by Sam Crescent
“Nothing you need to know.”
“Look, Mr. Ivanov, this is pretty serious. I know you have your … company problems, but this might be completely random. This place isn’t even associated with you.”
He chuckled, but I felt no humor. “You know when you’re a kid growing up and there’s something you want? A cookie, a video game, some shit like that.”
“Your point?”
“When you try to get mommy’s and daddy’s attention to buy you that, you talk about anything but that, right. Until they finally turn around and say, what do you want, sweetie?” I kept my voice low.
“What do you want me to do?”
I folded my arms. “I want the security footage for outside on the street.”
“Mr. Ivanov, you know I don’t have that authority.”
“Then find someone who does, but I want a copy. I need to see what I’m dealing with here.”
Daniel didn’t look happy about it, and the truth was, neither did I. The little elitist group of soldiers hadn’t attacked in a while, but why here, why now? None of it made any sense.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you now?” he asked.
“No.” I needed those security tapes.
“I don’t like this, Mr. Ivanov.”
“I don’t pay you to like it. How is your son?” It was the fastest way to get him to leave. Daniel left the room to join the rest of his men working through my nightclub.
My cell phone rang, and I pulled it out to see Cara was calling me. I stared at the call for several seconds before finally picking it up.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hey, you. I wanted to check in. See how you were,” Cara said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m a curious woman, you know.”
“Cara, you haven’t called to check up on me in nearly fifteen years. Is there a problem?”
“No, no problem. I wanted to see how my best friend was doing.”
I looked around my office, suspicion rising up inside me.
“I don’t want you touching my woman ever again, do you hear me?”
“Ah, we’re back to that. Did you at least heed my advice? Did you make her yours? Showed her what a real man could do?”
“I’m busy right now, Cara.” I hung up my cell phone and sent a quick email off to the private alerts for Ivan Volkov and the rest of the brigadiers to alert them of a possible impending attack.
With nothing in my office to keep my attention, I made my way out to the main floor where most of the damage seemed to have taken place.
I moved to the bar and looked around. Moving up and down the length, I checked out the entrance point, but from the bar, there was no direct shot of everyone coming in or out.
Then I realized the men coming in to attack didn’t get through the front. My men were on the doors, and I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to them yet as the cops were taking their sweet time asking all the questions.
On the way past a forensic person, I stole a glove, sliding it on my hand. No one bothered me. I was merely the owner walking around. I checked the door and ran my hand across the lock.
The door had been pried open, and when I glanced down, I saw the crowbar. The people who attacked my club were sloppy. Why attack and not take their weapon of choice? Rather than give it to the police, I placed the crowbar out of sight with the intention of giving it to my own personal analyst.
I had more faith in the men I paid for than the cops assigned to help me out.
The room they came into was the storage room.
I followed the path and came to another door, which was even more interesting. This one wasn’t pried open. This one appeared to have been opened with a single flick of the wrist, which I did, and stepped out.
The scent of cigarette smoke assailed my senses. I never smoked, and as I looked at the shaking woman who immediately stood, my nerves went to an all-time high.
“You shouldn’t be out here. The cops are going to want to interview you.”
“Have they talked to you?”
“No. I didn’t see anything. I was dealing with inventory, you know.”
I stepped a little closer, and this time, the woman whose name badge labeled her as Casey, tried to run. She dropped her cigarette as I wrapped my fingers around her throat and pressed her up against the wall.
“Please, don’t kill me. I don’t want to die. Please. Please.”
Her sobbing filled the air, irritating me. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done.
“Why don’t you tell me what is going on right now?” I asked. I was calm.
“I don’t know anything. I swear, I don’t.”
I shoved her up against the wall, squeezing her throat tightly. She tried to claw at my wrists, but her nails had been so chewed down, she couldn’t even leave a scratch. It would be so easy to watch her die. I didn’t need her. She was the cause of three deaths.
But I needed information.
Releasing her neck long enough to let her breathe, I continued to stare at her as she whimpered and moaned.
“Please. Please,” she said. “I don’t want to die.”
“Then why don’t you start talking? Give me enough information, you’ll live. You don’t, well, we know what is going to happen to you.”
She whimpered. “I … they didn’t say what they were going to do. All I was supposed to do was open the door, that was all. I opened the door and I got my daughter back. I’m trying to be clean, but it was so easy.”
“What’s so easy?” I asked.
“All I have to do is fuck who they say and I get the money and the coke, and I … I did really well, I promise. I said no. I wanted my daughter back but, but, they found me, and they fed me and I remembered how good it was.” She covered her face with her hands.
This woman was an addict and someone had gotten her hooked back on the dope.
“Is it mine?” I asked.
“The kid?”
I frowned. I’d never sleep with a woman like this. So helpless, mainly useless. “No, the dope.”
