Broken: Boxed Set

by Wilde, Leah

  “Sorry about your man,” I said. “I’m a little short on time. Had to do things the messy way.”

  He waved me off. “It is no big deal. Good for a man to get knocked around every now and then, no? Teach him he is not so tough. But, you did not come to discuss philosophy with me. Tell me, then, what brings you here in such a violent temper?”

  “I need to know if you know a man named Boris Turner.”

  Sergei leaned back, frowning and stroking his chin. “Hmm,” he pondered. “I must say, the name does not sound familiar.”

  “He’s your son’s cousin, Sergei.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I’m going to lay this out simply, because I trust you and I know you cared about Anton as much as I did. Boris Turner disappeared less than six months after Anton was murdered. The newspapers said he died. I think that’s bullshit.”

  “Oh?”

  “Boris Turner is a distant relative of yours. I’m willing to bet that he came to you right around that time and said he was in trouble. Said he needed to go underground, get out of the limelight for a little while. With Tristan Jenison breathing down his neck, I can understand why he might want that.”

  “My friend, I swear to you that I know nothing of this.”

  “I believe you, Sergei. But I think your son does know something.”

  His frown deepened. Extending a finger, he pressed a button on his desk. “Hilda, find my son and tell him to come immediately.” He didn’t wait for a response, instead rubbing his temples as he sank deep into thought.

  A moment later, the door squeaked open and Vasily stood there. “Yes, Papa?” he asked timidly.

  “Come,” his father ordered. Vasily slinked over to stand at the side of the desk.

  “Go, Micah, ask him your questions.”

  I turned to face the boy. “You had a cousin named Boris, didn’t you, Vasily? A distant cousin, probably, maybe not even blood related. Boris Turner.”

  He kept his face studiously calm. “I don’t know. Maybe. My family is very big.”

  “You’d remember this one. He came to you, didn’t he? Told you he was in trouble. Said he saw something but refused to tell you what it was, just that it was bad and he needed to disappear for a while. You helped him, right? And you didn’t tell your father?” With every passing word, he went whiter and whiter, until it looked like there was no blood running through his veins at all. “Thought you’d get in trouble for getting your daddy’s business involved in something without his permission, right? Tell me, Vasily, is that right?”

  He paused for a long time. Then he nodded. He started to speak in a whisper. “He just said he needed some help getting people off his back. Guys were looking for him. They came to his house when he wasn’t home, kept trying to snatch him off the streets. He was terrified. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let him get killed, could I? I just gave him a place to stay for a while, that’s all. Then he asked for my help to get the obituary published. I was too afraid to ask my dad for help. He would have yelled at me and told me we didn’t need to risk tangling with biker gangs, that there was nothing good in it for us.”

  I nodded solemnly. “Where is Boris now, kid?”

  His voice was a pipsqueak. “He works in the kitchen.”

  I rose. “Thanks, Vasily. Thanks, Sergei,” I said.

  Sergei’s face was purpling with rage. I turned and strode out the door as the sounds of his enraged bellows erupted behind me. “Stupid, stupid boy!” he screeched. I heard flesh smacking flesh before I was too far down the stairs for the sound to carry anymore.

  I burst into the kitchen, eyes blazing. A few bored-looking teenagers were half-heartedly pushing meat through the slicer or lugging boxes around the walk-in refrigerator. I stopped in the middle of the room. “Which one of you is Boris Turner?”

  Everyone looked up in surprise. I swept my gaze around the room. Two people looked at each other and shrugged. A girl in the corner gave me an irritated glance, then went back to chopping lettuce. Then—there, out of the corner of my eye. I pivoted and saw a frail, nervous-looking kid with prematurely graying hair. He took one look at me and bolted through the door.

  I hopped a counter and took off after him. He ran from the kitchen into the main dining area, overturning a table as he went. The few patrons sitting down to eat exclaimed as he knocked past them, reached the door that led outside, and flew out onto the sidewalk.

  I was close on his heels as he wove through the pedestrians, leaving a trail of angry businessmen and tourists in his wake. He lurched suddenly into oncoming traffic. Drivers slammed on their horn as he ignored them and zipped straight across the street.

  My breath was coming in short bursts as I followed behind, narrowly avoiding getting struck by a passing sedan. “What the fuck are you doing, you maniac?” the driver hollered out his window. On another day, I might have taken the time to beat the man’s ass just to prove a point, but right now, all that mattered was collaring this runaway motherfucker and finding out what he had seen the night that Anton and Tristan’s wife were killed. If he got away now, I doubted I’d ever find him again. Getting this close had been a fluke. I wouldn’t get a second chance.

  Boris mounted the sidewalk on the other side and kept sprinting. He hooked around the corner of an alleyway. I was only a few yards away now. I whipped around and saw him halfway up the ladder of the fire escape that led to the rooftop. With a savage yell, I hurled myself upwards and managed to wrap a hand around his ankle. As gravity tugged me back to the ground, I brought him with me.

