CHAPTER 5
IRIS
“Hey, Tessa. How’s everything going with the protests?” I ask, walking down the crowded street.
“We’ve managed to get three hundred people out here today,” she says, her voice sounding pleased. “We’re pushing for longer jail terms for rapists. You heard about that girl last week? The judge gave that criminal who raped her only three years for what he did. Three fucking years!”
I cut in, my fists clenching my phone, “That’s disgusting. I want to help. I want to be involved, tell me what I need to do.”
“No, no no,” she snaps. “You have your hands full with this case. If you leave town now, who knows what they’ll do to Mr. David?”
I pause, keeping my pace steady as I weave through the crowd. “You’re right. But it doesn’t make me any less angry.”
“just keep me updated and don’t worry about here, okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, reaching the factory gate. “I’ll call you back once I’m done.”
“Good. Be careful, okay?”
“I will,” I promise, just as a screech of metal echoes from inside the factory. My heart drops.
I push the factory door open and take in the wreckage.
The place looks worse than the last time I was here.
Bread lies scattered across the floor, dusted with flour, and tools are strewn everywhere, some dented or broken.
Crates have toppled, their contents spilling into the aisles.
Three of Mr. David’s workers kneel in a row, with their heads bowed in fear.
Mr. David is the only one standing, his fists balled at his sides, surrounded by four men circling him like sharks, each step deliberately predatory.
The tension in the room is almost suffocating, and I know I have to move fast.
I drop my bag to the floor so hard it echoes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” I bellow.
It’s almost muscle memory at this point—this is the fourth time I’ve had to walk in and ask what the fuck they’re doing here. Why do they keep coming back? Do they really think I won’t show up? Do they think I’m scared?
The men all shift to face me, and I notice immediately they are nothing like the ones before, there’s a raw, vicious energy in them that sets my nerves on edge.
My eyes catch the fourth man lingering behind the others, and a chill runs through me.
Cold dread tries to grip me, but I shove it aside.
I refuse to back down. Every nerve in my body screams alert, my fists loose at my sides, ready for anything.
He steps forward, grinning, and I can see it in his eyes—he wants trouble. “Well, well, well,” he drawls, loud enough for everyone to hear, “if it isn’t the little feminist.”
I stand my ground, refusing to show any fear. My pulse is racing, but my voice is steady when I answer.
“And well, if it isn’t the coward who can’t fight unless he’s got three backup dancers and a paycheck from a dying regime.”
His face twists with anger as he starts toward me, his strides quick and heavy, every step radiating that need to intimidate. I don’t move. I lock eyes with him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
He stands right in front of me, breathing heavy, his eyes blazing with hatred. But I don’t step back. I tilt my head, taunting him.
“What? You wanna call me names again, or do I need to call your owner to come collect you?”
He raises his hand, ready to swing at me. Instinct kicks in and I grab his wrist, but he’s stronger and easily shoves me back. I stumble on my heels, almost losing my balance. That’s when it hits me. If I don’t have a weapon, I still have my shoes.
As I catch myself, I slip off one six inch stiletto and jab it straight at him.
He dodges, cursing, but I don’t back down.
The other three guys rush me at once. Four against one.
They circle around, trying to grab me. Two of them manage to twist my arms behind my back, pinning me, one yanking my ankle at a painful angle until I’m forced to drop the shoe.
I grit my teeth, refusing to give them the reaction they want, but pain shoots up my leg and my shoulder burns as they keep me locked in place.
He laughs maniacally, the sound echoing off the factory walls. “Well, Ms. Feminist, this is equality,” he says, lifting his hand like he’s some kind of movie villain about to launch into a monologue. “You think just because you’re a woman I wouldn’t hit you?”
Then he smacks me hard across the face. My head snaps to the side, pain burning through my cheek, the taste of copper filling my mouth. I’m bleeding.
One of the guys steps forward, looking uneasy. “Look, look, it’s fine. We already did what we needed to do. No need to hit the woman more than this.”
The main guy barks, “Shut up. What would you know? Do you know how she almost killed the last of our guys here? And besides, we’re here on Ilay’s order to rough her up.”
My mind races—Ilay? After what happened in his office? I can’t believe he’d actually send these idiots to harass Mr. David and hit me. Oh, he’s so dead. Next time, I’m not missing.