“I don’t know. I just know it’s so good and after I’ve done what I’ve done, it makes everything so easy.” She smiled as if she was in some fairytale land. “My kid is better off without me. She doesn’t need me. I’m a failure. I want my own life. I never wanted to get pregnant. You can hurt me all you want, but I only have a couple of text messages that told me what to do. I didn’t break any law.” Her sobbing turned into aggression.
“Give me your cell phone,” I said.
She scrambled on her person, handing me the phone. With my hand over her mouth and nose, I didn’t hesitate or stop. I cut off her air and watched this woman slowly die, feeling nothing.
She crumpled to the ground, and I pulled out my cell phone, making a call. With the cops so close, I should have waited, but I wasn’t a patient man when it came to getting rid of a problem, and this woman was a problem.
With her cell phone in my pocket, I checked the time and saw it was now a little after midnight.
My thoughts drifted to Aurora. When I got the call to come down to Shiver, we hadn’t spoken since I told her I wouldn’t be a submissive man. There was no way I was going to trust her so easily.
“You expect me to trust you? You haven’t earned it.”
How have I not earned her trust? She wasn’t dead, and it pissed me off for her to even think to doubt me. I’d been good to her, more than good.
Anger flooded me.
This was why I didn’t want to get close to the woman. She got under my skin and pissed me off. This wasn’t the time and place to be analyzing the shit we’d said to each other, and yet, here I was, thinking about it.
By the time my guy arrived, he was on his own, in the smallest van we owned. I helped him to pick up the body, throwing it into the back.
“Run dental records, or whatever shit you need. She mentioned something about a kid. I want to know everything about this woman as soo
n as you can.”
The man nodded and left the scene.
With that, rather than go through the storage room, I made my way out of the back alley, onto the street. My car was parked around the other side. Standing on the pavement near my bar, I looked around.
There were so many avenues the men could have come from. I knew for certain they hadn’t come through the front.
Who would take this much time to find the right opportunity to attack this club? The woman I’d just killed had been purposefully chosen because of her working here, preyed upon, and hooked back on the drugs.
It never took long to get an addict back on what they considered a lifeline.
The question was why?
Why go to so much effort?
I understood it, but if you wanted to attack a nightclub, why not go from the front? This was personal, and I just didn’t see the connection.
Chapter Eleven
Aurora
Two days later
I was in the library of the apartment building when I heard the front door open and close. I held a book I’d been trying to read for a few months, but each time I did, the words blurred together.
I put the book down on the small table that held my empty coffee cup, and got to my feet.
Slavik hadn’t been back home ever since he got that call. We’d shared one incredible night together, and it felt like he’d been avoiding me. I knew he wasn’t. There was no reason for him to.
I grabbed the cup, heading out to find Slavik hanging up the cell phone. He was covered in blood, and I saw a lot of it coming from his side.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked at me. “Most of it isn’t mine.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
I rushed to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards, trying to find the emergency first-aid kit.
“What are you doing?” he asked, stood in the doorway.
“I’m looking for the first-aid kit. Where is it? Surely you keep one around.”
He chuckled. “It’s in the bathroom.”
I grabbed his arm as I brushed past him, not allowing him to leave my sight until I got him clean.
If I had to, I’d call a doctor. Not that I knew a good one. Since I’d been his wife, he hadn’t given me the chance to have all the necessary contact details I needed. Who to call in the event of an emergency and where to go.
“Sit.” I pushed him onto the toilet seat and looked through the cupboards, finding what I needed. “Remove your shirt.”
“If you wanted me naked, Aurora, all you’ve got to do is ask. This show of caring is sweet.”
“You think this is a show?”
“What else could it be?”
The urge to slap him was strong, but I felt I should be getting some extra good points for not hurting him. He’d deserve it.
With his jacket off, he worked at the buttons, and I quickly slapped his hands out of the way. Even though he was the one shot, my hands shook as I released each button. The moment I started, Slavik didn’t stop me.
He was calm. I was not.
There was so much blood.
“Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” I asked.
“A joke, funny,” he said.
“You didn’t laugh. It couldn’t be that funny.”
“The other guy isn’t laughing. The other five men are not laughing.”
“Five? You were attacked by five men?”
He shrugged.
“Please tell me no one else was hurt.”
“You care more about people you don’t know than your husband, Aurora?”
“I care … about you.” I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like we’d talked or anything.
He had given me one night, and in the past few days, I’d thought nonstop about it. About him. About us.
Sex wasn’t everything, and it had somehow dragged me into its mystical web of need. This shouldn’t even bother me.
“You do?” he asked.
“Yes, you know I do.” I filled the sink with warm water, grabbing a cloth to wipe away the dried blood. “You got shot.”
