“What?” he asks dryly, looking back and down at me. And though he acts so calm, I get the impression I am pushing his patience to the limit.
Even though I’m pissed, I don’t want to be alone again. I’m terrified, and having him near me is safer, somehow, even if he is my captor. I hate the waiting, because when he’s gone, my head goes back to what might have happened last night.
What really happened.
And I know now that he’s definitely got me locked up in here good, and from the looks of things, he’s keeping me a while.
I let go of his thick wrist, and take in a deep breath.
“How long are you going to keep me locked up?”
That question seems to take him by surprise, because he doesn’t answer me right away. He takes a moment. And that more than anything else about my capture worries me.
“I don’t know yet,” he says in that gruff voice of his. “I have to see how long the search for you persists. If I let you go too soon, then it’s just as well I didn’t haul you out at all. I should just as well have put a bullet in your head then and there that night.”
His ominous words make me tremble, all the more because I see the handle of his gun sticking out from behind his back as he faces me, side-on.
There’s some part of me, some part I’m not ready to reconcile with, that knows that what happened that night wasn’t just a nightmare. Waking up and wondering if I was dead was natural, because I remember a pistol pointed at my head.
I almost died.
This man almost killed me.
It makes me almost throw up, my stomach churning in disgust and terror, but I swallow it all down. I can’t blow this. I can’t give him a reason to kill me. I ignore the burning behind my eyeballs, the frightened tears that want to spill but I won’t allow.
Swallowing back the bile and the lump in my throat, I return my eyes to his.
“Mikhail,” I say, trying to build a bit of a repertoire with him. That’s what they always say on TV, right? Make your kidnapper get to know you. But he already knows me, at least in part... It’s still worth a shot. “I’m scared.”
His eyes narrow as he stares at me, into me. And he’s studying me. I worry that my attempt to sway him failed, but then it happens: he softens. Those broad shoulders lower a little, his sweater hugging those thick muscles showing the tension melt a little throughout him. He might be a scary boogeyman of death, but he’s susceptible to a girl’s charms.
“You have no need to be scared while you are here, Ali. It is what’s on the other side of that window,” he says, jabbing a finger at it pointedly, “that you must fear. And if you keep that in mind, you will be fine.”
He said it all so seriously I could almost be convinced. If it weren’t for the fact I am fairly certain this man is a murderer.
But I give him a small nod, like I’m on his side. As if we both want the same thing. And, if he does want me to be safe, then we definitely want the same thing.
“I get that, but Mikhail, people are going to be looking for me. And my mom, she’s... I mean, a few years ago she had a fall and it affected her mind. Dad passed years ago, and she really needs me to help take care of her.”
His brow furrows just a bit, and he’s silent again. I know I have him considering my words. He takes his time and wets his lips and I feel like I have him.
“If you die, your mother would be very put out then, nyet?” he says, that strange words on the end completely foreign to my ears.
“She needs me, so I can’t die,” I say, trying to choose my words carefully even though I’m panicking that he’s going to leave and I’m going to be stuck. He can’t leave! “But she has pills. Medication she has to take, and I have to make sure she takes it and gets to all of her appointments. I don’t even know what day it is...”
He pauses a moment, but then reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small pad of paper and a pencil the length of my thumb. He puts it down right in front of me.
“Write out the details of your mother’s care,” he instructs me very pointedly, his gaze narrowing. I feel like I’m under a heat lamp as a detective scrutinizes me.
My shoulders slump and I sit down on the couch, pencil in hand as I try to remember everything that was in my phone. It’s pretty sad that I can barely remember, considering how routine it is.
I scribble down as I remember.
Every third Tuesday, appointment with Dr. Nevaro.
Twice daily reminders to take her pills. Blue in the morning, yellow and white at night before bed.
Once a month, hospital for treatment for osteoporosis.
I hand it back to him.
“I don’t know how to spell all the drug names, but she has real problems with me not being around. I really need to check on her, Mikhail. You have a mom, right? And she means a lot to you?”
He takes the paper from me and sizes it up before folding it and slipping it into his pocket.
“My mother is long dead,” he says grimly as he turns and walks away. My heart sinks.
But as he reaches the door he pulls it open and stops, looking back me.
“I will see yours doesn’t yet meet the same end,” he states simply and then swiftly vanishes out the door, leaving me to the simple furnishings, all by myself.
“Fuck!” I cry out into my humble cage. I can’t stay here. I don’t care how safe he thinks it is, I can take care of myself, and being held captive by a man I don’t know — a man who openly carries a gun on his hip — is not going to work for me.
He said the window was sealed shut, but there’s gotta be a way out.
Then I remember my stilettos. Maybe I could use those to bust open the glass! Or hammer the door.
No matter what, I’m getting out of this safe house turned prison.
2
Mikhail
Every meeting with that girl is a struggle.
If she’s not taunting me with her natural good looks, she’s tugging at heartstrings I didn’t even know I had. It’s a fucking nuisance.
