by Jen Davis
Dead silence.
***
I refused to get into the ambulance, so I rode up front in the patrol car with Officer Montgomery. Boris was in the back of the cruiser in cuffs. I had the sense to claim his black notebook—filled with his illegal gambling notes—as my personal diary, so the cops couldn’t confiscate it. I needed every weapon I could get to use against the Russians.
By the time we got to the police station, my dad was already there—with Vladimir. Not only did I have the pakhan to deal with, but I was going to have to face the Wrath of Dad, too. I couldn’t imagine how much trouble I would be in this time.
I stepped out of the car and prepared for Dad to deliver the first round of punishment. I decided to swing first. “Dad, I’m sorry I—”
“Oh, sweetie.” Dad’s eyes welled up when he saw the slap mark across my face. He wrapped his arms around me. “That bastard you were dating behind my back did this? You’re going to the hospital. End of discussion.”
I stepped back from Dad before I screeched from having a set of cracked ribs. “I’m fine, really. It’s not that bad.”
I had no way of knowing what the boss intended to do. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Ivanov. I’m glad I got to see you before you left.” On shaky legs I walked up to him and gave him a hug to find out if he was packing heat: Da. “We have a deal, right?” I whispered.
He kissed my forehead. “I wish we were meeting under more favorable circumstances, Miss Cook.” His eyes were bloodshot, lips cold.
Dad shook his head in confusion and set his sights on Boris, still in the back of the cruiser. “Why did you call him instead of me?”
As I was about to spin my tale, the Chief of Police came out to the parking lot and let Boris out of the car. With trembling hands, the chief personally unlocked his cuffs. “This man is a hero. Treat him with respect,” the chief warned his officer.
Vladimir had already sunk his hooks into the chief, but Officer Montgomery was wise to this messed-up truckload of bullshit. She shook her head, taken off guard by the whitewashed attitude of her superior. “Hold on, Chief.” She turned to Dad. “Mr. Cook, do you have any knowledge of this alleged ex-boyfriend?”
All eyes zeroed in on Dad.
He stole me away from the pakhan and put his arm around me. “She broke up with him before Christmas. That asshole tried to pressure her to sleep with him, but—” Dad choked up.
“See? There you go,” the chief said, eager to end the interrogation.
Officer Montgomery held her hand up. “One more question.” She turned to Dad. “Mr. Cook, you believe your daughter would call him in a crisis instead of you?” She pointed to Boris, scowling like she’d gotten a whiff of dumpster trash.
Dad wrapped his arms around me in full bear-hug mode. He nodded on my shoulder. “I’ve been a terrible father lately. I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you, pumpkin.”
“No, Dad. Don’t blame yourself. This is all my fault.”
Dad pulled back, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Don’t say that, Carter. How could you possibly believe—” He swallowed hard. “That asshole made you feel like getting smacked across the face was somehow your fault? No matter what his excuse was, no matter what he said you did, no one has the right to hurt you. You didn’t ask for it, you didn’t deserve it, and love doesn’t make a man hit a woman.”
I glanced up at the pakhan and met his bloodshot eyes.
“Your daughter has been through enough tonight, Mr. Cook.” The chief shifted his gaze between the Russians. “Take her home now.”
Officer Montgomery opened her mouth to argue, but changed her mind after a scowl from her superior. “First, I’ll need statements.” She aimed her pen at Boris and me.
“Wait. Doesn’t she need to go to the hospital for an examination?” Dad asked. “She’s terrified. How do we know he didn’t…assault her?”
Boris fired a nonverbal warning over my dad’s shoulder. A trip to the hospital for an examination meant my history of abuse would be abundantly clear. I understood my traumatic event had to be a one-time occurrence. I couldn’t afford to punch holes in my story.
“I’m not going to the hospital.” I picked up Boris’s hand and led him toward the door. “Let’s give our statements and go home.”
Dad stood his ground. “Carter, you need to be seen by a doctor. End of discussion.”
