Extended Epilogue
The Severed Heirloom Series
Philadelphia, PA
14 Years Later
OHMAMI – Chase Atlantic
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming! We would have picked you up.”
Even though my mother had visited Moscow three months ago, her emotions betrayed her. I caught the shudder in her voice when I said I’d be in the States for the rest of the summer. After fourteen years away from the place that broke me and the people who helped piece me back together, I was finally home. Aside from my parents, I hadn’t kept in touch as often as I would have liked. Work kept me busy, and the girls were far too young for any lasting connection outside the occasional Christmas card and congratulations on life’s new milestones.
I was happy, and things were good.
Until Mom got sick.
I wanted to be there for her the way she was for me. The love and patience she showed me when I was a cynical little asshole with a chip on my shoulder was a debt I’d never be able to repay, but I’d be by her side until the very end.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
She was silent for a moment.
“It’s the best surprise,” she sniffled. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too. I’m just a few blocks away. I’ll see you soon. Ya tebya lyublyu. ”
“I love you too.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket, lifting my gaze just in time to catch the driver hitting the gas, attempting to cross the intersection while the light was still yellow. But there was no way in hell he’d make it.
“Slow the fuck down.”
It was too late, and he drove too fast to break in time. Tires screeched on the pavement, and a loud rumbling of motorcycles echoed nearby.
“Shit!” he shouted as a body shattered the windshield before it was catapulted several feet into the air. The collision was thunderous, whipping me forward.
My driver jumped out of the car, and I followed, rubbing a sore spot on the back of my neck. A mangled motorcycle had crashed against a street sign, and strewn in the middle of the intersection lay the unconscious rider. A woman. Her helmet was still intact, and I was thankful she was clad in white riding gear that I was sure had prevented severe road rash.
“Oh god, you think she’s dead?” the man stuttered, kneeling beside her, reaching for her helmet, but I ripped his arm back.
“Don’t fucking touch her. You’ll cause more damage than you already have.”
“Shit, man. I’m sorry I—”
“What the fuck!”
We snapped our heads up, and another woman stalked toward us. She tore off her black helmet, and long, dark waves tumbled out. Streaks of blonde hair framed the dangerous scowl on her pretty face.
“I’m sorry,” my driver muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“ Hijo de puta! ”
Blood spatters reached my eyes when she swung her helmet and bashed the man in the face. He collapsed to the ground, knocked unconscious by the blow.
“No, no, no,” she cried, dropping to her knees beside her injured friend.
“Don’t touch her,” I’d started to say when her switchblade was suddenly pointed at my face.
“Back the fuck up!” Tears brimmed to the surface of her raging blue eyes.
“I’m calling for help…” my voice trailed off as I took in her features more closely.
It can’t be…
The girl’s eyebrows rose as if coming to the same realization, and she shot to her feet.
“Maksim?”
“Remi.”
“Oh, my god, Maksim!”
She kept speaking, but nothing else registered because my gaze was transfixed solely on the broken woman on the ground, and a cold shiver rippled through my chest.
No.
My little kolibri .
My hummingbird.
Valentina.
The past had this way of making its rounds and coming to collect. I always knew Derek Cain would kill me someday.
To Be Continued…