I pulled on my leather jacket, made the phone call I had to, then headed right out. But now I’m here, back at this dark, dingy bar. Where low life mobsters come to get work. I hate this place, and almost never come. The work finds me at this point in my career, after all.
Smoking laws forbid it, but the law has no consequence in this place, so smoke lingers in the air as a bunch of guys, young and old, try and put on airs of being tough. But every single one of them is shook by my entry.
Every one of them knows who I am, by reputation or rumor.
I could own them. I could be boss of this whole stretch of the city if I wanted to.
But I turned that down long ago. I’m happiest doing what I do.
“Mikhail,” says Nikita behind the bar, the surprise on her face mixed with pleasure. She’s a good girl, and the only good part about this dive. “Didn’t expect you here!” she says as she pulls out a glass and starts to make me a drink without even asking. She knows what I like even now.
“I was in the neighborhood,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders, leaning in over the bar and shooting the young punk nearest me a look.
He scurries off, taking his drink further down the bar and giving me the space I want.
“Well I’m just happy to see you,” Nikita says, pouring me up a vodka and cranberry, even adding a little slice of lime. That’s new. “Not many pleasant faces around here,” she adds, and I know it. These men have no concern for women like her, they’re just cargo or commerce, to be used up until worthless.
I try the drink and to my surprise I like it, that lime adding a touch of something I didn’t know I was missing.
“Truth be told, Nikki,” I say, leaning in, speaking to her in confidence, “I am curious as to the word on my latest job.”
She arches a brow at me, looking truly surprised.
“That’s not like you, Mikhail,” she says, putting the vodka bottle back. And I note it’s even the kind I like.
Russian Standard, straight from home. Nothing’s quite so smooth as it. She’s so damned considerate of me, like a little sister I never had.
“This is a… special case,” I say simply. “A very big job. Wondering what’s the word on it around town.”
“You always get the big ones,” she says, leaning in closer herself, talking quietly. “Not much is being said. More hush hush than usual. So it must’ve been very important,” she says, searching my eyes for an answer, but I give none. No flicker in my face to betray an ounce of info.
“So nothing then?” I ask to confirm, but she licks her lips and peers down, thoughtfully.
“I overheard some of the guys talking earlier,” she says softly to me. “Word from a crooked cop was that security cameras showed a witness to a big hit was unaccounted for. They are looking for her.”
Fuck.
“How recent was this?” I ask, trying not to betray my urgency. But she can pick up on it, I think.
“Just about forty minutes ago,” she says, and she reaches beneath the bar, taking out the vodka again and pouring me a straight shot. “Very fresh news, they are putting out the word now.”
“There a description of the girl?” I ask, then down the vodka she poured me in one smooth motion.
“Vasili,” she says, pointing her chin towards the weasley man. “He has some info on her, I believe. They’re looking into things now.”
“Thanks, Nikki,” I say, sliding a hundred dollar bill across the bar to her. Her eyes widen and she looks to me.
“If I hear anything more I’ll let you know,” she says and I nod.
“I know you will. Stay safe, little one,” and she rolls her eyes at me, being far from little. She is 5’8 and a grown woman, after all. But I still saw her as the famished, undernourished girl they hauled out of the dockyards.
I turn to leave, but then in through the front doors comes the boss. The Avtoritet.
He’s escorted on both sides by two young brutes he trusts, and while the sneer he holds makes it look like he’s ready to make every occupant of the bar feel like shit, his gaze settles on me. And I steal some of the thunder from his entry.
“Volkov,” he says, using my last name, and I know he’s struggling on how to handle my presence. I never come around, which makes things easier for him. Seeing as I was the guy who passed up his position. Who had every right to be over him, but was only technically under his authority.
It’s an awkward situation for him, I admit.
“Gregorovich,” I say with a simple nod in return, which is more than the vile shit deserves from me. I loathe this man, not just for what he’s done, but for how he gives me so few things to insult him about. He’s not fat, he’s not ugly; he’s a manipulative bastard, who plays things cautiously all the time. Too cautious. Cautious to the point of paranoia.
Which would all be excusable, except he’s also greedy.
And a greedy, paranoid mafia boss is a dangerous thing for everyone.
“How nice of you to pay us a visit,” he says, tugging open his thick overcoat as Nikita rushes around to help him out of it. “I trust everything is alright?” and with that brow arched at me, I know I have already engaged more of his suspicion than I wish to.
“Just visiting an old friend,” I say, giving a light smile to Nikita, which she bashfully returns. I don’t generally let slip any emotion around these men, but it’s important they know who I favor. So they know better than to mess with her.
“I see,” Gregorovich says, looking me over once more than Nikita as well. “Well it’s fortunate timing, there’s a matter we can discuss. In back,” he says leading the way. It’s the most presumptuous thing he’s yet dared do with me in front of others.
Surprisingly, however, along the way he gestures for Vasili to follow. He’s a two-bit crook, and why he’s being trusted with anything astonishes me.