Just as the guy lifts his hand to hit me again, the third man grabs his arm. “That’s enough. The boss said you were unhinged. Stop.”
He yanks his arm free, spits on the ground right next to my shoes, and finally, the two men holding me let go. They all turn and walk out, leaving me in the wreckage, bleeding and shaking, fury burning in my chest.
After they leave, Mr. David hurries over, his face pale with worry. “Are you alright?” he asks, hesitantly.
I don’t answer at first. I look around, scanning the wreckage.
I finally look at him and say, “I’m going to see the person behind all this.”
Mr. David grabs my arm. “No, don’t. If it’s Mr. Ivanovich that sent them, it’s only going to get worse. The man already put us on his radar. You shouldn’t go.”
I pull my arm free. “I’m going. He should face me himself, not send goons. If he wants to start something, he can do it to my face.”
***
When I get to the office building, the same secretary is at her desk. She’s the one who nearly lost an arm last time, just trying to keep me from barging in. Brown hair, brown eyes, and this time she flinches the second she sees me already knowing I’m here unannounced and probably ready to kill.
I march up to her. “I need to see Ilay. Now.”
“I….I’m sorry, you can’t just….”
I grab her wrist and drag her along with me.
“Let go of me! Let go!” she shrieks.
“Pipe down,” I mutter, pushing straight into the office, scanning for the gangster.
He’s sitting there, There’s a gun visible on his desk like a paperweight. The second he sees my face, his brows furrow. He stands so fast the chair screeches against the floor.
“Who hit you?” His voice is sharp.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I’m not acting.” His tone is more aggressive than I expect. “Just give me names. Faces. Locations. I’ll take care of it.”
“You mean like how you took care of it today? Sent your dogs after an old man and me?” My grip tightens on the secretary’s wrist. She whimpers, starting to cry, but I don’t let go.
His jaw ticks and his eyes go cold. “I didn’t send anyone after you.”
“Then who were those guys? Because they sure as hell weren’t the same ones from before. You wanted revenge for messing up you and that corrupt pig’s operation. Are you not man enough to face me?” I spit the words at him.
He stares at me, a dark look flickering behind his eyes. “I don’t operate that way,” he says coldly. “If I wanted to scare you, I wouldn’t send strangers. I’d show up myself.”
For a second, I can’t tell if that’s a threat or some twisted kind of honesty. The tension between us crackles.
His voice goes lower and intimate. “But I will send people now. After the bastards that laid a hand on you. And that old man.” I don’t know why, but I can tell he means it.
I stand there, seething with rage, my cheek still burning from the hit. He looks at me again, his eyes lingering on the bruise. “I don’t hurt women. I don’t beat up old men. That’s not my style. But if someone’s messing with what’s mine…” His voice drops, to a growl. “I will find them.”
I should walk away. I should tell him to go to hell, that I don’t need his brand of help. But I don’t. I just stand there, holding his gaze, daring him to prove he cares.
Then, like nothing’s happened, he says, “Anyway, angel, why don’t you let my secretary leave first?”
I glance at the girl. She looks ready to cry. Ilay gives her a nod, and she bolts out of the room.
He motions to the guy who aimed a gun at me last time. “Bring me a first aid kit,” he says. The guy grumbles and leaves, returning fast with supplies. I can tell he hates me, but Ilay just waves him away and gestures for me to sit. I refuse.
He doesn’t care. He grabs some rubbing alcohol and cotton, coming closer. He dabs gently at my cheek, but I push his hand away.
His eyes darken with irritation. “Let me help you.”
“I’m pissed,” I say sharply. “In case that’s not obvious.” He says nothing, just watches me with that cold, controlled look.
“How dare that damn senator send people to beat up an old man using your name—he’s just trying to do his job. And me?” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “I asked you to help me, Ivanovich. Begged, even. What does the pig have over you that you’re willing to sink with him?”
He smirks, stepping closer with the cotton to my lips. “Well, angel, I can’t tell you everything. That would mean you have to die.”
I swallow hard, his face only inches from mine, his eyes lingering on my bruised cheek.
“So what now?” I say. “If you’re not going to help, prepare for legal war. I was going to settle. Just get Mr. David compensated properly. But now? I’m going after everything. The senator, this factory deal, all of it. I’m going to burn it down. I’m going to win.”
He stays silent, that unreadable mask still on his face. The silence pisses me off.
He tilts his head. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”