by Shandi Boyes
Things look up when Lenin grumbles a curse word a mere second before his fist slams into the metal box, the sound ricocheting around the isolated bathroom.
“Is everything okay?”
Three long heartbeats pass before Lenin replies, “The machine is broken.”
Yes!
I settle the excitement in my voice with some big breaths before murmuring, “Oh, that’s a shame. I guess it’s lucky I packed some then, isn’t it?”
“I’m not to leave your side; you’ll have to use toilet paper.” He sounds sick just at the idea of discussing girl issues.
I use his hang-up against him. “I can’t use toilet paper. It’s the first day of my cycle, so it’s heavier than usual. There are too many stringy clots—”
My hands shoot up to stifle my chuckle when he roars, “Enough! Fuck… that’s way too much information.”
When his shadow moves away from the door like he’s afraid he’ll catch a period, I add to my deception. “I have tampons in the side zipper of my purse. The coat room is like ten seconds away. How much trouble can I get into in ten seconds?”
“From the stories I’ve heard, a lot.” His snarky pitch takes on a new tone. “I’m also not carrying tampons through the club.” A smile stretches across my face from his uncomfortable delivery of the word ‘tampons.’
“Then I guess we’re stuck here.” I sigh like I’m disappointed we’re missing out on the festivities.
After a few minutes of silent deliberation, Lenin grumbles, “Fine! Stay right there; I’ll bring you your purse...” The rest of his grumble is stolen by the bathroom door slamming open so fast it smacks into the drywall.
I’m busting to pee, but Lenin’s eagerness to leave reveals I don’t have time. I dash to the sink to wash my hands before racing for the exit Lenin shot through only two seconds ago. With my heart in my throat, I carefully pry it open to make sure the coast is clear.
My ruse to slip out undetected is foiled by Asher suddenly cranking his head in my direction. The deep scowl imbedded between his brows reveals he isn’t buying the excuse Lenin is whispering in his ear.
I’m not surprised. He knows all aspects of his staff’s lives, so I don’t see why that wouldn’t include their menstrual cycles. Furthermore, he had his head buried between my legs only a few hours ago. I never said my ruse was smart. It was more in desperation than anything.
When Asher weaves through the people swarming him, I slip out of the bathroom and race down the nearly empty corridor. A voice in my head is screaming for me to stop, but unfortunately, the devil on my shoulder isn’t as saintly as the sweet voice of reason. It’s demanding I remember I’m a person, not an object, and that I have the right to speak to whoever the hell I want to. Because I somewhat agree with it, I continue hightailing it in the direction opposite the one Asher is coming from.
I’m about to burst through the double glass doors at the end of the corridor when a pssst comes out of the storage closet on my right. I don’t get a chance to evaluate who the voice belongs to before my wrist is seized and I’m yanked into the pitch dark room.
I scream in fright, but a large hand muffles my cries for help. “Shh, Ari. It’s me, Uncle Nesti. You need to be quiet, or he’ll find is.”
His words thrust me into a childhood memory. It’s more frightening than the clutch he has on my body, but before fear can eat me whole, Asher’s voice breaks through the pulse in my ears. His deep timbre is brimming with unbridled anger, but it’s somewhat soothing to the terror engulfing me. “Is she in there?”
Even though I don’t hear a reply, Asher must get a nonverbal confirmation, because his curse word is louder than my walloping heart. “Search every stall. If she isn’t in one of them, have men comb the perimeter. It’s freezing outside, so she won’t get far without her coat.”
A frigid breeze whips underneath the storage room door when someone pushes through the exit doors opposite us. It’s as cold as the terror sluicing through my veins. I shouldn’t be scared; I’m a grown woman, for crying out loud, but things that go bump in the night have always startled me. Asher knows this more than anyone.
The room Uncle Nesti and I are hiding out in is as black as a starless night, but my eyes have adjusted enough to see the door handle lowering when someone tests if it is locked.
