Chapter 20
Luka
“What the hell happened out there?” Leon asks from the driver’s seat, and I level him with a glare.
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to bring her,” I growl.
“This is good, right?” Ivan asks, trying to make peace between us. “Means we have their attention. They’re looking for her.”
“Boli ih kurac za nju!” I yell in Croatian. They don’t give a shit about her.
Leon sneaks a glance at me, and I know he realizes how serious this is. Sophie is still in my arms, shaking. I cover her with my jacket, but her shivers don’t subside. Her soft cries burrow themselves deep inside of my chest.
What would Father say? We’re victimizing this poor girl for our gain. Would he even want us to avenge him if this was the price?
I place a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, trying to block out her sobs. The closest woman I have in my life is Danica, my housekeeper. I never even met my mother. She died while giving birth to me, but Father made sure I knew her very well.
Her photos were strewn around the house. We listened to her favorite music and watched the movies she loved. Every year, on her birthday, I’d watch his heart get broken again, as he’d bring flowers home, only to have no one to give them to.
He taught us women are precious. He taught us every woman deserves to be protected. What the hell are we doing here?
My hand crosses my face, and I realize Sophie stopped crying. Her breathing evened out, and I’d be willing to bet she fell asleep.
I let out a sharp breath, a part of the guilt inside of me relieved.
Ivan parks in front of my club and I carefully lift Sophie to carry her out of the car.
“Moramo razgovarati o tome, Luka,” Leon says, but I’m already shaking my head. I don’t care that he wants to talk about it.
“Not tonight. I need to get some rest.”
Using my foot, I close the car doors and walk inside the club. Everyone is drunk and horny, dry humping in the booths and barely anyone notices me carrying a girl downstairs. To her cage.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and set her down gently on the bed. I know she’d prefer sleeping in her hoodie, but there’s no way for me to change her clothes, so this will have to do. I slip off her heels, noticing the red marks they’ve left on, and decide to at least put her socks on.
I place her under the covers, pulling a blanket up to her neck. Pressing the bridge of my nose, I unbutton a few buttons on my shirt.
Her scared voice from inside the bathroom replays in my mind. I could hear her fear, but what really tipped me off was the fact that she agreed to come out right away. She was pissed at me. If she had a choice, she’d never agree so easily.
I need a drink.
My feet thump loudly on the stairs as I go up. I decline advances from three different women who are way too drunk to be in a place like this, before I reach a bottle of rakia.
The first sip slides down my throat like a caress. I’m already three gulps deep before I get back downstairs.
The bottle stops on the way to my lips, the sight in front of me nailing me to the spot. Sophie is crying in her sleep again. Unlike her typical messy bun, her hair is now splayed over the pillow. Her rosy cheeks are covered with her tears. She looks almost ethereal. And so tormented.
Her soft pleas for mercy are tiny stabs to my aching heart. I set the bottle on the table, my feet carrying me toward the bed.
I reach the side she’s sleeping on, using my thumbs to wipe off her tears. She recoils at my touch; her head jerking and I remove my hands as if I’ve been burned.
Grinding my teeth, I get back to my bottle and down a quarter of it in one gulp.
“Please, no. I’m scared,” she sobs, and the alcohol starts feeling like blood oozing on my insides.
I slump down onto the floor next to the bed, unable to look at her while she’s upset like this.
The liquid from the bottle drains one sip at a time, but it does nothing to diminish the pain spreading through my chest. At some point, a bead of moisture falls to my cheek, and I realize I’m crying alongside her. My head sinks between my knees.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I whisper.
When the bottle empties and I’m too tired to keep my eyes open, I drag myself up, staying upright just long enough to get on the other side of the bed. With a thud, I drop onto it, my hand finding its way around Sophie instinctively. This time, she doesn’t push me away.
No, her wails turn to quiet sobs before turning into long breaths. The sound of her even breathing sounds like the best thing I’ve ever heard and finally, I fall asleep.
My phone vibrates in the pocket of my pants, waking me from my sleep. I groan, laying a hand on my face before noticing my other hand is resting on something warm and smooth.
A person.
Shit.
I remove my hand in a rush, practically jumping off the bed. Luckily, Sophie sleeps through it.
Moving to the couch, I open the text I’ve received.
Leon
Meeting at your place. 9:00.
Shit. It’s 8:30. I drag a hand over my face and text Andre to get here as soon as possible. I barely say goodbye to him and I’m already climbing into the driver’s seat of my car and heading home.
In the middle of my very needed shower, I hear the doorbell ring, but he knows the code to let himself inside.
Tying a towel around my waist, I get out of the bathroom, only to see my brother accosted by the dogs.
He’s alone today, with no Persephone in tow, so they use the opportunity to leave the most hair possible on his black suit.
Giving them a few pets, he glances up at me. “Sorry to have interrupted you.” His voice is laced with sarcasm.
“You know me. Always at your service.” I do a mock curtsy.
“You mind putting some clothes on?” He motions at my getup.
“What? We grew up together. It’s not like you’re seeing anything new.” Actually, I have a few new tattoos since we last spent time like this, but I don’t think he remembers them enough to notice.
His gaze sticks to the one on my ribs, his eyes narrowing. It’s a fresh one, made in the memory of our father, but he doesn’t mention it. Rather, he breaks the silence to say, “Put some clothes on.”
It’s non-negotiable. I know it by his tone. The conversation we’re about to have will not be pleasant. And I’m pretty certain it will piss me the fuck off.