by Sara Hubbard
He starts to smile. “Well, I guess I can sleep again.”
I chuckle quietly, and then something unexpected happens. His tan cheeks turn a pale shade of pink, and the color deepens as it travels down his neck. As if he senses his blush, he turns away and starts for the archway to the kitchen. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Sandwich in hand, I scurry after him, afraid that he might.
Chapter 12
Maxim: I lead Luna out to the garage, past my dark SUV, to the sedan covered in a tan tarp. When I turn to her, I lower my gaze to her feet and find she’s barefoot. After my father killed hers, and she was brought back here, I was careful to take all of her clothing and burn them. That included her shoes. Yara mentioned she’d brought her some clothes over, but it seems as if she might have forgotten shoes.
“What’s wrong?” She nibbles on her lower lip.
“What size are your feet?”
“Seven.”
I nod, committing that to memory. She might not be able to leave this house, but I don’t want her to go without.
Hesitating, I grip the tarp and take a slow breath in before breathing it out. Showing her this car shows a level of trust that she won’t understand. I peel back the tarp and glance at her. Her eyebrows reach for the ceiling.
“This is yours?”
“It is.”
“Huh.”
Considering my home and my SUV, it doesn’t surprise me that she’s confused by the sight of the old, rusted brown sedan. It’s about fifteen years old and is not a classic. I unlock the passenger door and open it for her. She climbs inside. When I get in the other side, I feel her questions even before she opens her mouth.
“Why do you keep it covered?” she asks. “Are you fixing it up? Or does it have sentimental value or something?”
I stretch an arm out and rest my wrist on the steering wheel before I turn to her. “This is the kind of car that goes unnoticed. No one knows I own it. I paid cash, and I made sure it doesn’t trace back to me.”
She frowns. “No one knows about this car but me?”
I nod my head just once, locking eyes with hers.
“Why do you need a car like this? To…commit crimes?”
I hitch a shoulder. “Do you really want to know?”
She thinks about that for a minute. “No, but I'm not sure you would tell me if I did.”
“No, I probably wouldn’t.”
She focusses on her fidgeting fingers. “Have you done a lot of bad things?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel bad about them?”
I turn forward and start the car, pressing the button on the small black square box on the visor. It beeps, and I say, “Open the door.” The box beeps again, activated by my voice, and the door slowly starts to climb open.
Do I feel bad? I reverse out of the garage and start down the long driveway. I cared about what she thought of me two years ago, and I’m starting to care about that same thing again or I would have already answered her. I run a hand over my face and sigh.
“Luna, I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to live my life. You and I couldn’t be more different. To answer your question, there are some things I feel bad about. Not many, but some.”
She watches me closely as I drive. “You’ve hurt a lot of people.”
“What’s your definition of a lot?”
She makes a face.
“Yes,” I say.
“How could you not feel bad?”
“I don’t know. I guess because when you live like I do, you expect the danger that comes with it. Think of it this way—if you break the law, then you can expect consequences. Like jail, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, unsure.
“Well, it’s the same way in my world. There are consequences to our choices and actions. You play, you pay. One day I will, too. We all do.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. That if someone does illegal things they deserve to get hurt or even die?”
I shrug.
“And the people you hurt deserve it?”
“I’m not saying they deserve it. But more that…it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”
I turn the heat on when I notice her shoulders hunched and she’s hugging herself. I should have offered her my jacket.
“That’s bullshit,” she says.
I chuckle at that.
“Their punishment should be jail, not physical pain. And it shouldn’t come from you.”
“I didn’t make the rules.”
She adjusts in her seat to face forward again.
“Perhaps I should go back to one-word answers?” I suggest.
She sighs, tips her head back on the headrest, and rolls her head in my direction. “No, I don’t want that at all.” I meet her gaze when I notice her staring. The heat radiating from the dash lightly blows the tendrils of hair that’s fallen from her messy bun. Her swan neck is bare. There’s sadness in those eyes. About what, I’m not sure, but if fucking kills me to see it and know I’ve likely contributed to it in some way or another.
I run a hand though my hair and continue driving. She wants me to talk and share, but she can’t know how hard that is for me, especially when I know her opinion of me will only get worse and worse the more that I do.
Several times she opens her mouth and snaps it shut. There is so much on her busy mind. I almost demand for her to tell me, but then I decide maybe it’s better if she remains silent—and so do I.
When we’re about ten kilometres away from the diner, she offers some directions, like turn left here or keep going straight. I glance over at her, amused. She knows I’ve been to the diner and yet she’s directing me still.
“Maxim?”
“What?” I say, distracted.
“Did you hear me?”
“No.”
“You just passed it.”
Fuck. I drive around the block again, mad at myself for letting my thoughts stray. When we near the diner a second time, I park across the street in perfect view of the picture windows along the front.
With her hands clasped in front of her chest, she stares through my driver’s side window, her eyes wide and hopeful. About half of the booths by the window are in use. A waitress walks by them and offers coffee.
“Is that her?” I ask.
Her voice is shaky when she replies. “No.”
