Cruel Love

by Drake, Tabatha

  He wraps a thick arm around me. “I want you by my side during a mission more than anybody else, but I’ll sacrifice that if it means protecting that future, Caleb.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder, falling right where he wants me to. He’s right. Of course, he is. As much as I think I got this, I don’t. Being pregnant hasn’t quite sunk in yet. It will. It could at any time. I could freeze up and second guess my actions. That could mean life or death in battle.

  “I need you to do me a favor,” he says.

  I pull back to look at him. “Anything,” I say.

  Fox withdraws a small stack of passports and IDs from his pocket. “Dani is heading toward the impound lot of Olympic Boulevard.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “She’ll explain everything,” he says, holding the IDs out for me to take, “but I’ll feel better about it if you went with her.”

  “Went where?”

  His head tilts and I nod.

  “She’ll explain,” I repeat. “I got it.” I study my own photo staring back at me from the ID and passport. “Whoa, these are well-made,” I say, admiring the handiwork.

  He shrugs and puts the others back in his pocket, ones I assume are for him and Boxcar. “I’ll see you again soon,” he says.

  I inhale a deep breath, my instincts bouncing like crazy. This isn’t right. None of this is as it should be. Feels so utterly hopeless.

  “Take care of my husband, Fox,” I say. “Please.”

  “I will,” he says with a nod. “Take care of my future wife.”

  I chuckle, exhaling softly. “Sorry your engagement party got canceled.”

  “Eh, we’ll reschedule it.”

  “Did you end up proposing to her anyway?” I cringe. “Even with, you know… everything.”

  He nods, his face blank. “I did.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Not yes, I think.”

  “Did she like the ring, at least?”

  He laughs. “She did.”

  I shrug. “Told ya. All those Hollywood girls love the vintage crap.”

  “Yeah, you were right. Thank you.”

  “Happy to help.”

  The back opens again. We hear Boxcar’s manic shuffle bolt up the stairwell. I look at Fox as his eyes follow the movement up the thin walls.

  “I should go meet Dante,” he says.

  He makes it sound so casual as if he wasn’t about to go hang out with a family of psychos.

  “Please, be careful,” I tell him.

  “Hey, you know me.”

  “Exactly.”

  He smirks. “You don’t have to trust them, Caleb. Just trust me.”

  “I do.” I gesture around the walls of my back room from the doorway. “Take whatever you think you’ll need.”

  He nods as our eyes shift upward, following Boxcar’s frantic pacing along the second floor.

  I hesitate for another second before walking out onto the store floor.

  Fawn’s Pawn has been closed ever since the Hart twins attacked me here but that wasn’t the only reason why I shut it down. They just so happened to enter my life on the same day my husband returned and turned my world upside down. Shit happens like that sometimes, I guess.

  Still, the place never felt the same after that. It used to feel safe. The one thing in my life I had even an ounce of control over. Maybe I’ll re-open someday. Maybe I won’t.

  It’s not important right now.

  I take a deep breath before following Boxcar upstairs. The door to the apartment is wide-open and I hear his feet dragging from one end to the other. I pause outside to look in.

  He stands over the bed with an old backpack laying open in front of him, stuffing a few shirts and another pair of jeans inside. Dark circles stand out around his eyes, even from behind his thick glasses. I don’t think he slept last night. I definitely didn’t.

  I step inside and he pauses briefly before going right back to what he’s doing. I move quietly around him and head toward the bedside drawer for my Model 60 revolver. My special occasion gun. My father’s good luck charm.

  I turn it over in my palm and open the cylinder to make sure it’s loaded before holding it out to Boxcar.

  “Here,” I say. “You’ll need this more than I will.”

  He stops and stares at it. “You sure?”

  I nod. “Take it. I’ll feel much better about this if you had it.”

  “Might have a hard time getting it through security checks,” he points out.

  “You’re palling around with Snake Eyes agents,” I say. “Ask Fox. He’ll know a way to get it through.”

  He nods in understanding as he reaches out to take it. I flick the safety on before dropping it into his hand. He quickly lets it fall into the side pocket and he zips it up tightly. Boxcar has never been a big fan of guns.

  “Did Fox talk to you?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  He flexes his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “So…” I say, clearing my throat. “There’s one thing about your Paris story that doesn’t really add up to me.”

  Boxcar bites his cheek. “What?”

  “You say you met Myra in a bar, and then…” I raise my palms upward. “You just woke up in your hotel room?”

  He inhales. “Cal…”

  “Alone?”

  “This stays between us.”

  I pause, hearing his low, serious tone. “Okay,” I say.

  He runs his fingers through his thick hair, messing up the sides before running them through again. “Myra slipped me something, but I can’t say for sure what it was. I blacked out… and when I woke up, I was alone but there was plenty of evidence to suggest that I wasn’t always.” He looks at me. “What happened to me was wrong, I had no control over it, and it sure as hell wasn’t consensual.”

  My stomach churns. “Box…”

  “I’m over it,” he says, waving a hand. “I came home, got tested, and moved on. I’d like to keep doing that if you don’t mind.”