“How far does this caring go? I’m curious.”
I glanced into his eyes to find him watching me. “It’s nothing too serious. A lot of people care about each other. It’s not important.”
“I have a feeling you caring about me, Aurora, is important.”
“You’re my husband. I’m supposed to care about you.”
“No, you don’t. We both know your father gave you to me because he didn’t care what happened to you.”
I flinched. I couldn’t help it.
I was very much aware of what my father had done. “What does that make you?” I asked. “Willing to take a daughter who is only second best? He didn’t think you were good enough for his favorite daughter?”
Slavik reached up and touched the scar above my right eyebrow. It was a faint line and had happened so long ago.
“Your family strives on perfection. What happened to cause this little scar on a perfect face?”
“I’m not perfect.”
“Your face is flawless, Aurora. Smooth. Soft. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“I’m not beautiful.”
“Tell me about the scar.”
I’d never told anyone about my scar. No one had cared.
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m your husband.”
“And you’re demanding to know the truth?”
“Yes.”
I sighed. The excess blood had been cleaned off his body, and now I had to deal with the wound caused by the bullet. “Don’t you want to go to the hospital?”
“It’s a graze. I’ve got everything here I need.”
I slapped his hand away and started to rummage through the first aid kit, finding the sterile wipes.
“Tell me,” he said.
I got to work on cleaning his wound. The sight of it alone made me feel sick. If it was me, I’d be screaming and crying out in agony. Even as I cleaned it with the sterile wipe, Slavik didn’t seem to notice the pain.
It was kind of scary how he was able to take so much.
With the area clean, I looked through the kit and he took over, pulling out a packet with a needle, as well as something that looked like thread.
“You need to sew it together. I’ll instruct you.”
“I’m not a doctor or a nurse.”
“I don’t need either. I’ll tell you how to do it.”
He took the needle and thread, which it wasn’t, but I had no idea what the medical term was for it. For all I knew, it was needle and thread.
When he went to insert it into his flesh, I cried out. “Don’t you need to take anything?”
“I can handle it. I’m just getting you started.”
I winced as he pierced his flesh. He released a grunt and once he finished securing the first stitch, he waited for me.
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
I highly doubted that.
On my knees between his spread thighs, I worked slowly, trying not to hurt him, but each time I touched the skin, I wanted to vomit. I’d put on a pair of gloves to try to keep the wound clean. He should have called a doctor.
“It hurts, Aurora. Tell me how you got the scar.”
“You’re saying that to manipulate me.”
“Is it working?”
“I got the scar when I was six or seven. I’m not sure exactly what age. Isabella had been out playing in the yard. She liked to play outside. I think she had a thing for the guards watching her. I’m not sure. She was always around them.” I shrugged.
“Where were you?”
“In the library. My father has a giant room. He never reads them. Just seeks out the most expensive titles so no one else can have them. He stores them and I spent most of my childhood reading them.”
“If you weren’t playing, how did you get the scar?”
“Isabelle decided to start throwing stones
at the house. I don’t know why. I think she was angry because she’d been told no. One of the stones went through my father’s window. He got me and Isabella into the same room and because he didn’t want to punish his precious daughter, he slammed me around the back of the head, hard. I fell and I hit the corner of a cupboard. That’s how I got the scar.” I remember the pain from the blow. He’d always hit me. My father believed in physical punishments. I’d been belted, slapped, even kicked during my time at home.
Slavik’s hands clenched.
“Is it hurting?”
“Did Isabella get you punished a lot?”
“Not always. She struggled to be … good. She had a wild side, and each time he hit me or took it out on me, she’d come and sit with me after, read. Marrying you is the first time she hasn’t come to console me.” I offered him a smile.
“Being married to me shouldn’t be a punishment,” he said.
“It’s not.” There was freedom with being with him. Not a whole lot but at least I didn’t have to worry about my sister’s punishments anymore.
“You’ll never get hit here,” he said.
“You don’t have to worry about it. You asked and I told you.”
“And now I want to go and beat the shit out of your father.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“For hurting you and treating you like shit.”
A chuckle escaped my lips. “I’ve been treated like shit my whole life. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“You’ve gotten so used to it, you’re expecting it?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten used to certain treatment. How do I finish this off?”
Slavik told me as I still reeled from our very normal conversation. I think it was the first time we spoke to each other without sex or anger being involved.
After finishing off the stitching, I covered his wound with a large bandage, using some tape to secure it in place. Pleased with my handiwork, I stood, gathering the used pieces of equipment.
Slavik grabbed his shirt.
“Do you want me to cook you something?” I asked. I didn’t even know why I did. Every other meal I’d cooked for him had gone uneaten or in the trash. The day after, I’d seen the plate full of food in a pile as if it had just been slid right in without a single taste.