Minutes tick by on the yellow lights on the digital clock on the dashboard. I don’t want to hang out here any longer than I have to. There are signs up on telephone poles with her picture on it. In fact, there is one across the road by the diner. All it would take is for one person to “think” they see her, and we’re fucked. That’s not my only worry, though. She’s behaving now, but, at any moment, she could make a run for it. Or a cop could drive by, and she could scream out for help. There are so many unknowns here, most of all, her intention. She’s being friendly-ish with me right now, but I have to wonder if it’s an act, if she’s trying to lower my guard. I want to believe she’s warming to me again, but I’m not a fool, and I won’t let her make me out to be one.
A few more minutes pass by. “It doesn’t look like she’s working,” I say finally, anxious to leave already.
“No, please, Max. Just a few more minutes. Maybe she took a break or maybe she’s in the kitchen. Just five minutes. We’re already here.”
I refuse to look at her or be swayed by her beautiful, sad face.
The clock reads twelve-forty-five. Five minutes. That’s it. I keep my arm on the arm rest, my hand open and ready to grab her if she decides to run. One minute. Two. Three. Four. I look at her now. I see the energy drain in her face as she looks at the clock, and her eyes become glassy. “You’re not going to bring me here again, are you?”
I bristle at that as I start the car. I’m about to shift into drive when I see a man jog across the street with his hood up and his hands in his pockets. I keep my hands on the wheel. Something about the man and the way
he moves. I can’t see his face, but I know that walk. He pulls down his hood as he reaches the step of the diner. Dirty-blond hair, wide jaw, wide set eyes, and a sneer I could draw I know it so well. I grip the wheel so hard my knuckles whiten.
“Wait!” she exclaims. Her smile is so wide it lights up her whole face. But a tear streams down her cheek. She outstretches her arm to point to a woman with red hair. The woman wipes down a table and sits in the booth to adjust some condiments just as my brother walks inside.
Luna doesn’t know my brother. She wouldn’t know that this particular man is an incredible danger to her mother—and she can’t know. Especially not at this moment. Luna would definitely bolt in some misguided effort to save her, and she’d end up killing them both.
Intended or not, Luna lays her hand on my wrist and squeezes me tightly. Though her hand is cold, I feel the warmth of her touch spread up my arm. My hand relaxes on the wheel, and I sink deeper into my seat.
“She’s okay,” Luna says softly. With her other hand, she wipes away tears.
“What’s her name?”
“Lois,” she says.
With a smile on her face, Lois greets my brother and escorts him to a booth by the window. Meanwhile, this beautiful girl beside me holds onto me, jubilant, as her worst fear disappears—her mother is safe. For now.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I had to see. I had to know for sure.”
“Why are you crying?” I ask her.
“I’m just so happy.”
I don’t understand the need to cry at all, especially when you’re happy. It confuses me. I don’t remember the last time I cried. My father frowned on it and would punish me for it. Though my mother would comfort me, if only for a moment. She would tell me that it made me look weak, and I should wipe my eyes and find another way to deal with my emotions. So I did—with anger.
While I would personally feel weak if I cried, I don’t judge Luna for her tears. I just want to wipe them away. This instinct is becoming harder to resist the longer we sit. I try to remove my hand from hers, and she grips my hand tighter.
“Just one minute.”
She thinks I want to leave, and we should, but I nod. “One.” I let her believe I’m staying because she asked when it’s not the truth. I’d already be gone if my brother hadn’t showed up here, no matter the happy tears. It’s too dangerous. But with Andrei here, I want to linger. It’s no coincidence he’s here late at night. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t believe I’ve hurt Luna. Clearly, he isn’t willing to let that go. Fucking bastard.
Andrei engages Lois in conversation for a few moments. She comes back to the table a few times, and he laughs. While hers isn’t as happy, she does smile at him. If she’s anything like Luna, working right now with her husband and daughter missing, won’t come easy. But I suppose bills have to be paid.
A jogger runs by, and I swear he stares at Luna. No more. I can’t put her at risk. I slide my hand out from hers and put the car in drive. The calmness I found while we were parked slowly dissipates—I know it’s because she’s no longer touching me—and my anger at my brother reaches new heights. He’s not the kind of man to let things go, and I’m worried if he digs hard enough, he’ll find something.
I can’t let that happen.
* * *
I jump up and down, my wrists moving as I spin the jump rope around me. Two hours I’ve been at the gym, working through my frustrations. It’s been a few days since I saw my brother at the diner. I’ve been sitting on that knowledge, trying to figure out the best way to tackle it. I don’t know why he’s so confident Luna’s alive, and I don’t know what his intentions are. I’ve been trying to find a way to get into his head without asking him outright. I have come up with nothing. I swing the rope harder, double jump and then triple.
Yuri approaches me. He’s in his finest black jeans—I swear he owns only one pair. It’s all the guy wears, that and a collared shirt under an unzipped leather jacket. He stops short of my rope and shoves his hands in his pockets. I slow my speed.
“How’d it go?” I ask him. He oversaw the sale of a truck load of guns last night to the new client I recently wined and dined.