Here it comes. I’m about to get in even more trouble than I did when Uncle Nesti discovered me in a similar-sized room eleven years ago.
My heart stops drumming my ribcage when the door fails to open. I sag against my uncle’s chest, grateful he was smart enough to fix the lock. He’s never been the sharpest tool in the shed.
“Where’s the key for this door?” Guilt pelts down on me when Asher’s question pummels my eardrums. He sounds more anxious than angry.
I instinctively move toward the door, wanting to ease his worry. I don’t get within an inch of it before my uncle flings me away from it. His clutch on my body is too firm for me to wiggle out of, and his hand slapped over my mouth is stealing more than just oxygen from my lungs. He’s furious I’ve put him in this situation.
His frightened response is understandable. If he’s found in here with me, he’ll lose more than the ranking my father did. His penalty will cost him his life.
I can’t let that happen. I don’t want another death on my shoulders.
“There’s a master key in your office.” This reply is from Lenin. He sounds more pissed than Asher.
Stomping feet boom through the door a mere second after Asher instructs Lenin to search the property lines while he gathers the master key from his office. I stand in silence for several long moments, stunned Asher left. That’s the equivalent of him backing down. I never thought I’d see the day.
Confident the coast is clear, I soundlessly request to be set down. When Uncle Nesti complies, I pivot to face him. I can’t see him in the darkness, so I just face the direction his unique, woodsy scent is coming from.
“What are you doing here, Ari?” he queries at the same time I ask, “Have you heard from Vaughn?”
My question is more intelligent than his. Although he stepped out of the Volkov realm a long time ago, he’d still be aware his brother gave my hand in marriage to Asher, wouldn’t he?
My confusion grows when Nesti discloses, “I’ve been trying to reach Vaughn the past few weeks. He’s yet to return my calls.”
That’s not like Vaughn. He’s very family-oriented.
“What about Papa? He’d know where Vaughn is.”
I picture Uncle Nesti shaking his shaggy blond locks when a whoosh sounds through my ears. “I haven’t spoken to your father in years. He’s angry at me for what happened to your mother.”
“He’s angry at everyone.”
I didn’t mean to voice my opinion out loud, but I’m glad I couldn’t hold back. It feels good to express feelings that have been festering for over a decade. I only wish I had more time to get everything off my chest.
“Do you have your phone? Perhaps he’ll talk to me.”
When Uncle Nesti hands me his phone, it stabs into my erratically panting chest. “Sorry.”
While nursing my battered breast with one hand, I dial a number known by heart with my other. The ache in my chest burrows deep when Vaughn’s phone rings and rings. He doesn’t answer our home phone either. It is as if he vanished right along with me last month.
Knowing I don’t have long before Asher returns, I open up the notes app on Uncle Nesti’s phone. “This is the location of a safe house my father told Vaughn and me to use in case of an emergency. It’s probably old and rundown, but if Vaughn is hiding, this is where he’d go.”
Uncle Nesti’s breaths are as fast as mine, his worry just as high. “If I find him, how can I get word to you?”
I don’t want him arriving at the Yurys unannounced, that’s just asking for trouble, but I don’t want to be left in the dark either.
“Here, hold this.” I thrust his phone into his hand before angling the screen
so it faces the slit in my dress. The label sewn into the waistband of my gown isn’t one I’ve seen before, and Asher hinted it was custom made, so it’s the perfect way for Uncle Nesti to reach me without putting himself in danger. “If you find out anything, ask my dressmaker to contact me. Pretend I’m interested in having them design my wedding dress—”
“Wedding dress?!” His high tone pierces my ears. “You’re getting married?”
“Neither of us will be doing anything if you don’t shut up and listen.” I don’t mean to snap at him, but I don’t have time to be nice either. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume everything is fine.”
“And if it’s not?”
My words shake when I begin to speak. “Then I’ll somehow meet you at the safehouse.”
