by Nicole Fox
I thought it was tacky at first.
Meeting at a church to discuss murder. Seriously? But she insisted this was where he wanted to meet. When I got there, it made sense. He liked his privacy, and in the confessional, I only got a glimpse of his profile. The fewer people that could recognize and ID him, the better. I could respect that.
What I couldn’t respect was his decision to blackmail me. He told me up front that he knew what I’d done to my uncles. He wasn’t judgmental or holier-than-thou. He didn’t have any room for that. He was simply putting his cards on the table. The authorities wouldn’t be in agreement with what I did. They’d have me arrested and put me in prison.
He offered me a way out. At least, that’s what he called it.
Really, he strong-armed me into becoming his personal hit man. He used me whenever he needed someone taken care of. At first, it was petty things. Beating up a few men, making something look like a random mugging, low-level crime shit. But things progressively got worse. Soon I was killing people that pissed him off. People that got in his way.
The money was good at first. After all, I’d developed a persona. Outside of the rules I’d set for myself, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do. People knew my name and knew my work. Mr. X offered something more than notoriety: limitless cash. Working for him, I was quickly able to line my pockets with more than I could ever spend. The flashy life wasn’t my style, so I put it towards more practical purposes.
The safe house is one of many that I own thanks to the money he’s given me.
For a long time, I got used to it. I liked having dependable, steady work. I liked that he didn’t bother me once he told me who my next target was. He wasn’t a helicopter boss like so many of my other clients. Even Lana bugged me on assignments, trying to make me work faster. Not Mr. X. He knew that I would get the job done.
I had no other choice but to do just that.
But as of late, things have gotten more demanding. He wants his work done faster, cleaned up quicker, and I rarely have a break. Part of me wonders what would happen if I told him that I was done doing his bidding. Would he let me go without a fight? Or would he whip out the blackmail he used so long ago? That’s not a risk I want to run.
Especially not with Lucy in the picture.
I don’t want her to ever meet Mr. X. I trust him more than any of my previous clients, but in this business, trust is a hot commodity. You can’t put your faith in anyone for too long. For the right amount of money, people will betray each other and look the other way as their henchmen beat someone to death. It’s dog-eat-dog. It’s rough, and I know that as tough as she may seem, Lucy isn’t built for this.
Tomorrow, she’ll never have to worry about this world again.
***
When I get home, Lucy has showered and is sitting in bed, flipping through a book. I consider just sliding in with her and going to bed, but I need to get ready for tomorrow. I need to shower now so I’m ready to go before the sun comes up.
I take my time, washing up and letting the scalding water soothe my aching muscles. Training with Lucy has taken a toll on me, but I enjoy it. I like seeing her become more confident in her abilities. I want her to go through life knowing she can handle herself. She doesn’t need me to come to her rescue or make her feel safe. She can do that on her own, by herself.
After the shower, I dry off and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t exactly recognize this old bastard anymore. Last month, my stare was dead, hollow. I could burn holes through anyone. But now, I can practically see the light in there. Lucy. She’s the one shining part of my life.
For just a few more hours.
I turn away from the mirror and turn the lights off. In bed, I slide up close to Lucy. She puts her bookmark in the novel she’s reading and slips down next to me. Her arm drapes over my chest and she looks up at me.
“Can I ask you a question?” she wonders.
“Go for it.”
“If you weren’t doing the work you do now, what would you be doing with your life?”
It’s a tough question. I almost can’t imagine a life without this. Without the pain and struggle that I went through because of my uncles. I don’t know if I’d even like the man I might be if circumstances were different. But for Lucy’s sake, I don’t get into all of that. Instead, I say,
“I’d like to do something less stressful, that’s for sure.”
She cracks a smile and brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe something with security. Something where I’m not trying to get into restricted areas but instead trying to keep people out. Something where I can protect people.”
I’ve never realized what makes that fantasy life sound so enticing, but I think I’ve cracked the code. If I worked for security, I wouldn’t be harming anyone. I’d be protecting them, same as I did for Lucy. Same as I wish I could’ve done for my family. It’s a natural instinct in me. It’s the reason I don’t hurt women or children. Everything in my bones says to keep them safe, out of harm’s way.
“I can never predict what you’re going to say next,” she says, shaking her head.
“What does that mean?”
“I just thought you’d want to do something dangerous, like be a police officer or something. Maybe even a firefighter. But here you are, wanting the calm, safe job. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” she says.
“What about you? What would you do?”
There’s a long silence between us, but I don’t fill it with wasted talk. I let her think, watching the thoughts swirl in her head. She gets this pursed up look about her lips, and her eyes narrow.
Finally, she says, “I’d like to be a teacher.”
“Wow,” I say. “Why a teacher? You have a special thing for not getting paid what you deserve?”
Lucy cracks a smile and shoves my shoulder. “No, smartass. I just ... My mom was a teacher. She said that it was the best work in the world. She taught younger kids with special needs, and I remember her coming home, always eager to tell me all the progress she’d made with her students. When she worked there, she knew her place in the world.”
