Chapter 27 #2
“Come on, let’s go.” Aleksandr tried to push me along, but I resisted.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Dayton,” the kid grumbled.
“I’m Drea.”
“Okay.” He gave me a confused look, like he wasn’t sure why I was talking to him or telling him my name.
I wasn’t sure either, to be honest. He just had this ‘lost puppy’ kind of vibe. Where I got that from, I had no idea. Maybe it was the eyes. They were just so…sad. Filled with pain and sorrow, like life had pushed him to the ground and kicked him in the balls.
“Hey, you wanna come with us?”
Dayton frowned. “What?”
“We’re going somewhere that I think might help Big Guy over here deal with his anger issues,” I said, hiking a thumb over my shoulder at Aleksandr.
Scoffing, Dayton mumbled under his breath, “Don’t think that’s possible” at the same time Aleksandr grunted, “I don’t have anger issues.”
I patted Aleksandr on the chest in a soothing yet slightly condescending way. “It’s okay. We all have our flaws. I myself have a bit of a problem controlling my anger too.”
“No, really?” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “I never would have guessed.”
“Shush you.” I pushed him lightly and he chuckled.
Dayton’s eyes darted between the two of us, brows lowered in a frown.
“Anyway, you wanna come? It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“What kind of fun? My kind of fun or his kind of fun?” Dayton asked, eyes narrowing at Aleksandr with an accusatory glint.
“I’m not sure what the difference is between the two, but it’s the ‘smashing shit up’ kind.”
“Damn,” Dayton blew out. “That does sound fun. Alright, count me in.”
“Sweet!” I grabbed Aleksandr’s hand, dragging him along. “Let’s go.”
* * *
I swung the sledgehammer into the flatscreen TV, bits of glass and plastic raining down around me as I hollered out an Amazonian war cry.
Around me, Aleksandr and Dayton were immersed in the same kind of destruction, beating the shit out of electronics and smashing glass crockery and bottles.
The Rage Smash Room was a place specifically designed to help people vent their anger and frustrations by destroying an array of different items in a safe, controlled environment.
For only $79, you got one hour and all the shit you could smash before the clock ran out.
TVs, microwaves, printers. You name it, they had it.
It was the perfect outlet. The perfect way to release that pent-up energy, de-stress and have a shitload of fun.
My therapist was the one to suggest it to help with my anger issues. Instead of smashing car windscreens with a crowbar and getting arrested, I would smash broken TVs and appliances with a sledgehammer.
Much, much healthier.
The amount of money I’d spent in this place over the years was ridiculous. I’d come here every time I needed to work through my anger (pretty much once a week, if I was being honest with myself).
After my dad died, this place became like a second home to me. I was so angry . Angry at my dad. At myself. At the world. At just…everything really.
I had no reservation about the type of man my dad was. He’d killed people. Tortured them. Sold a shitload of drugs on the streets of Columbus. Drugs that were more than likely responsible for fucking up a lot of peoples’ lives.
He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t necessarily a good man either.
No matter what he’d done though, he didn’t deserve to go out the way he did. Crippled. Lying in a bed, unable to move. Overwhelmed with pain.
I remember thinking how unfair it was for something like this to happen to him. However illogical it was, I’d been so angry at the cancer itself. Like it was a living, breathing being I could get mad at.
The Rage Smash Room was my safe haven. Maybe it could be Aleksandr’s too.
I adjusted the safety goggles on my face, watching Aleksandr drive his sledgehammer into the refrigerator, denting it inwards.
He had on the same protective gear I did; coveralls, gloves, boots and safety goggles.
Once all three of us had suited up, Aleksandr paid the owner $2,000 to disappear and let us have the place to ourselves for the hour. The owner was more than happy to oblige, snatching up the money and running out the door before Aleksandr had even finished talking.
Aleksandr pummelled the fridge over and over again, the muscles in his back and arms bulging, threatening to tear through his coveralls.
The sound was relentless.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The door to the fridge crumbled under his strength, bending inwards, the hinges creaking.
At his side, Dayton was throwing glass plates at the wall like frisbees, whooping and cheering each time they shattered to pieces. Every now and then, he’d turn to Aleksandr and call out to him, giving him only a few seconds of preparation before lobbing one of the plates at him.
Aleksandr would swing his sledgehammer like a baseball bat, smashing it into the plate and sending pieces of glass hurtling into the air before going right back to whatever he was beating the shit out of.
Once he was all out of ammunition, Dayton turned to me, a huge beaming smile on his face.
The metal head of my sledgehammer clunked to the ground as I put it down. I lifted the goggles off my face, resting them on top of my head.
“Was I right, or was I right?”
Dayton laughed, slightly out of breath. “Yeah, you were right. I’ll give it to ya, you know how to have fun. I had no idea places like this even existed.”
“There’s a bunch all over. Just gotta know where to find ‘em.”
“Do they have a membership? Because I have a feeling I’m going to become a frequent customer.”