  He turns away to stuff the last shirt into his pack.

  My eyes water behind my lashes but a few shaking breaths hold them steady.

  I step forward slowly and wrap my arms around him.

  Boxcar tenses up for a second. “Caleb, I’m okay,” he says. “Really.”

  “Well, I’m not,” I say.

  He pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. “Don’t stress out about it. Please. You’ve got enough to worry about.”

  “I’m gonna kill that bitch.”

  He laughs softly. “Sounds like you’ll have to get in line behind the Harts for that one.”

  I look at him and he flashes that smile at me. The same smile that pulled me in out in Afghanistan. He’s still him after everything that’s happened. Still my Boxcar.

  I think back to the desert where this began. Boxcar might still have that smirk, but he also has that curiosity in his eyes. Marilyn Black. Snake Eyes. His obsession took over before and I can already see it taking hold of him again.

  Can’t really fault him, though. I’m curious, too.

  “I thought Marilyn Black didn’t have a daughter,” I say.

  “On paper, she doesn’t,” he says. “She was born after Marilyn allegedly died, so they probably figured a birth certificate was unnecessary. Myra doesn’t exist.”

  “Which makes her the perfect face for an organization that doesn’t exist, too.” I try and shake the chills off. “I really don’t like the idea of you going without me.”

  “I know,” he says. “I don’t like that it took a stern talking-to from Fox to change your mind about it.” He stands a little taller. “That’s something we’re gonna work on when I get back. I don’t want my wife ignoring me anymore.”

  “I didn’t ignore you, I…” I bite down. “I don’t like feeling worthless. I don’t like standing in the back. Front row center. That’s who I am. You know that.”

  “You think being pregnant makes you worthless
?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I look down. “Sure as hell feels like it, though.”

  “You listen to me, Caleb Fawn.” He says it so sharply, I nearly flinch. “I would have voted to keep you here whether you were pregnant or not. My instinct is, and always will be, to protect you. You’re not worthless. You’re priceless.”

  I laugh as a lump grows in my throat. “You’re getting pretty good at saying the right thing.”

  “Everyone’s got something they’re good at. Happy to say my thing is you.” His eyes wander downward. “And right now, I’m not just protecting you. I’m protecting our baby. I don’t care how much it resembles a tadpole.”

  “Never knew you were so paternal.”

  “Me neither.” He shakes his head once. “But something in me just… turned on last night when I saw you standing there with that test. I never really thought about being a dad. Now, it’s all I want.”

  I extend my hand and he latches onto it with a tight grip. “We’re gonna have a baby,” I say.

  He nods. “And… are you okay with that?”

  A tear falls down my cheek. “I’m getting there, yeah.”

  Boxcar pulls me closer and embraces me, holding back from squeezing me too hard. Before, that would have bothered me. Pregnant or not, I’m not breakable. But I find myself sinking deeper into his safe and comforting arms.

  I rub my wet eyes against his shirt sleeve. “Don’t do anything stupid,” I say. “Please.”

  He laughs. “I won’t.”

  “I need you.”

  “Not as much as I need you.” He cups my face and looks me in the eye. “I’ll be behind a computer screen the whole time. No bullets are gonna be flying at me. All right?”

  I nod. “I know. But still... be careful.”

  “I love you.” He drops to his knees and talks to my stomach. “And I love you, too!”

  “Oh, god...” He kisses my belly. “You’re not gonna be one of those dads, are you?”

  He hops back up. “Damn right, I am.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ugh.”

  “Every baby book says they can hear you,” he says.

  “It probably hasn’t developed ears yet,” I point out. “And what baby books have you even read?”

  “A few.”

  “When?”

  “Last night.”

  I raise a brow. “You did not read a few baby books last night.”

  He zips up his backpack. “I loaded up your Kindle with some good ones. We need to start preparing yesterday.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I pause, eying my Kindle on the bedside table.

  He slips the pack over his shoulder and grabs his messenger bag off the counter. “I’ll call you when we get to Boston.” He points a stiff finger. “No drugs, no alcohol, no sushi. There’s mercury in fish. Very bad for baby.”

  My mouth drops. “Wait, I can’t eat sushi?”

  “Or processed cheese.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He chuckles. “Nope.”

  “How is that fair?”

  “It’s not. I don’t envy you right now.”

  I lay my palms on my belly and look down at the eight more months of prison I’m about to endure as he opens the door.

  “Wait, Box.”

  He pauses in the doorway. “Yes, dear?”

  I smile. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” I ask.

  Boxcar bites his lip. “Actually…” He drops his bags to the floor. “I’ll do you one better.”

  I laugh as he strides back to me. As soon as I feel his hands on me, I give a quick hop and he picks me up off the floor. We kiss, our mouths open and tongues wild, as he wanders over to drop me onto the bed.

  “Shouldn’t you get going?” I ask, not really caring as he unzips my jeans.

  “Yeah, but they’ll wait,” he says, our lips grazing. “I’m Boxcar.”

  Chapter 11

  Sofia

  My life has only just begun.

  That’s the same for most twenty-one-year olds in the world but I’m quite certain my situation is more unique than your average young adult.

