Chapter 2
LIZA
Even on a regular night I hate closing the restaurant.
Cleaning crumbs and spilled food from the dining room carpet is back-breaking work.
The vacuum handles the crumbs okay, but the wetter stuff needs a stiff brush and a cleaning solution.
Meridian’s owner is too cheap to buy a wet vac, which would cut the cleaning time in half.
Instead, I’m blotting and scrubbing and then blotting again to get the worst stains out of the carpet.
And through it all, the scene from earlier plays through my mind.
Since it’s a work day, most of tonight’s customers were men. Business men closing deals, or bragging to their colleagues. I don’t know where business women go on work nights. Probably home to put their feet up and have a glass of wine with some take-out, far away from men and their nonsense.
It was a usual night of customers ordering fancy cocktails, snapping their fingers, and demanding my attention beyond just serving them food. I usually know to smile and laugh, no matter how offensive their comments are.
Dad taught me when I was young, said men pay more if you laugh at their jokes. And he was right.
I even know how to slide away from wandering and grabby hands. But tonight I was off my game because of worry.
This term’s tuition deadline is days away. Dad claimed me on his taxes, again, and so there are no grants available. And I’ve already taken out enough loans for repayments to last years beyond graduation.
I’ve asked him nicely. I’ve complained. And I’ve begged my dad to stop claiming me as a dependent. Each time he just grins.
“You’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” he says. “You always do.”
And I have been, even since mom died when I was twelve, I’ve been the one to figure out how to pay the rent. How to make sure we had food.
Dad was too busy running cons to get a real job. He always thought the next scheme would be the big one. The one that would allow him to retire on some tropical island.
He still does.
At least now that I’m old enough to have a bank account, he can’t help himself to my money. I used to run errands for two elderly neighbors when I was a kid and I hid what they paid me in my room. But my dad would always find it.
“I’ll invest it for you,” he’d say and then buy beer and cigarettes with it.
I should get my own place so he can’t eat my food either, but our old house is walking distance to campus.
And apartments require first and last month’s rent, and a good credit history.
I have neither. On top of steeling my money when I was a teenager, my dad took out credit cards in my name.
Which is also why my loan interests are crap.
I had to go for what dodgy financial companies offers since my name was already drenched in debt.
And so yeah, tonight I was off my game. And that creep managed to get his hands all over my body, until he stepped in.
I’d noticed him earlier in the evening, sitting in a back booth with a guy much younger than him. A good-looking guy close to my age.
And yet, it was the older man who held all my attention when I brought their drinks.
His dark wavy hair brushed the collar of his shirt, with which he wore no tie.
And the top two buttons were open, revealing swirling tattoos in unfamiliar letters.
Sharp blue eyes bore into mine when I placed the neat whisky in front of him, as if they could see into my soul.
And he didn’t abandon me after he’d gotten the creep to let go. He followed me to make sure I was okay. Found me shaking, both from the fear of being caught in a grip I couldn’t escape, and from the unfamiliar experience of someone standing up for me.
Someone caring enough about me to protect me.
But it wasn’t real.
When I said I wanted to thank him, he brushed me off and sent me back to my shift. It wasn’t at all about me. He was just being nice, and would have done the same thing for any other woman.
And so went to locker room and fixed my hair, even put on a little lipstick. But I might as well not have bothered, because nobody looked at me for the rest of the evening. I was invisible, just their server fulfilling a function in the background.
For the rest of the night, that horrible voice inside my mind kept droning on. You’re just a waitress, Liza. Not smart enough, not tough enough, not anything enough. You should give up college now. There’s no other life for you. This is your life.
Finally, the dining room floor is as clean as it will ever get. I tug off my apron, count the crumpled bills, and sigh. The tips were horrible tonight and after I take out the bussers’ share, it’s barely enough to make it worth the bus fare to and from work.
I shout goodbye to the bartender who’s restocking the shelf for tomorrow’s shifts and step outside. Luckily, I have two days off before my next shift and I plan on spending them catching up on sleep and homework.
The cold wind outside ruffles my hair. I wish I’d brought a hat, but the sun beat down when I left my house and I tend to leave lose items like gloves and hats on the bus, so I didn’t bring one. Shivering, I cut across the back parking lot to get to the bus stop quicker.