I tear at the label in the waistband of my dress when the frantic stomp of feet return down the hallway. I can hear Asher’s breaths as he slots his master key into the lock. I’m a mere second from being busted when the quickest rip of material frees me from the panic engulfing me.
After shoving the satin label into my uncle’s hand, I use the phone to illuminate the shelf, snatch a box of Tampax from it, then dart for the door. I push it open a mere second before Asher throws it open. Loose strands of hair are sticking to my sweaty temples, and my pulse is buzzing in my neck, but I play it cool. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“What were you doing in there, Zariah?”
When Asher peers past my shoulder, seeking Uncle Nesti hiding in the shadows, I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. “I asked Lenin to fetch my purse before I remembered our quick exit didn’t give me time to pack it like I usually would. With the dispenser empty, I figured I’d check the supply closet.” I wiggle the commercial-sized box of tampons in his face. “Looks like my efforts were worthwhile.”
He steps closer, crowding me against the door with his large, brooding frame. “Then why are you sweating?”
I’ve never been quick-witted, but I have all the moves tonight. “The door shut behind me. I didn’t realize it was self-locking. Thank goodness you arrived when you did. I was panicked out of my mind. You know how much I hate the dark.”
The anger in his eyes softens from my confession. Not enough to keep him from looking like he’s about to go on a rampage, but enough I can slip under his arm and dart into the ladies’ room without further interrogation.
Chapter Twenty
Asher
I jerk my chin up, demanding that one of my men follow Zariah into the bathroom while I enter the storage closet she just fled. What she said is true; she is scared of the dark, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know there’s more to her wide eyes and pasty face than she’s letting on. I’m also seconds from going on a rampage. Panic is ravaging my veins, making me the most unhinged I’ve ever been.
I shouldn’t have brought Zariah here tonight. It was a stupid, impulsive thing for me to do. Seeing her shivering in fear has me backtracking on every decision I’ve ever made—not just tonight, but years ago as well. She was barely out of my sight for five minutes, but I’m being hammered with the same set of emotions I faced when Dominique was killed.
Rage is boiling in my blood, and I know the perfect person to take it out on. Someone is about to die, but to make it more fun, I’m going to do it with my fists instead of my gun.
My plan for vengeance is snared when I enter the storage closet only to face nothing but reams of toilet paper and cleaning products. If it weren’t for a cold breeze ghosting across my face, I would have believed Zariah’s claims she was in here for feminine products.
I raise the cuff of my suit to my mouth. “He’s gone out the back entrance.”
“Went,” Matvei corrects. “He ain’t going anywhere right now, are you?”
“Where?”
A crackle sounds over the security device in my ear before Matvei’s confirmation. “West parking lot. Got him pinned to a piece of shit Honda.”
His reply fetters my brows. Every man in this room tonight has bank balances in the millions, so how the fuck did a bottom dweller gain an invitation?
Not having the time or the motivation to work through my confusion, I bolt through the double exit doors I thought Zariah fled through minutes ago. During my sprint to the parking lot, I request that Lenin take Zariah to my office. She lied, and she’ll pay the penalty for her error before we leave here tonight.
I recognize the green eyes, thick beard, and scraggly blond hair of the man Matvei has detained against a rusted yellow Honda Civic, but none of that matters.
I’m not thinking. I’m fighting.
For revenge.
For a sense of normality.
For her.
When my fists land in Bear’s spleen, I hear a crack, closely followed by a mangled groan. I just broke his rib with one hit.
“Let him go.”
When Matvei steps back, so do I. I’m not going far; just to the hood of Bear’s car so I can remove my jacket and roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt. I’m primed with adrenaline and ready to make any fucker pay for my annoyance—Zariah’s uncle included.
“Why are you here? You left this game years ago, so why come back now?”
When Bear shrugs like his life isn’t hanging in the balance, my right fist gets friendly with his left rib. I hit him without remorse, my jab delivered with a roar. He stumbles back, his cough gargling droplets of blood onto my dress shirt.
