The guard laughed, striding toward the fallen knife, which he picked up and returned to me. How strange to hear a giant laugh.
“This time on your own,” Dmitry said.
I took the stance, allowing Aleksey to adjust my arms and leg, then threw the knife. It missed. I threw it again. Two more times. Three more after that. Each time, Aleksey corrected my posture, grunted a command in his language, and I learned that, “Opyat!” meant, “Again!”
Perhaps an hour passed before I finally threw the knife and hit my mark. With a leap, and in all my excitement, I wrapped my arms around Aleksey, who stood stiff and guarded, refusing to reciprocate.
“Now.” Dmitry pushed up from his chair and stood beside me, setting his hand on my shoulder. “No one hurts you again. Understand?”
I stared at the knife still wedged in the tree trunk and gave a sharp nod. “I understand.”
* * *
An ache throbbed in my chest as I recalled bits of conversation with Tesarik, and I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes at the memory that Aleksey had been captured while trying to save me.
To hurt me, they’d made a point of torturing him slowly and without mercy.
“So tell me.” Dax kept his eyes on the road as he drove us through the city over wet pavement that gave off an almost romantic glow in daylight.
The rough tone of his voice yanked me out of the somber thoughts of my friend—a welcomed distraction. “Tell you what?”
“Where the hell that ninja shit came from? You’re obviously not what I thought you were.”
I snorted and peered out the passenger window again. “What did you think I was, Dax?”
“Innocent, for one.”
“Does the ability to defend myself make me one of the guilty?”
“It makes your motives questionable. And that was more than just defense. Had to call someone to clean it up. That shit’s not cheap, sweetheart.”
“I already told you my motives. He was going to shoot you, if I hadn’t done it. I’ve been throwing knives since I was twelve.” I shrugged, not really understanding what the big deal was. “It’s a hobby.”
“And I’ve been playing guitar since I was sixteen, but I’m no Van fucking Halen. Now, had I been trained by him, I might be that good.”
“Does it make me less of an anomaly to know someone showed me? Fine. Someone showed me how to throw a knife.”
“Your father.”
Sensing his weighted stare, I gave a nod, and he turned back to the road.
“This girl you told me about … in the video. Who was she?”
Gaze still glued on the window beside me, I dragged my finger down the frosted glass, gathering the wet dew on my skin. “She was someone from my old life,” I answered mindlessly, my thoughts fixed on trying to figure out where the hell he was taking me, because I couldn’t allow myself to drown in thoughts of that girl. I wouldn’t. I’d trained my brain to shut off those feelings, and to forget what I’d seen in her final moments. “Her name was Eden. Eden O’Malley. My only friend,” I said with the enthusiasm of a robot. Glancing around, I made sure the cars that’d followed behind us hadn’t kept to our trail, but could only make out the obnoxious glare of headlights a few car lengths back. “Where are we going?”
“Tonight? A hotel. I’ll figure out the rest from there.” When I frowned, he shook his head. “Separate beds. I told you I’m not going to lay a hand on you.”
“I’d have killed you back there if I didn’t believe you.” In spite of the smile on my face, it was true. Had I not sensed his intentions, seen the goodness in his eyes, I’d have let him bleed out onto the floor, as well.
“So someone trained you to kill.”
“No. Dmitry taught me how to defend myself. I hate killing.”
“You’ve done it more than once?”
“Don’t you think you should buy me dinner before asking me personal questions like that?”
Cheeks dimpled with a lopsided grin, he glanced over, and the smile he was clearly trying to bite back softened his eyes. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Then, why didn’t you eat when I tried to feed you before?”
“I didn’t like your salty ass broth.”
A lazy chuckle rumbled from his chest, the kind that brought a smile to my face, since I guessed he probably didn’t laugh much. “Touché.”
“To answer your question, I’ve only killed once before.” I tried not to let those words slither beneath my skin, because if I did, the memories of them would crush me. I couldn’t afford to be crushed. Not yet. Not when there was still so much work to do. “What about you? How many you killed?”
“More than one.”
“You’re a player, then?”
“That’s none of your business.” His gaze slid to mine then back to the road, and his cheek dimpled a second time.
“I like your car.” I took in the interior a second time, black leather that smelled delicious—a perfect complement to his mouthwatering cologne.
“She’s a seventy-one ‘Cuda. Worked on her with a buddy of mine a couple summers back.”
“She.” Fighting to hide my smile, I peered out the window as the car slowed before a driveway.