I try to envision Lucy as a schoolteacher and I can totally see it. She has that gentle side to her where she could easily teach children how to be kind to each other and not bite.
“Would you want to teach younger kids, too?” I ask.
“Maybe. I get attached easily, though, and since I love kids, it might be hard not to be sad whenever they have to go to a new class at the end of the year.” She smiles fondly at the thought.
“Why not have kids of your own? That way you don’t have to get attached to those.”
She scrunches her face up. “I couldn’t be a mother right now.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” she shrugs. “For starters, I have Nana. I’m supposed to take care of her, and a kid would only complicate that. Plus, there’s the whole problem with having a kid. I’d need someone there for me as well. Someone to help take care of the baby with me.”
She looks at me in a way that says she’s talking about me, and I swallow hard. Fuck no. We can’t be having this conversation tonight. We can’t be doing this. I’ve let it go far enough with thoughts of our future together, but adding kids to the equation? That’s where I draw the line.
I pull her close and steal a kiss from her. It’s the only thing I can think to do to stop her from talking anymore. She doesn’t seem to mind the gesture.
For a long time, we lie like that, just kissing, working our tongues together. There’s no rush to go further. I let the pleasure of being with Lucy take over, simply enjoying her touch on me.
When our kiss breaks, she cuddles up next to me again, breathless. “Sorry about making things weird. I just ... I’ve always wanted a family.”
That hits me in the heart harder than it should. Of course she’d want to start a family of her own. She’d want somethin
g she never had growing up. She’d want to give her kids everything she dreamed of when she was a little girl.
“Don’t apologize,” I say seriously. “We’re all allowed to have fantasies. We’re allowed to daydream.”
“I guess,” she says. A bashful smile tugs at her lips. “You know, you’re one of the few guys I’ve met that didn’t run screaming when I brought that up.”
“Did you happen to tell all those other guys your backstory?” I ask, eyebrow quirked up.
“No,” she admits. “But I usually don’t have time to. They’re out the door in five-point-six seconds after I mention anything long-term.”
“That’s how guys are,” I say.
“Is that how you are?”
I swallow hard, debating if I want to admit this. Her sincere eyes stay aimed at me. Fuck it. I’ll tell her.
“I’ve never thought about having a relationship like that. In my mind, I’ll end up alone. I can’t put anyone in jeopardy. Not in this line of work.”
She props herself up on one arm and looks at me closely. “So you’ve never just thought about what it would be like to have a family and not be doing what you do for work?”
“No,” I say. She doesn’t know about Mr. X. She doesn’t know that because of the information he has, I’ll always be his employee. The only way to get out of a contract like that is if he dies, and the bastard seems healthy enough to keep kicking for years to come.
“You should,” she says, smiling.
“Why?”
“Maybe it’s the writer in me, but whenever I think about the future, it makes me feel hopeful. It gives me a goal to achieve. It gives me something to look forward to every morning.”
I lean in for another quick kiss, which she allows. “Right now, you’re that for me.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Not at all,” I reply. “You surprised me, Lucy. I like that you’re always full of surprises.”
When her grin becomes too much for her to bear, she climbs on top of me and places her hands on my pecs. She runs her finger over the gash on my side that’s all but healed up now. She then slides her hands back up, teasing my nipples.
“I have another surprise for you,” she says.
Playing along, I ask, “What is it?”
That signature devilish Lucy look appears again, and she inches down my body. “They say good authors always show rather than tell.”
“Then show me,” I say.
With a wicked smile, Lucy kisses down my stomach before disappearing under the covers. A moment later, her surprise arrives, and we spend the rest of the night enjoying it to the fullest.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy
“Mommy, wait!”
No matter how many times I call out to her, she won’t stop running. I pump my arms to keep up with her, but somehow, as fast as I run, she always stays just out of reach. From the corner of my eyes, I see Dad appear, and he speeds up so that he matches her pace. At eight years old, I don’t have long enough legs to ever reach them.
“Daddy!”
My cries fall on ears that must be too far away to hear me. That has to be it. Why else would they ignore me?
We run for what feels like forever. I stop to catch my breath, tears stinging my eyes. None of this makes sense. Why can’t they listen to me? Why won’t they just stop? When I look up, I see that they have. Only, they stand perfectly still, their backs turned to me. I straighten up, a chill running through me.
It’s like they’re waiting for me. It’s like they know that I’ve stopped running too.
“Please,” I shout. “I’ll stop him, I promise!”
I can hear the sound of him somewhere in the distance. That deep, mature laugh that only a man of a certain personality can have. Like the world bows at his feet. Like there’s nothing and no one that could ever hold him accountable for what he’s done.
Mom is the first to move. She turns around, her eyes far away. Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear her. Dad does the same thing, with more anguish on his face. They reach for me, and for a moment, I’m certain I hear them call my name.
“Lucy!”