  We landed in a heap of arms and legs. I didn’t want to wait around to see if he had a knife or a gun on him. Instead, I rolled over and pinned his skull against the concrete with my knee. I was panting heavily.

  “Boris, calm the fuck down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He snorted angrily in response. “Yes, you are. You’re with him. With them. You’ve been trying to find me for years.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I snarled. I looked up and saw a few passersby at the mouth of the alley, looking at us and gawking. “Come here,” I said. I picked him up by the back of his shirt and dragged him towards the back, behind a dumpster. Tossing him to a seat against the wall, I crouched in front of him and withdrew my knife.

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me,” he gasped, eyeing the blade I had angled at his chest.

  “I won’t, as long as you answer my questions. Tell me what I want and you’ll walk away scot-free. Sound fair?”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “You really don’t have a good grasp on your options here, moron. Now, take a second to collect yourself.” I paused while he took a deep, rattling breath. Snot dribbled from his nose. “Okay, good. Now. I want you to think very carefully. When you answer, be sure to include every detail you can remember, got it? Start from the beginning. What did you see on the night of those murders?”

  He started to talk in a slow, halting voice. “I was at home. I lived in the apartment building, the one where the shit happened. I heard a bunch of noise from across the hall. I was high, man, I was so high. I thought the cops were coming for me. I threw the deadbolt and the chain, but I was still freaking the fuck out. I looked out my peephole, you know? And he came running out of the lady’s room. He had blood all over him, so much blood, man. He looked like he was a fucking butcher!”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Only for a second. He put the mask on pretty quickly as soon as he came out of the room. I just remember his hair. He had this crazy white hair, even though I thought it was a young dude. He put the mask on real quick. But that’s when he heard me. I, like, I fucking kicked a lamp over or some shit, I don’t even know. I was so high.”

  “You mentioned that already,” I said dryly.

  He licked his lips. “He musta heard it, because he came up to the door and looked right in the peephole. And his fucking eyes, man!”

  “What about his eyes?”
>
  I knew what he was going to say before he said it. “They were gray. Not just gray like the color, but like, gray. Like, haunting. Alien eyes. Out of this fucking world. I thought he was a demon or somethin’.”

  Gray eyes. There were two people in the world with eyes like that.

  There was Paris Jenison.

  And then there was her father.

  Chapter 23

  Paris

  When I woke up in the morning, I was on cloud nine. It felt like my feet were barely touching the floor as I walked around the bedroom while I went through my morning routine. Micah had kissed me before he left, saying something about having to go to the clubhouse to check on the boys’ progress. I clung to him for as long as he would let me. I knew that if anyone was looking on, they would have thought I looked ridiculous, like a little puppy unwilling to let his master leave the house. But I didn’t care. I wanted to keep his smell in my nose and his taste on my lips and the more I thought about it, the more I decided that anyone who wanted to get in the way of that could just go ahead and eat it. For the first time in a long time, I felt happy.

  The shower was steamy and warm as the water cascaded down on my skin. I closed my eyes and for a second I swore I could feel Micah’s touch on my skin, his lips on my neck. I opened them and shivered. He had already worked his way into my freaking nervous system, it seemed like. He was in my head, under my skin. I should’ve been freaked out, by all rights. And yet, I didn’t mind in the slightest. I’d never felt better.

  I swaddled myself in one of Micah’s thick white towels as I stepped out of the shower. My skin was rosy from the hot water. I looked in the mirror and saw, in the middle of the peals of steam rising around me and the condensation on the mirror’s surface, that I was smiling a goofy, borderline manic grin. “Get ahold of yourself,” I scolded my reflection. “You’re being ridiculous.” I was. I knew I was. But I couldn’t help it.

  I hummed under my breath as I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed out the kinks in my hair. There were a few things I could busy myself with around the house today, but nothing too major. Hopefully Micah wouldn’t have to work too long and we could go for a ride or something when he went home. Maybe I’d make up a reason to call him back early. I’d go to the store and get some new furniture that required a big, strong man to lift it into the apartment. I grinned again. The one voice in my head reprimanding me for acting so petulant and needy was waging a miserable, losing war against the thousand other thoughts that all revolved around Micah. I felt like one of those girls in the cartoons who sits in class and doodles things like Mrs. Micah Youngblood in the corners of her notebook. I needed to get my hands working quickly before I started to do the same.

  I wiggled into a pair of white-washed jeans and a clingy gray tank top before ambling back into the bathroom to touch up my make-up. Just after I’d run a few light passes of the mascara brush over my eyelashes, I heard something coming from the bedroom. I frowned, paused, and listened intently.