  I never went to school. Beatrix Zappia taught me how to read and write. Other than that, I didn’t need to know anything else. Mathematics and sciences weren’t in their plan for me. History was long forgotten. My purpose was the future. Not mine, of course, but theirs.

  The Zappia name. Their bloodline would pass through me. I was a stepping stone, plunked down between the generations and I would be forgotten long before I was even dead.

  I am more than what they told me I was.

  I am more than what I dreamed I could be.

  I am more.

  But Sofia Zappia is not yet gone.

  “Giovani is here.”

  I hear his name and my blood still turns cold.

  “Here?” Luka asks. “In Moscow?”

  I wait outside the door of Markov’s workshop with one hand on the wall.

  “Yes,” Markov says. “One of Nikita’s men spotted him last night.”

  “Where?”

  “The Chernyy Obuvi.”

  “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “He sent footage…”

  I knew that someday I’d have to face Gio again. Truthfully, I prayed the day would never come. I could still turn back and forget this moment ever happened. Luka would deal with it and I’d be none the wiser unless he told me himself — and he would. Lutrova women are involved in all aspects of the family business.

  I’ll find out either way.

  I slowly step into the room. Markov’s workshop is always dark and bleak, illuminated by little more than his computer monitors. He and Luka stare at a screen as security footage plays out. A crowded nightclub. A young woman dancing on a pole in the corner with several men sitting around her. They smile and drink and throw money. All except for one.

  Gio.

  I must have made a noise because Luka’s head jerks back.

  “Sofia…”

  He lays a comforting hand on my arm. I try to blink but I can’t pull my eyes away from Gio’s dark features.

  It’s him. My ex-husband.

  I haven’t seen him in nearly a year, but I never forgot every single line of his face. Every pitch of his voice. I couldn’t close my eyes for weeks without seeing his angry scowl behind my eyelids. It’s him, but…

  “He looks different,” I say.

  “How do you mean?” Luka asks.

  I shake my head, unable to answer.

  After a minute, Gio stands up from his chair just as the dancer finishes her act. He walks behind the chairs of drunken patrons and into the back, following close behind her wide stride.

  Markov points at the door as it closes behind Gio. “He went into the back around midnight last night,” he says.

  “When did he leave?” Luka asks.

  “He didn’t.”

  I stare at the screen as another girl takes her place on the stage. “He’s still there?” I ask.

  Luka lays a steady hand on my back. “Did they check the alley exit?” he asks.

  Markov nods. “He never came out and there are no ways out underground. Gio is still there.”

  “Sofia…”

  I look up from the screen, feeling Luka’s hand grazing my cheek. “Excuse me,” I whisper.

  He lets me go as I walk away. His warm fingers slip from my skin, leaving me cold as I wander into the hallway. Soft whispers fade off behind me as my pulse takes over in my ears.

  I find my way upstairs to our bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed in the dark and stare at the wall.

  Gio.

  I’ve plotted revenge against him since I was five years old and he claimed me as his property.

  She is mine.

  Don’t touch her.

  Daddy said she was mine so you can’t touch her.

  She is mine.

  I close my eyes, fighting the darkness to find the light hidden somewhere inside.
/>   Hidden within the little boy in the garden shed with the silver eyes.

  He reaches out to me and I smile.

  “Sofia.”

  I feel him kneel in front of me. He lays his hands over mine in my lap.

  “Look at me, lyubov’ moya.”

  I do as he says. Luka gazes at me in the dark, his face soft and calm. He fills his lungs, breathing in through his nose and I do the same. We exhale together.

  “I promised you I’d find him,” he says slowly. “I swore to you that he’d suffer until his last breath, Sofia. I won’t let him hurt you or our son again. Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not.”

  His brow furrows as an odd sense of calm settles in my chest. Gio is here. My worst nightmare has come to pass, and yet…

  “I don’t fear him,” I say. “Gio can’t hurt me anymore.”

  Luka leans in as tears fill my eyes. “Then, what’s wrong?” he asks.

  I look at him. My real husband. The father of my son. A weight rises off my chest. I turn my palms up and entwine our fingers together.

  “We’re going to get him,” I say. “Aren’t we?”

  Luka’s concerned eyes shift slowly, filling with a light that can only be described as sinister. “Yes,” he answers. “We are.”

  I inhale a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and blow it out through my lips.

  At the end, I smile.

  Chapter 12

  Dani

  I am the master of my machine.

  I lay my hand over my heart and take a deep breath. I hold it there until it hurts and spit it back out again.

  It’s not working. My usual fix for crippling stage fright has lost its effectiveness, though my life lately has been a lot more complicated than missing a cue or forgetting a line.

  If I’m ever going to get out of this bed, then I need a new mantra.

  What would Fox do?

  He’d get up. He’d pack a bag. He’d—

  Let’s start slow, shall we?

  I feel my heart thumping against my ribs, hard and erratic. I take another breath, filling my whole body and holding it in while I repeat the words in my head over and over again.

  What would Fox do?

  I exhale, slow and controlled.

  He’d get out of this fucking bed.