I turned, dropped Boris’s hand, and laid into my father—no more silence. “Even if you drag me to the hospital, I will not consent to an exam.”
Dad stared at me like I was a lunatic. “You’re hurt, sweetie.” He caressed my cheek. “They said he took your clothes and—” Dad couldn’t finish his sentence.
I put my hand on my hip and delivered a fatal blow. “I already told the cops he didn’t rape me. Now do you see why I called Boris when I needed help instead of you? After all I’ve been through this evening, you still treat me like I’m the criminal.”
I had officially shattered my father’s heart. Eager to close the books, I tugged on Boris’s arm and led him inside the station. Once I gave a statement, and details of my pretend boyfriend, I hustled back to Dad to get the hell away from the Russians.
I turned to Boris before we left and went in for a stomach-churning farewell hug. I slipped his cellphone and his evidence-ridden black notebook into his hand and whispered, “We’re even.” Then for everyone’s ears I said, “Have a safe trip.”
Boris distracted my dad, filling him in on the bogus statement I’d given to the cops, and I stepped up to the pakhan for our final goodbye.
He reached out to caress my battered face.
I blocked him. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
He held up his hands, mocking my defiance. Then he lifted a length of my stolen hair out of his pocket and wrapped it around his fist.
My heart raced, chest heaved.
He kissed my locks. “Until we meet again, angel.”
Chapter 57
The V Card
Ten weeks later…
The last of the dirty gray snow had melted in front of our apartment, making room for the pink tulips in the flowerbeds to break free from their wintery hiding place. Spring had arrived and in one week I would be headed to Punta Cana with Kiki and a group of friends to bask in the sun, splash in the waves, and breathe in the salty, tropical air.
The trip was an early birthday present from Dad and Karen, and a perfect motivator to ditch my demons and stop living like a prisoner. Since The Incident, I had moved out with Kiki on schedule and started my spring semester as planned. Dad was against the idea, but when I flashed the “I will not let one bad experience define me” card, I moved on with his blessing.
On the outside, I was calm and confident. On the inside, I was a paranoid disaster. But every day I left my apartment and came back alive, I was stronger, braver, and more confident I would be okay.
The Russians were gone.
Vladimir was out of my life.
I had won.
On a perfectly sunny and unseasonably warm Saturday in mid-March, I felt brave enough to go for a run in the park off campus. It was stocked with moms and dads pushing strollers, skateboard kids, and dogs playing fetch with their families. I jogged past a group of guys playing a pickup game of soccer on the rec fields. One of the dudes attempted a goal, but the defender blocked it. The ball bounced high in the air and was headed straight for me.
“Watch out!” one of the players yelled.
I zeroed in on the ball, shuffled sideways to get underneath it, and popped back a header. The ball bounced back to the field, and the guys cheered.
“She’s on my team,” a cutie with sandy brown hair pulled back in a messy man bun said.
I blushed and waved dismissively, embarrassed by my sporty nature.
The cutie jogged over to me. “Seriously, we need a fourth. You in?”
My experience with the Russians had taught me a valuable lesson: Life is precious. Get over your bullshit.
“Ok
ay,” I said.
“Great. I’m Benji.” He held out his hand. His wrist was loaded with braided nature-boy bracelets.
“Carter.” We shook.
We played against his friends for an hour or so—Benji and I won—then he invited me to stay for a picnic lunch. In the weeks following my ordeal with the Russians, I’d been going through the motions: tennis, classes, work, study, repeat. I’d played it safe, not quite ready to jump back in to my new Russian-free normal. Hanging out with a new person, reaching out, felt like life to me. Maybe I was finally coming back.
We joined the other two guys at a picnic table, and Benji unpacked a stack of sandwiches, cold salads, chips, and natural cola.
“Turkey club or egg salad? Both organic,” Benji said.
“Oh. I’m a vegetarian. I’ll just have some chips.”
“What kind of vegetarian? Vegan, ovo, lacto…”
“Lacto.”
“I knew there was a reason I made my asiago and sun-dried tomato pasta salad today.” He opened up a glass container, loaded up a plate, and handed it to me.