But I have a sinking suspicion this is about the matter I came here for, so I follow after, into the back room, with its reinforced walls. It’s empty but for a simple metal table with some chairs, and he helps himself to a spot there while one of his men pats down the underside of the table, checking for any listening devices.
I stand back, fold my arms as another of the guards pats down Vasili as well, checking him over. Gregorovich trusts no one.
When they come to me I don’t budge, and they back off, knowing better.
“What is the issue at hand?” I ask brusquely.
“You fucked up,” Vasili says with malicious glee, but I don’t so much as grace him with a glance.
Gregorovich clears his throat, cutting off Vasili, preening at his expensive suit. I leave him the dubious honor of being the only one sitting.
“There are some loose ends from your job,” Gregorovich says.
“I do not leave loose ends,” I say firmly, an edge to my voice to let them know I’m serious. But I want more info so I’m careful not to be too rough with them.
“Well, this time the police think you have,” Gregorovich responds carefully. “And they are looking for a potential witness, seen entering the hotel with the party.”
“That no-women no-kids rule of yours has finally fucked you up, Volkov,” Vasili says with sneering relish, fidgeting a lot. Probably because he’s constantly on a cocktail of different drugs.
“Was there a woman there when you did the job?” Gregorovich asks calmly, and I know it won’t be easy to lie to him. He’s perceptive, for a greedy little shit.
“I agreed to take on this job, knowing it might go to a bad place,” I say firmly. “But I did the job, and no one survived.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Vasili says, pulling out the picture of Ali with the men I’d slain. It’s not great quality, clearly taken from a security camera. But it’s her. I take a moment to soak it in before Vasili gets into my face, that greasy weasel so full of himself.
I take a moment to slam my fist into his throat and send him choking and sputtering back against the wall.
“Why is this little rat fuck in here with us?” I ask Gregorovich pointedly.
“I’ve appointed him with finding this woman. And making sure she can’t talk,” he replies, ignoring the coughing and cursing of Vasili as we engage.
“She has nothing to tell anyone,” I insist calmly, not overplaying the point. I can’t give him reason to suspect me. “I did a clear sweep. Every single person in there when I did my hit, died by my hand. And when I was done I double-checked. Triple-checked. And calmly walked out.”
Vasili is gasping for air, making a noisy distraction.
“Then there is nothing to worry about, and this is just an added precaution,” Gregorovich assures me with a placid, fake smile.
“Too many added precautions can land one in trouble with the feds,” I say, knowing to add anymore would have him find me out. “But do as you need. My work is done.” I turn to leave, but one of the guard’s is in my way and I have to stare him down.
Which gives Vasili enough time to choke out a few words.
“When I find that girl, I’m gonna cut her into ribbons. She’ll be more useless to the cops than a shredded document,” Vasili says and my fists clench, my jaw tightens.
I turn my head slowly, stare down that weasel shit.
“Everyone knows what it is you like to do with women, govnjúk. But if I catch you laying a hand on one,” and I walk over to him, making him back against the wall as I stare down at him, “the only ribbon you’ll be worried about cutting is the one between your legs.”
I don’t give him time to snark back, I just plant my knee into his groin and make it so that he won’t think about women for a few days without a lot of pain.
“You should not trust this little govnjúk, he’ll land you in trouble someday,” I caution Gregorovich before I just walk out. Knowing I was in a precarious position and might’ve just overplayed my hand.
3
Alicia
This safe house wasn’t setup to keep people in
, it was set up to keep people out, and that’s my one advantage here. But so far it’s not really paying off for me very well.
My high heel didn’t turn out to be the miracle tool I hoped, and my attempts to use it to pry open the door or barred-windows failed. The utensils in the kitchen were all even worse, plastic and easily broken.
On the plus side, I didn’t find any cameras, so maybe it was just a fluke earlier when he came in just as I was trying to bust out. I still don’t know what to make of him. Part of me believes him, that he only wants to keep me safe from whatever the hell happened that night. But I don’t know if that’s just lust speaking or not. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and there’s nothing more that I’d want to believe than the idea that he’s my Prince Charming, rescuing me from some bad men.
As I exhaust all the options I can think of, though, it’s seeming less and less likely that escape is possible. I’ve not heard or seen anyone else, and I still have no idea how much time has passed since that... man captured me.
Rescued.
Who knows.
The only thing I know is that my window is my best option for escape, and I can’t give up. I glance around the room, and when my eyes settle on the TV, I get a bright idea. It’s big, and probably too much to carry comfortably, but maybe if I can hoist it up and throw it through the glass...
It’s a long shot. A really long shot. And I don’t know what I’m going to do once the window is out, but I can’t just sit here like a damsel in distressed for Mikhail to save me from whatever is happening out there. I have to rescue myself, damn it!
I unplug the TV and try to pick it up, but it digs into my arms and is almost too big for me to lift, but finally I manage.
It’s a struggle to heave the TV, but as I heft it up I hear the door knob turn, and as I struggle to put the TV back into place I realize there’s no way I’m doing that before he catches me.
Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance Page 21