My boots crunch over broken glass by the dumpster. I can’t help but to compare myself to slivers glittering in the street light, shattered and discarded.
And that’s when I see the asshole who grabbed my wrist earlier. He’s leering in the shadows by a silver Mercedes.
My steps falter and my stomach drops. I swallow down the panic rising in my chest. There’s no reason for him to be back here. The customers park in front.
His hands are jammed deep into the pockets of his jacket and he rocks on his heels.
Waiting.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He steps out, voice slurred, eyes hungry.
I try to step around him, but he blocks me.
My lips barely move when I force a smile. “Did you need something?” I make my voice pleasant, but my hands are shaking. “The restaurant is closed now.”
He laughs, the sound edged sharp. “It’s you I want. We didn’t finish our talk”
I take a step back, turning toward the restaurant to see if I could run back for help. But the outside lights are off now. The bartender has already left and the building is locked up. “I need to go home,” I say, my throat dry. “Just let me pass.”
He steps closer and his hot alcohol breath hits my cheek. He grabs my wrist, again, so hard this time it burns.
I flinch, trying to twist free. Panic slams into my chest.
His fingers dig hard. “Stop playing hard to get,” he snaps. “I know your kind. Shaking your ass for the customers, but then pretending you’re not interested when a guy takes you up on what you’re selling.
My eyes get hot from unshed tears and the back of my throat tickles. Like always, I try to de-escalate, to negotiate. “Let’s talk, okay? There’s been a misunderstanding.” My voice shakes.
His grip tightens. “We’ll talk. And this time we’re not going to get interrupted.” He starts pulling me toward the back of the dumpsters.
I claw at his grip and bite the inside of my lip, tasting blood on my tongue. “No,” I scream, even though I know there’s nobody around to hear me. But this can’t be it.
I refuse to lose my virginity through rape. And so I scream and I claw.
The asshole curses as he keeps dragging me.
And then heavy footsteps echo behind me in a measured, deliberate rhythm.
I freeze, my heart pounding loudly, not sure if I’m about to be saved or hurt worse.
A tall man steps out of the shadows, backlit by the orange glow of the parking lot lamp.
My breath catches. It’s Danyl.
He doesn’t look at me. His cold blue gaze focuses on my attacker. “Release her,” he says, the crisp British accent he used before sounds different, more brutal, less contained.
The asshole doesn’t let go of me, but he takes a step back. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Danyl steps closer, his arms hang lose by his sides, but his hand clenches and the street light illuminate pale scars on his knuckles. “Everything about Liza concerns me.”
“She’s just a waitress. And I think you’re bluffing about the Kedrovs caring about her.” The man steps behind me. “But it doesn’t matter because you’re not the only one with connections.”
The tendons in Danyl’s neck stands out as his jaw locks tight. “I warned you before about what would happen if you touched her again,” he growls.
My attacker hesitates and I use the distraction to pull my arm back. But before I can get free, he shoves me against the hood and grabs my throat. “If you don’t leave, I’ll hurt her for real. The creep tightens his grip, cutting off my air.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Danyl move so fast he’s but a blur of violence.
Using the hood of the car as leverage, he knees the guy in the gut. The air whistles out of his lungs, but he pulls a knife out if his pocket.
Danyl grabs the man’s arm and the blade flashes in the orange light from the streetlight as they grapple for dominance.
My lungs seize.
“Stay back,” Danyl orders me as he twists the man’s wrist back.
Bones snap and the knife falls in slow motion.
My attacker screams out his pain as the blade bounces, and then lies still by my feet.
I hear my own breath, fast and ragged. Blood roaring in my ears, I snatch up the knife, hands slick with fear.
Still in Danyl’s grip, but filled with desperate rage, my attacker spins around.
Danyl curses in a foreign language as he’s forced away from me.
It happens so fast, I have no time to react before a hand grabs my hair and pulls hard.
Head pulled back and throat exposed, I swing the blade without aim. I just want to escape the pain from the pull on my hair.
The knife sinks deep and the metal cracks bone. There’s a gasp and then a wet gurgle, sick and final.
The grip on my hair releases and I spin around to see the man fall to the ground. Life-less eyes stare up at nothing.
Blood weeping from his neck floods the asphalt.
My fingers loosen and the knife thuds down, bouncing again before lying still.