I took a bite of the pasta, chewed, and swallowed. “This is delicious. You made it?”
“One of my many talents.” Benji smiled. “If you like that, you’ll have to try my famous mushroom risotto.” He peeked over at me and wiped his bangs out of his eyes. “If you want to hang out sometime, I’ll make it for you.”
I felt my cheeks flush.
Yes, yes, yes, Sophia said.
“Like, tonight?” Benji said. “My place is over there.” He pointed to the apartments across the street. “We can swing by Whole Foods on the way back.”
“Uh, tonight?” Paranoia set in. Maybe he’s trying to lure me to his house because the pakhan has come back, and he’s there waiting for me. It’d be just like the Russians to use a hottie to trick me—wait. Is this the devil talking?
“Or another time.” Benji looked down, dejected.
His buddies chided him.
Sophia folded her wings across her body and hung her head in defeat.
Enough. This is my life. I’ll make my own decisions. I vanquished the devil first. Mentally, I torched the forked-tongue bastard and watched him burn. Next, I let go of Sophia’s angel voice of wisdom. She spread her silvery wings and ascended into the heavens, making room for my own thoughts and my own voice of reason that said: Stop living in fear.
Game plan change up: “Tonight’s good.”
“Really?”
“But…”
“But?”
“Is it okay if we go out for coffee instead? Mushroom risotto is a big step for me.”
***
Later that afternoon, I met Benji at a crowded indie coffee house around the corner from our apartment. We ordered our drinks and a big slice of vegan carrot cake with thick, creamy frosting to share. Two forks. Benji was a junior majoring in urban planning. He taught me about sky farming, and he sketched out a design on a napkin of a self-sustaining community he wanted to develop that could, ultimately, end world hunger.
He’s passionate, ambitious—and hot.
Every day since we met, Benji came over to hang out after class. We had fun kicking around a soccer ball, making hemp bracelets out on the balcony of my apartment, and just being together.
On the eve of my trip to Punta Cana, Benji tied a special friendship bracelet around my wrist. “This is so you won’t forget me.”
“Aw, thanks. It’s beautiful.”
Benji shook his head. “Not the bracelet. This…” He lifted my chin and pressed his lips against mine. I melted when his beard scratched against my skin and his warm hand massaged the nape of my neck. I ran my fingers up his back and through his hair. His earthy scent of hot guy and patchouli lit my fire. I’d only known Benji for six days, but I invited him to spend the night. Kiki was staying with Toby, her lab partner she’d been lusting after for months, so we had the place to ourselves.
My bedroom was tiny, and I just had a twin bed. The idea of snuggling with Benji all night, crammed in that tiny space together was exciting, but also nerve-wracking. I hadn’t yet told him I was a virgin. I mean, we were in college. I didn’t have faith that this gorgeous guy would stick around too long while I was still waving my V card.
But I was wrong.
When I broke the news, he honestly seemed impressed. And to put me at ease, he came up with a brilliant, less intimidating sleeping arrangement. We moved around the living room furniture, tossed the cushions off the couch onto the floor, and made a fort out of sheets in front of the balcony. We kissed under the streetlights and touched and laughed and did all the things lovers do, without going all the way.
This is what a healthy relationship feels like.
Chapter 58
Spring Break Bound
It was dark when Kiki and I left for the airport early in the morning. I had a rush of paranoia when a black Cadillac got off the exit ramp behind us. I took a deep breath and talked myself out of a panic attack as Kiki parked the Mustang in the long-term parking lot. We rolled our suitcases over to a covered hut and waited for the airport shuttle to pick us up.
When the bus screeched to a halt and the door opened, a big dude with a buzz cut and a guy as wide as a dumpster with a deep scar on his cheek came out to help us with our luggage. They were wearing gloves—at the end of March. Kiki thanked them, but neither one of them said a word.
Oh, God. They looked like they’d just stepped off the prison yard. They had to be Russian. Why else wouldn’t they talk to us? They didn’t want us to detect their accents, and they’re wearing gloves to hide their tats—or to avoid leaving fingerprints.