“Yeah, they do actually. Comes with a card with discounts and everything. We’ll get you signed up before we leave,” I winked.
Aleksandr moved onto the next appliance. And the next and the next. He worked his way around the room, smashing everything in sight until there was nothing left.
I looked at the clock high up on the wall. We still had twenty minutes to go.
“Why don’t you go grab something to eat?” I tugged the gloves off my hands, chucking them to the floor amongst the rubble.
There was a small café attached to the building for people to get food after they’d finished releasing their inner demons. ‘Cause you know, bashing the shit out of stuff really worked up an appetite.
Dayton pulled his goggles down to rest around his neck. He glanced at Aleksandr uncertainly, who was back to pummelling the fridge again even though there was barely anything left of it but a crumpled metal heap.
“It’s alright. I’ve got him.”
Dayton still hesitated. “What if he gets pissed that I left?”
I shrugged, unconcerned. “If he gets pissed, he gets pissed. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re not—” his eyes flicked to Aleksandr and back and he lowered his voice, “—scared of him?”
I don’t know why he all of a sudden decided to whisper. Aleksandr wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to us. He was completely focused on the task in front of him, decimating one item at a time.
He was a man of pure focus, and right now all that focus was on hitting shit as hard as he could.
“No, Dayton,” I chuckled, shaking my head lightly. “I’m not scared of him.”
Don’t get me wrong, Aleksandr was a scary dude. It was a combination of his size, the harsh lines of his face and that dangerous, ruthless aura he exuded that made people back away from him on the streets.
But I wasn’t scared of him. I saw past all that shit, all the walls he put up, and saw him for what he was. A loyal, protective (albeit violent) man who would do anything for those he loved.
Dayton studied me closely. “Jesus Christ. You’re just as crazy as he is, aren’t you?”
I smiled widely. “No, I’m crazier.”
He unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them. After removing the rest of his gear and placing it in a pile, he made his way to the exit door. He placed his hand on the doorknob, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Are you the 100 girl?”
I frowned. “The what?”
“He said someone told him to watch The 100 . I was just wondering if it was you.”
A light feeling spread out over my chest. “Did he watch it?”
“Almost the whole first season.”
Down, girl. Don’t go getting all swoony.
When I’d told him to watch it, I didn’t think he’d actually do it. A tiny sense of accomplishment fluttered through me.
I’d managed to get Aleksandr Volkov to do something. Who would have thought such a thing would be possible?
“So? Is it you?” Dayton asked, staring at me.
“Maybe,” I winked. “Go on.”
He looked between Aleksandr and I one more time before turning around and leaving, shutting the door behind him.
I took off the rest of my gear as Aleksandr finally put down his sledgehammer.
His chest rose and fell with hard, deep breaths, sweat dripping down his forehead like he’d just run a 10k marathon.
He took off his safety goggles, tossing them over his shoulder.
He wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand while he lowered the zip of his coveralls with the other, stepping out of them.
He looked at me, lips tilted up in an honest-to-God smile.
My breath hitched. Aleksandr was gorgeous. No doubt about it. He had that sexy, smouldering thing going on. It totally worked for him.
But when he smiled? A real, light, carefree smile like that? It made my heart stop.
“Feel better?” I asked, happiness creeping into my soul. Seeing him happy made me happy. His smile was contagious.
“Much,” he exhaled, eyes closing briefly. “Is this place somewhere you’d come often?”
“Often…all the time…same thing, really,” I shrugged. “It helped me get through some pretty tough moments in my life.”
He nodded in understanding. “Your dads’ death.”
“Was definitely one of them, yes.”
His head tilted to the side. “What are the others?”
I huffed out a laugh, looking up at the clock. “We don’t have nearly enough time left in this room to start that conversation. Besides, it’s your turn to talk, and don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He rolled his eyes and headed for the table and chairs over in the far corner of the room. The numerous signs posted around it made it clear it wasn’t a part of the furniture to be smashed. It was merely a place for people to sit down and take a breather if they needed it.
“I thought all of this—” he waved a hand through the air as he took a seat, “—was so I didn’t have to talk about it.”
“No, this was to help take the edge off, like weed. You still gotta talk about it.” I sat down beside him and nudged his shoulder with mine. “Come on. Out with it.”
He released a heavy breath. “My grandfather promised my sister’s hand in marriage to another Russian family.”
“Right,” I nodded. “But she’s already married and he’s pissed about it.”
“Yeah. He still wants to honour the arrangement though.”
“How does he plan to do that? Force her to get a divorce?”
Aleksandr snorted. “He’d rather kill her husband. Would be easier. But no. The official agreement was for the Tarasovs to marry into the Pakhan’s family. Turns out, he doesn’t need Illayana to do that.”
“I’m confused,” I said, frowning. “You have another sister?”
“No. But the Tarasovs have a daughter, and according to my grandfather, he has three perfectly healthy, unattached grandsons.”