He shrugs. “Fine. No problems. Guy’s an ass, though.”
“Yep.” I slow down and stop. On the ground beside me is a large water bottle. I snatch it and open my mouth to down a large amount. Sweat drips from my forehead, so I wipe it away with a towel I’ve left on a rowing machine beside my mat. “You come here and check in with me every day, but you never work out. Why don’t you use your time wisely and get on the treadmill? Maybe lift some weights.”
He clucks his tongue at that. “Fuck that. How about you come outside instead, and we can have our daily chat while I smoke a cigarette?”
Amused, I fight a smile. He’s strong, deadly, and quick, but if he lost his hold on someone and they got away, he’d never catch them. Twenty-eight years of takeout and avoiding exercise would make sure of it.
“You thought any more about your problem?” He glances around, knowing full well Andrei’s been hanging out here in the mornings.
I nod.
“And?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I’d just let it go. He doesn’t know shit.”
“What if he does?”
“Then we’re in fucking trouble. But he couldn’t know. I took that girl to your house. No one followed me. I’d have seen the lights coming down the driveway. And you’ve got cameras everywhere. Even if they know I took the girl somewhere else”—he leans in and lowers his voice— “they can’t know for sure you didn’t kill her. Worst case scenario, they think I took her out, not you.” He shrugs. “Big deal. You can’t kill a woman. They already think you’re soft when it comes to women, so… There are worse things to be accused of since you’ve fucking proved time and time again you have no problem killing a man.”
I glare at him but lose steam. He’s not exactly wrong. Kids and women. I’ve always held my ground. Yet my dad has found more than one opportunity to push me to hurt them. Is it so bad if they think that’s the truth? I think about that. The man my dad raised loudly says, “Yeah, it is. It makes you seem weak and incapable. It makes you unable to lead.” But deep inside of me there is a quieter voice that says, “You have a code. Some will respect that. Kill the ones who don’t.”
I toss the towel over my shoulder and take another long swig of water. As I approach the locker room, Yuri ambles along beside me. A man I’ve fought in the underground passes by us and nods to me. I offer the same.
I turn in to face Yuri and ensure the man is far enough away that he can’t hear us. “I feel like Andrei knows something. It’s going on two weeks, and he’s spying on her mother?”
“You’re being paranoid. But”—he holds his hands up— “if you’re right? If he knows something? Well, it’s not enough to accuse you—yet. That girl…” He shakes his head.
I eye him.
“I won’t say it. But you know how to make this all go away.”
“Net.”
“Okay. Then we ignore him. He’ll get bored of it, eventually. Maybe he kills the mother or tortures her to find out what she knows. Who cares? You’re paying your debt to this girl, but that doesn’t have to extend to her fucking mother.”
I curl my hands into fists.
“Fuck, Maxim,” he growls. “Don’t. Get. Involved. You saved the girl, great. Your conscience is clear, but you can’t save the mother, too. The only way to stay on top of this is to be cool. You owe that woman nothing. If he goes after her, you have to ignore it. You can’t show your hand.”
Luna is close with her mother. The smile she wore when she saw her was worth all of the shit I’ve gone through to keep her safe. That one wide, toothy smile. What would she do if her mother were murdered, too? If she knew I could have intervened she’d hate me forever. There’d be no getting past that. But I know I can’t save her and her mother, too. I’m strong, and I’m fast, but I’m
only one man. I could only rage so hard and so long against an army. And if my father has proof I disobeyed him and I risked his safety, I would fall, too.
Yuri makes a face at me and shakes his head. “I gotta ask,” he says in Russian. “What is it about this girl that you’d risk everything for her? Is any woman really worth that?”
I look over at him. My oldest and only real friend. My family. While I share so little, I feel the need to give him something because of the risk I’ve put him in. And because of his willingness to accept it.
“Remember when I kept going missing after I was in the hospital? I said I needed time to recover.”
“Vaguely. I do remember your dad screaming at you for it, though.”
I roll my eyes. My father. “It wasn’t a lie. I needed time. But…I didn’t spend it alone.”
A flash of realization appears in his blue eyes. “For real?”
I open my hands out at my sides and shrug.
“How long?”
“Almost two months.”
“Huh. I thought the only woman you spent more than a few nights with—pretty much the whole time I’ve known you—was Alexandra.”
“Well, now you know different.”
He rocks on his feet and lets out a breath. “You telling me this…what is this? You trying to say something? Because I don’t know what to do with this.”
“She was important me. That’s all I’m trying to say. I think you deserve to know that.”
He runs a finger over his moustache and nods. “Well, this just got a lot more fucking complicated.”
“Now you understand?”
“She’s important to you,” he says quietly, but it seems as if he’s saying it more for his benefit than mine. As if he has to really understand the full gravity of what that means. “Then she’s important to me,” he says. “Whatever you need, cousin. Whatever you need, I’m your guy.”
I outstretch my hand and lay it on his shoulder. “I know, Yuri. I know. And when I figure out what that is, you’ll be the first to know. But first, I need to have a chat with my brother.”