I start to run for them, and that’s when the flames engulf them. The scream that tears through me hurts my throat, and I fall to the floor on my knees, sobbing. It’s like my heart has been ripped out and ice has filled the cavity in my chest, sending frigid shivers through my body. I bury my face in my hands, trying to collect myself. Trying to get it together.
Nothing helps.
When I look up again, I’m on my front lawn. The fire is still burning, raging worse than anything I’ve ever seen. The windows have all blown out from the heat. The grass around the house is singed black. Firefighters do their best, but it’s almost too much to put out.
When they do, they wheel out two bodies in bags.
Mom and Dad.
Knowing exactly who’s in those bags makes me want to die. At eight, I want to die. I don’t want to be in a world without them. I don’t want to exist knowing that the people that made it possible are no longer around.
I wish I could take everything back.
I wish I could rewind time and not leave the house to spend time with my best friend. We planned this day for weeks, but with our parents’ crazy schedules, we had to put it off again and again. Finally, everything lined up. This was the only time I could make it to her house.
Nana picked me up after we were done hanging out, and on the ride home, she told me how much Mom and Dad missed me. Mom had called her, saying that she was worried. This was the first playdate where I was at someone else’s house. She felt like I was growing up too fast, like she was losing me.
If only she knew what would come a few hours after that phone call.
If only I’d been home. I wouldn’t hurt like this. I wouldn’t be sobbing in the front lawn, orphaned by a fire nobody could’ve ever seen coming.
A shadow looms over me, and it takes everything I have to turn around and face whatever it is that’s making it. I expect a fireman to tell me that I have to get off the property. That Nana is waiting for me, begging me to come back.
But it’s not a fireman.
It’s him. Abram Konstantin.
With his slicked-back dark hair and that ever-present, self-aggrandizing smirk dancing on his paper-thin lips. He scratches at his short beard, looking down at me like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum over a toy I want.
I know that I hate him as sure as I know the sky is blue and the grass around me is green. I hate him with every possible atom that I’m made of. I hate him so passionately that I feel nothing at all. Just empty hollowness. A dark corridor where my heart once was.
He leans in close and I can smell the cigar on his breath. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, looking me over. “Don’t cry.”
I wipe my eyes and push myself off the ground.
“That’s a good girl.” His words are kind, but I know they lack any warmth. He’s mocking me. He’s toying with me, because he knows that this “accident” won’t affect him. He’ll get off without even so much as a warning. He’ll be fine. He’ll continue to live while my parents are burned beyond recognition.
It’s not fair. Even that young, I know it’s not fair. But more than that, I know that I have to stop him. I stop crying, and I look at him like I could kill him. Like I want to hold his neck between my hands until he stops twitching and finally dies.
He sees it too. His mocking expression slowly turns vicious. Like a mind reader, he knows what I’m fantasizing about. He says nothing else. Instead, he whips his hand forward and lunges toward me.
***
I wake with a start, a hand on my neck. I halfway expect to feel bruises like I’ve been grabbed, but I know that it was just a dream. Konstantin isn’t here. He can’t hurt me anymore. Still, it takes a few minutes for my heartrate to catch up with my brain. I lie in bed, trying to regain my composure, my chest heaving as my breathing slows down.
<
br /> A voice in the dark asks, “Are you okay?”
I turn to see Roman looking at me carefully. For some reason, I’m surprised that he’s still in bed with me. I’ve worked up this silly idea in my head that whenever I go to bed, Roman slips out from under the covers and spends all night planning and plotting and working out. And then, right before I wake up, he climbs back into bed and pretends to be sleeping.
Anything other than that feels foreign. Someone like Roman spending the night with me, sound asleep? It seems too nice to be real.
“Just a bad dream,” I reply.
He reaches forward and brushes a hand over my cheek, his fingers stroking my chin. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I struggle with whether or not I do. On one hand, it feels personal. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream like this. It doesn’t happen often, but when it first started, I remember being inconsolable. I remember waking up in sweats, tears streaming down my face. It took an hour to calm down the first time it happened. Since then, I’ve gotten used to it. I left that day without any visible scars, but I’m sure my brain is screwed up. I’ll probably always have these dreams.
My only hope is that they start to lessen once Konstantin is dead. I’d like to think that the only reason they still pop up is because I’m worried he’s out there causing more people this kind of trauma. If I knew he was dead and couldn’t hurt anyone else, I think I might be able to rest a bit easier.
“It was a bad dream. About him.”
“About who?” Then it hits Roman. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m here if you want to talk more about it.”
This is a side of him I never get to see. When we first met, he didn’t want to hear my side of things. He had no clue about Konstantin’s actions or what he’d done to my family. And to be frank, I’m sure he didn’t care that much either. But spending time with him in this safe house, I’m starting to see him less as the killer devoid of any emotion and more as a victim himself.
Had he never experienced what happened to his parents, he might be different. He might be the security guy that he told me he’d want to be if he weren’t in this business. He might actually have a family. He might have the life so many men dream of.