He falls back into his car when my left-swung uppercut connects with his beard-covered jaw. While holding his dangling chin with his hand, he lifts his bloodshot eyes to mine. He’s finally realized I’m not leaving without answers. He might have played me for a fool when I was younger, but I’m not the boy I once was.
“I came for Zariah. I wanted to make sure she was okay. Her father has gone off the grid. That never bodes well.”
His reply pisses me off more than it eases my agitation. One, Zariah doesn’t need additional protection. If she did, it wouldn’t be from a maggot like him. I’ve got all her bases covered. Two, no one but me knew Zariah was coming here tonight, so not only is he lying, he’s lying to me—a man who’ll kill you for less.
When my fist makes his cheekbone sit higher than normal, Bear waves his hands in the air, begging me to stop. I’m just getting started, yet he’s already waving the white flag. A few years ago, I would have taken it easier on him. That’s not happening tonight. He’s the cause of the panic thickening my veins, so he’s going to eradicate it. He may have been looking out for his niece, but the terror I felt when I wondered if one of my enemies had taken her was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I honestly felt like I was going to puke with how hard my stomach knotted.
“This is the last time I’m going to ask, Nesti. Why are you really here? Did you grow tired of priming teens with drugs, so you thought you’d come play with the big boys? Or are you trying to wiggle your way back into your niece’s life before her surname becomes Yury?”
When my questions are answered with silence, I convince him to talk with two firm jabs. One to his jugular, another to his cheek.
Bloody spit dribbles onto his chin when he murmurs, “I miss the good old days. Thought I might get back in the game.”
I let him take a swing at me before knocking him back three places with a left, right, left combination. “Good old days? There was nothing good about them.”
I thought the sun shone out of Bear’s ass when I was a kid. He was the cool ‘uncle’ every teen wanted. He bought us alcohol without asking any questions and had an endless list of women willing to satisfy his ‘friends’ every whim. I thought he was a fucking god—until he made me a drug addict.
He’s the scum dealer men in my industry avoid like the plague. He didn’t care what shit he was shifting. If it could make him rich, he sold it. He cut his coke with a range of chemicals, diluting it to the point it was dangerous. I swear some of the shit he was selling was filled with more laundry detergent than coke.
That’
s why he got kicked out of the game. He either left of his own accord, or Zariah’s father would permanently oust him—oust meaning killed. His removal from his throne was unheard of back when it happened. The only way a member of the cartel left their throne was via death, but it wasn’t just his buyers’ heads Bear’s drugs fucked with. He’s just as far fucking gone as them. He has more than a few screws loose.
My confession causes my next hit to lose some steam. It’s not nearly as much fun beating a man who can’t fight back. Doesn’t mean I won’t use him to dispel my anger, though. He lose a few teeth, and will most likely end up knocked out, but it’s a better solution than the one I hatched on my way out here.
His punishment will ensure everyone knows who his niece now belongs to, then Zariah’s will seal it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zariah
I blink back tears when Asher enters the office Lenin has held me captive in the past thirty minutes. His white dress shirt is dotted with blood, and his knuckles are bruised and bloody, though I doubt any of the blood is his. He has an angry, unreadable scowl on his face, and his chest is rising and falling in the same rhythm it did when his head was burrowed between my legs. I want to ask him what happened, but even if I could talk through the lump in my throat, he doesn’t need to speak for me to know his confession. I can see the truth in his eyes, feel the hurt radiating out of him.
My uncle just had a meeting with his adjudicator.
“Did you kill him?”
Ignoring me, he moves to a bar in the corner of the expansive space to pour himself a generous serving of vodka. I did the same thing when I entered. Lenin didn’t bring me in here for no reason, so I needed more than a glass of liquid courage to settle my nerves. Since it was all I had at my disposal, I went for it.
It fires my blood with adrenaline when I step closer to Asher. “I just wanted an update on my family—”