“Yeah. She. Car is beautiful and purrs when I rev her up, but she’s as stubborn every woman I’ve ever known. Particularly when it’s cold.” He pulled the car into a quiet, shady looking motel, whose flicking sign read Capri, without the lit up p. “Stay in the car. I don’t need them getting any ideas about this.”
“I’m an adult, you know. It’s not, like, statutory rape, or anyt
hing.”
“For fucks sake, it’s not anything but a place to sleep.”
“It almost doesn’t even qualify as that.”
“Well, this place takes cash, and they don’t ask questions.”
“Sounds upstanding. You must come here a lot.”
“Only when I’m looking to lay low after hiding the bodies of eighteen year olds with smart mouths. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
Beyond the windshield, Dax made his way into the motel office. In a grey T-shirt and dark jeans, with muscles that popped through his sleeves, he certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, evident in the way the clerk smiled at him. Probably the most excitement she’d seen all week.
Unapologetically strong, yet unwittingly handsome. Probably what made him even more attractive—the guy didn’t even seem to notice the attention he stirred.
I glanced around, taking note of the outdated features of the building, the yellowing curtains that shuttered every window, and the ripped-up fascia tearing away from the roof. A total shithole, but no worse than where I’d come from, I guessed.
As a jolt struck me, I clamped my eyes shut.
Water. Choking. Hands prodding. Laughter.
Panic rippled through my veins. I clenched my hands into tight fists, holding them at my temples, and bent forward, pounding at either side of my head. Stop! Stop it!
The driver’s side door flew open, and I snapped out of the visual, straightening in my seat.
“All set.” Already halfway inside the car, Dax reached into the backseat, gathering up the two duffle bags he’d packed, and a third bag I’d seen him toss guns inside.
For a moment, I wondered what he’d done to have acquired them. He seemed to be no stranger to packing light and moving, something I’d grown very accustomed to myself over the last few years. Only those who flirted with danger lived that way, never taking root in any place in particular.
For two years, I’d traveled the world with Dmitry to avoid his enemies, only to come full circle and groom my own.
I slid from the front seat and followed Dax up the rickety staircase to the upper level of the motel. Decked out in his sweatpants and oversized T-shirt, with the cuts still visible on my face, I supposed he was right—we did look questionable together. Had I seen myself through an onlooker’s eyes, I might’ve reported it to the police and hoped I’d saved some young girls life, but at that point, Dax had proven to be a saint alongside the men who’d kept me like an animal. Yet, he still carried an air of mystery about him, an enigma I’d enjoy cracking to pass the time over the next couple of weeks.
A waft of mold and faint chlorine, coupled with whatever gusted in from the window-mounted air conditioning, blew past my nose, as he threw open the door to the dated room with two skinny beds, side by side.
“I’m guessing they don’t rent the double beds out often, but just in case.” Dax tore back the browning bedspread and tossed it on a chair across the room. The sheets looked clean, but old and weathered from too many washes.
Not that I had any room to complain after living in a storage unit for weeks.
An unbidden memory of metal and damp, rotting cardboard over the musty stench of unwashed sheets flashed through my mind, and I grimaced, mentally willing away the parts of those visuals I couldn’t bear to think about. I was grateful for the drugs that’d kept me at a distance from them. Still, I knew at some point they’d come crashing in on me, dragging me out to an endless ocean of pain and shame.
I just hoped they’d hold off for a while. At least until I could track down the men on my kill list.
Dax set down two of the bags, keeping the smaller one with weapons on his shoulder. He didn’t trust me, and maybe after the little knife incident, I couldn’t really blame him. Slipping them under the bed I didn’t stand beside, he jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Why’n’t you go take a shower. I’ll see what they have for food around here.”
“You’re leaving?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, and even I frowned at the longing clinging to my words. Surely, I hadn’t come to feel safer around him, so what did I care if he left?
“No. I’ll pull it up on my phone, and we’ll head out after I get cleaned up.”
With a subtle nod, I padded toward the bathroom and locked the door behind me. Darkness swallowed me as I stood there for a moment, taking in the safety of obscurity, because the moment I flipped on that light, I’d be faced with what they’d done to me.
Don’t look, my head prodded, but the second I snapped the switch, my eyes filled with tears.
I ran my hand over the short-cropped hair that looked almost white beneath the unforgiving fluorescent lights.
Clippers buzzed over my skull, scraping across my skin. Hands pressed into my biceps, holding me down. The screams bellowed inside my ears as small tufts of hair tickled my face, falling to the floor below.