  It sounded like a buzzing. It would rattle for a few moments, pause, then repeat. I set the brush down and stepped into the bedroom. “The cell phone, dummy,” I said out loud as I smacked myself in the forehead. I really was losing my grip on reality. I guessed I just wasn’t used to receiving calls on it. The phone had been almost completely silent since the day Micah had given it to me. It was mostly for emergencies. Micah had only left about an hour ago, so I doubted that it was him. But who else would be calling? It must be him.

  I picked up the phone and looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t a number I recognized. Maybe Micah was using Zeke’s phone or something like that.

  “Hello?” I said, taking the call.

  “Hey, Par Bear.”

  I froze. I hadn’t heard my father’s voice since the wedding. I still remembered the last thing he’d said to me. It’s almost time. Finish getting ready. What kind of father sent his baby girl to the altar with words like that? He hadn’t said anything to me as we walked down the aisle together, or before I’d hurried out of the church to climb on the back of Micah’s motorcycle and set off on this crazy new life I’d stumbled upon. The voice I’d heard then was metallic, ice-cold, and completely unfamiliar.

  But the one coming through the phone was the voice I grew up with, the one I knew. It was his warm, laconic honey voice. He said “Par Bear” the way he always had—like he was my daddy and he loved me.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I whispered.

  “How are you, dear?” He sounded completely unconcerned, like he really was just checking up on me. It was as if he had totally forgotten about the wedding and the fact that we hadn’t spoken in almost a month. Like he hadn’t given me away in shame and disgust.

  “I’m…good, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  I straightened up, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “No, I am. I’m good.”

  “Things are going okay?”

  “Yes, they are.” I took in a deep breath, getting ready to explode with all the questions that I’d been burying deep in the recesses of my brain and trying not to focus on. Questions like: Where have you been? Why haven’t you called? Am I not still your daughter? Do you not love me? How could you abandon me like you did?

  But he spoke again before I could decide where to start. “I owe you an apology, Paris. I haven’t been a good father to you lately.”

  I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue. He paused, then said, “You must understand that this was hard for me. My only daughter, the only family I have left… To get involved with a pig of a man like Micah Youngblood… I was angry. You have to see things from my perspective.”

  I felt tears stinging my eyes. How dare he ask for an apology. After what he did—sending me away like an unwanted servant? Like livestock, spoiled for its intended use? “Daddy, how could you?” I said.

  “I know you’re angry, dear. I certainly can’t blame you for that. I would be angry, too, if I were you. But there are things you don’t know. Things I haven’t told you. If you knew, you’d see why I reacted the way I did. I’m not a perfect man, far from it, and I admit that blind rage may have gotten the best of me for a while. But I want to make things right.”

  “What don’t I know?”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone. It’s not safe. I can’t risk you getting caught in the middle of things. You’re in a dangerous enough position as it is.”

  “What’s dangerous, Daddy? Why can’t you tell me? What is going on?” The warm bubble of happiness I’d been enjoying had popped completely, leaving me exposed to the cold daggers coming out of my father’s mouth. Danger, rage, safety—what was he talking about? He sounded sad, and almost…afraid. I’d never known him to be afraid.

  “Can we talk?” he asked. “In person, I mean. I can have one of my men come pick you up and bring you to me in a couple hours. But, Paris…”

  “Yes?”

  “It has to be just you. Micah can’t be here. And he can’t know about this.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain everything when you’re here. It’s hard, Paris. You’ll understand soon.”

  I set my jaw. He sounded like my true father, but so much had happened in the last few months. The bond that was once there, the unquestioning trust, had eroded at the edges. I wasn’t about to just jump out and have faith that I could hold onto it anymore. To lie to Micah, or to go meet my father without telling him, which was as good as a lie, felt serious, almost deadly. Suddenly, things had taken on this do-or-die feeling that I didn’t like, not one bit. My heartbeat was pounding threateningly in my chest.

  “I won’t meet you unless you tell me what’s going on.”

  “Paris, I said I’d—”

  “No. I need to know now. I won’t lie to Micah without good reason. Tell me what’s happening or I won’t come.”

  I could hear him sigh, his voice crackling through the connection. “Very well,” he said. “I tried to protect you from this for as long as I could. But
maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time for you to know.”

  The dread was closing in around me. It felt cold, wet, dark. I didn’t think I was ready to hear what was coming next. But I had to. It was time.

  “Paris, Micah was the one who killed your mother.”

  # # #

  As soon as the car came to a stop, I leaped out of the passenger’s seat and ran towards the little house. My father emerged from the doorway as I crossed the yard. I barreled into him, throwing my arms around his neck and sobbing.

  “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he said, rubbing the back of my head as he hugged me back. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be just fine. I promise.”

  “Daddy,” I choked through sobs, “how could you not tell me? How could you let me do all of this?”