I’m numb, hands shaking, vision tunneling. I feel myself tilt, knees buckling. The world contracts to Danyl’s arms, strong and unwavering.
He catches me before my knees make impact with the asphalt, his breath hot on my brow. “Shh,” he whispers. “Don’t look.”
I’m sobbing. I can’t stop. “Did I kill him?” My voice cracks.
“You did what you had to do,” Danyl says. His hands cradle my cheeks. “Look at me. Not him.”
I do. It’s safer. But tears stream down my face.
Danyl leans me up against the car and then calmly crouches by the attacker. He checks the pulse and then brushes his palm across the face to lower the man’s eyelids over his empty stare. Danyl’s face is blank, except for a tick in his jaw.
I grip the hood of the car to stop myself from swaying. Sick dread rolls in my stomach and I’m torn between shock and guilt.
Do I hear sirens? Or is my conscience making up phantom noise? I look around, but no flashing lights are coming our way.
Danyl takes out his phone and taps a quick message.
As he puts the device back in his pocket, he scans the lot with military precision.
He’s says something but I can’t make sense of the words.
Something about there being no cameras. Which is true, there are security cameras in the lot where the customers park, but not back here by the dumpsters.
He steps in front of me, blocking the view of the dead man. Gripping my shoulders, he shakes me a little. “Liza, look at me.”
Blinking, I stare into his blue eyes. For a moment, I imagine compassion flickers in their depth, but it’s gone so fast I can’t be sure. I hold up my hands and stare at the blood staining my fingers. The same phrase repeats on a loop in my mind. I killed him. I’m a murderer.
Danyl shakes me again and my gaze snap back to his. “Listen to me. This was self-defense, but the police in this town are not impartial. Especially if this man was connected.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He sighs. “The police won’t care you panicked. They’ll see the blood. They’ll ask who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong—”
He interrupts. “That man’s friends will come looking for his killer. They might say you started it.”
“But I…I didn’t…” I can’t finish the sentences. My mind fills with white noise.
He wipes a tear off my cheek I didn’t know was falling. “You’re not alone. I’ll help you.”
I stare at him and despite the warmth I hear in his voice, cold leeches deep into my bones. Forget the plans I had about becoming a veterinarian assistant. I’m going to prison.
At least I won’t have to worry about food and rent. I swallow the hysterical laughter rising in my throat.
Danyl glances at the man’s car and the dead body sprawled beside it.
I grip Danyl’s arms as the world spins faster and faster out of my control.
His piercing blue gaze focuses on me again. “There is one way,” he says calmly. “Marry me. Tonight.”
The manic laughter I’ve tried to keep down bubbles up and echoes through the empty lot. “I’m sorry,” I say when I catch my breath. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”
He just watches me calmly. “A husband can’t testify against his wife. And a wife gets Bratva protection.” He cups my face, his thumb rough over my trembling jaw.
I want to lean into the heat of his palm, but force my head to not move. “I can’t marry you. I don’t know you.” The word “Bratva” is somewhat familiar, but my fragmented mind can’t focus enough to figure out what it means.
“You know as much as you need to know about me. You know I’ll protect you.” His gaze never falters. “You either trust me, or you run.” He shrugs. “But they’ll find you if you run. The law, his friends… you won’t last the week.”
Silence sits between us. I count my breaths, trying to hold on to something steady. But the only solid thing right now is Danyl’s hands still holding my shoulders.
My throat is thick with fear, but a small flicker of hope ignites in my gut. “If I say yes… that's it?”
“That’s it. You get my name, you get my protection. No one touches a Kedrov wife.”
My entire life I’ve had no one but myself to rely on. As I scraped by, sometimes not knowing where my next meal would come from, I dreamt of a something like this.
A moment when someone would step in to share the load, even take care of me. But I know nothing about this man. How can I trust that what he’s offering isn’t the same, or worse than what the creep with the Mercedes wanted?
He protected you from the creep, a voice whispers in my mind. Before and now.
I’m brought back from my rambling thoughts by Danyl’s hand covering mine. His skin is rough, callused, and shockingly warm. “You’re going to be okay, Liza.” He puts an arm around my shoulder and guides me away from the blood and the dead body. “We marry tonight.”
It’s not a question anymore.