Tears slipped down my sunken cheeks, and I smeared the wet trail over a yellowing bruise. Eyes still fixed on my reflection, I tipped my head back just enough to see the small cut that lined my jaw and clamped my eyes to the image of Vinco holding a blade to my throat as he tore away my underwear.
I slammed the heel of my hand against my temple. “No, no. Stop. Don’t.” My quiet mutter echoed, and I gripped the edge of the sink, lifting my gaze to a glare staring back at me, one I’d become all too familiar with, brimming with resentment and anger. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”
“That’s right, fuck me,” Vinco’s whisper echoed inside my head. “You love this shit, Nicoleta.”
I struck out at the mirror, slamming my knuckles into the glass. Fire blazed across my fist, and the impact knocked the soap dish into the sink, rousing a loud clatter.
In seconds, my pain and thoughts were interrupted by the pounding at the door.
The knob rattled. “Hey! What’s going on in there?”
Cradling my hand, I swallowed back the tears. “I … I’m fine! Just knocked over the soap dish.”
“Sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. I’m jumping in now!”
At the chasing silence, I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths. I didn’t bother to look at myself while I unclothed and set Dax’s shirt and sweats onto the countertop.
Flipping on the shower, I waited until the hot steam rolled over the yellowing curtain, then stepped into the mildew-lined basin. I marshaled my thoughts away from the memories of an abrasive brush scouring my skin while an older woman washed my body, barking commands in another language. I forced myself not to remember the ice cold water and the scent of bleach and vanilla wash. I’d never buy vanilla-scented anything again.
Every basic function of my life had become a movie reel of someone else’s. Someone I was desperate to forget.
I washed and dried quickly, so as not to let another visual consume my headspace, and dressed in Dax’s clothes once more.
The rumble in my stomach told me I wouldn’t last too much longer before the hunger swallowed me. I’d burned off the broth from earlier, and was running on fumes, growing weaker and increasingly tired by the minute.
I opened the door on Dax, who pushed off the bed, nabbing the bag of guns from beneath.
He wordlessly slipped past me, and with the click of the lock, I was certain he didn’t trust me. Seconds later, the sound of running water bled through the door, and I stumbled toward my designated bed, falling onto the stiff mattress.
At a count of ten, I fell into blackness.
* * *
The smell of something delicious—greasy, fried and filling—tugged at my stomach, stamping out the musty odor beneath me. I blinked slowly awake, the soft blur of sleep taking up half my vision, while the other half zeroed in on Dax sprawled out on his bed with a picnic of food all around him. A half-dozen burgers piled on top of a white bag, three cartons of fries, onion rings, and napkins scattered about.
“Didn’t want to you wake you.” Eyes on me, he chomped down on his burger, the sight of it
teasing my empty belly. “C’mon and eat something,” he said around a mouthful of food.
I dragged my head up from the bed, the dizziness of before still swirling around my brain.
Deep chestnut eyes tracked me, as I took a seat on the foot of his bed, and he threw me one of the burgers from the stack, which I haphazardly caught before it could hit the mattress. “You look like you’re about to keel over.” From the nightstand between the beds, he nabbed the pill bottle there and dumped one of pills into his palm, offering it to me along with a white Styrofoam cup.
I popped the pill and washed it down with what tasted like Coke, relieved for the sugar and fizz that went straight to my stomach. Only took seconds to tear open the burger, which I proceeded to polish off in a matter of a couple minutes, moaning around every bite. The fries took comparatively longer, and by the time it was over, the incessant growl in my stomach had finally ceased.
Dax offered another burger, which I declined, instead sucking down the soda. “Feel better?”
I did, but only momentarily, until the urge to vomit shot acids up my throat. Leaping off the bed, I raced across the room into the bathroom, just making it time to upchuck all the food I’d just packed into my stomach. Toilet water splashed in my face, making me sicker as the sour stench invaded my nose with every torrent that poured from my mouth.
“Still not there yet.” Standing in the doorway, Dax leaned against the frame, filling the space with his big imposing body.
“I … just ate too fast.” I flushed away the chunks of meat and Coke-stained bread, and pushed to my feet, clutching the sink for balance.
“Pink toothbrush is yours.”
And the blue must’ve been his. Cute.
“Maybe I wanted blue.” I swallowed past the burn in my throat that felt like a lump in my esophagus. Under his watchful eye, I brushed my teeth, replacing all that sour food with a clean mint flavor that tingled against my tongue when I set the toothbrush back on the sink.
In the mirror’s reflection, his expression remained humorless. “Who’s Vinco?”
The very sound of his name shot another round of bile up my throat that I swallowed back.