My hands began to shake.
“Are you all right?” Kiki asked. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t speak. I had to warn her. This was all my fault. Kiki put her arm around me and rubbed my back, attempting to rub out the crazy.
The buzz-cut guy eyed me like a drooling predator ready to eat me alive. “Sorry, miss. I know it’s freezing in here. Crazy Cincinnati weather, huh?” No Russian accent. I was wrong. The guy held up his gloved hands to back his story. His innocent, Cincinnati-cold gloved hands. “I hope it’s warmer where you’re going.”
“Oh, yes. We’re spring break bound. In a few short hours, we’ll be in our bikinis basking in the sun,” Kiki replied.
I inhaled a deep breath and let out a chuckle. I was a paranoid disaster, that was all. Clearly, I was so ready to say goodbye to Cincinnati and move on to paradise where I could stop checking over my shoulder in search of the Russian Boogey Man.
I glanced out the window and noticed the driver passed an old couple waiting in a little hut for a ride. The bus was empty except for us. Buzz Cut grinned, as if he knew what I was thinking. The bus left the long-term parking area en route to the international airport terminal, which was a couple miles away from where we’d parked.
As Kiki rambled on about what outfits we should wear on our first night, the bus turned down a secluded side road and screeched to a stop. Buzz Cut got up, and then the driver cruised over and stood next to him. Instead of facing the door, they towered over us.
“Is there a problem?” Kiki asked, looking out the window. “This isn’t the airport.”
Scar Face smiled at Kiki and then turned to me. “Nyet.”
I grabbed Kiki’s arm and tried to fling her out the door. Scar Face intercepted and smothered Kiki with his big body. She kicked and screamed, and he dragged her to the rear of the vehicle. I lunged forward to try to fight him off, but Buzz Cut tackled me in the aisle. I screamed in vain for them to let Kiki go. Scar Face held a rag over her face. My dear friend stopped fighting and fell limp in his arms. “Don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know anything.”
The goon injected a needle into her arm.
“No!”
While I was pinned on the ground, the door to the van opened, and Boris climbed on board.
Oh, God.
Buzz Cut held my wrists behind my back and yank
ed me to my feet. I slumped forward. He wrapped his arms around my waist and forced me down on his lap. Boris sat next to me and twisted the cap off a bottle of vodka.
“Please let Kiki go. I’ll do anything you say. Don’t hurt her.”
Buzz Cut covered my mouth with his gloved hand.
Boris lifted a small plastic bottle out of his pocket, tapped a couple of pills into his hand, then dropped them into the vodka bottle. “Like old times.” My assailant pushed down on my chin to spread my lips apart while Boris lifted the bottle to my mouth.
I shook my head, stomped down on the goon’s foot, and tried to struggle out of his grasp. In retaliation, he squeezed his arms around my ribcage so tightly, I felt like my body was being crushed inside a trash compactor.
“You never learn, do you, weasel?” Boris said something in Russian to Scar Face, and he responded by dropping my best friend to the ground, and as she lay unconscious with her arms outstretched on the dirty floor, he drew his leg back ready to kick her in the stomach.
“No!” I cried. “Boris, please.”
Boris held up his hand to stop the guy. “Thirsty now?”
Live to fight another day. I drank.
“One more sip, dear.”
“Why are you doing this? We’re even.” My vision blurred.
“You’ve caused some trouble for us back home.”
“I never told a soul what happened.” My words came out slurred.
“I know, dear. Trouble has come looking for you.” He unfolded a sheet of notebook paper. “The boss would like to cash in his wager now.” He turned it around and showed me the picture I’d drawn of a winged heart with an arrow through it with the word forever scribbled across the center.
“Never make a bet you’re not willing to lose.”
I fought to stay conscious.
“And remember the bet you won? Use of the private jet to anywhere in the world. A Russian never goes back on a deal. Boss would like to fly you to his home for an extended vacation.”