Chapter 4
I should have left after the first note he left at the Dive Bar. I should have left the second I spoke to him at the diner. There were so many chances to get away, but I convinced myself I was just being paranoid.
As I race up the wooden steps up to my apartment over the dry cleaners, my foot slips off the last step, and I stumble. The edge of the stair hits me in the shin. Pain ricochets up my leg. At least it takes my mind off the throbbing ache of the cut over my eye.
I hobble the rest of the way into my apartment, turning on only one light. For once, I’m grateful for the extremely small space I live in. Just the light over the oven being on is enough to illuminate the rest of the place .
It’s more of an attic than an apartment, but it has heat and air conditioning and a full bathroom. More importantly the rent is insanely low, so I can’t complain.
And it’s helping right now because I don’t have time to be running around looking for things. I need to throw what I can into a backpack and get the hell out of here.
As I stuff underwear into my backpack, the numbing agent they gave me for my head wears off, leaving a burning tingle behind. As much as it hurts, and as powerful as the throb in my head gets, I push forward.
I pack clothes and all the cash I have stashed in the coffee can in the freezer. I almost have enough to wire Megan the two thousand for this month, but not quite.
It’s going to take me time to get settled somewhere else, find a place to stay, and get a job. This cash is all I have to keep me afloat until then. But if I don’t send the money, Marco could go after Megan for it.
Rage at the impossibility of my situation boils just beneath the surface, and if I give it any attention at all it will erupt in volcanic proportions.
Damn you, Nico!
And damn me, too.
I take a second, because I barely have even that to spare, to suck in a breath and push the emotion back down. Analyzing how horrible things are right this moment, and how I let myself get entangled in them, isn’t going to help me.
My phone.
I need to find it and charge it. Maybe there’s a message on there from Megan. Maybe she deleted my last text from the burner and didn’t have the number to message back. Maybe she sent me something explaining why a huge man named Rurik Mikhailov would be hunting me down.
And who the hell is Alexander Volkov?
It’s a lot of maybes, but it’s all I have. Throwing open the little drawer next to the sink, the cellphone I’ve had for years slides forward. It’s dead, of course, because I haven’t had the balls to turn it on in the last six months.
Marco may not be able to track me by my cellphone, but that detective could. And if he can find me, Marco can find me. And if Marco finds me talking to the detective again, even when I say nothing that would implicate Marco, the DeAngelos would have my head.
The portable charger has just enough juice in it that it should charge my phone while it’s tucked in my bag. After I get that stuffed into a pocket, I do one more quick sweep of the place.
I haven’t accumulated anything while I’ve been here. It’s easy to live bare minimum when you’re saving every penny you earn.
“Okay,” I say to myself, taking another calming breath. “You left your car at the bar, so just get to the bus station and get on the first bus leaving town. I can do this. You can do this.”
My little pep talk doesn’t do much to bolster my confidence, but I don’t have any choices here.
I haven’t had any in months.
Shucking the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I throw open the door, ready to run off into the night.
“Mira.”
The coldness in his tone freezes my feet to the cheap, peeling, linoleum flooring.
Rurik stands on the other side of my door. The porch, if you can really call it that, is barely large enough for two people to stand on it. If they’re okay with being really close to each other. Rurik takes up the whole space.
He’s all height, and muscle, and shoulders, and muscle, and that square jaw. I’ve heard the term Greek god, but this guy isn’t Greek.
Russian maybe? Do they have gods that look like this? Like someone took a chisel to marble and just decided to create the most handsome and dangerous looking man alive?
“Fuck.” The word drops from my mouth just as he moves inside, pushing me back a step to keep from being stepped on.
“Hmm.” He invades my space until I move further in, allowing him to kick the door closed behind him.
He takes in my apartment with a frown. The crease of his brow gets deeper as he looks toward the kitchen area.
“You live here.” He doesn’t ask as much as he accuses me.
Did he think I’d be holed up in some ritzy hotel while I was hiding away from the mob and the law? By the looks of him, he could probably afford it, what with the Rolex gripping his left wrist and the leather jacket that is in no way faux .
“Please. Just let me leave.” I try to reach for the doorknob behind him, but he arches a dark brow at me.
A chill runs down my back like ice being dragged along my spine at his look. I drop my hand back to my side.
“I told you not to do anything stupid, didn’t I?” he questions, moving into the kitchen area and opening the fridge.
It’s empty aside from a can of Diet Coke and a package of American cheese.
“I didn’t do anything stupid.” I thrust my chin forward, as though it’s some great shield. If I look like I’m brave, maybe the feeling will follow.
“You ran away.” He shuts the fridge. “Again.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is.”
“No. It’s not.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Alexander made it my business when he tasked me with finding you and bringing you home.” He opens the one cabinet in the kitchen.
Whatever he’s looking for, he won’t find it. Other than a can of green beans I was going to have for dinner tomorrow, there’s nothing in there.
“I don’t know any Alexander.”
“He’s helping your friend, Megan.” He shuts the cabinet with another frown.
“Why is he helping her? Is she okay? What happened?” If Megan’s been hurt because of the mess I’m in, I’ll never forgive myself. Her only crime was having me as a roommate.
She’d warned me about Nico. Told me countless times that I was falling too fast—again. But I’d pressed on, sure Nico was on the up and up. I’ve never been more wrong.
I can’t let her pay the price for it.
Rurik moves into the living room area, also known as my bedroom. The pull-out couch is still open from the nap I was able to sneak in between shifts today.
“She’s safe.” He opens the door to the bathroom and peeks inside.
“If she’s safe, why are you here?”
“To bring you home.” After finishing his inspection, he turns his full attention to me.
I close my eyes a moment, wishing him away. If he would just go, I could figure out what to do. I’ll need to get in touch with Megan and find out what’s happening.
But when I open them, he still standing there. Taking up all the space in the apartment, glaring at me.
“I don’t want—” I stop. Swallow. “I mean, I can’t go home. Not yet.”
“Yes. Alexander told me about your trouble with the DeAngelos. But you need to come home. Megan hasn’t heard from you in months, and she’s worried.”
“Hasn’t heard from me?” I drop my bag at my feet and pull out the burner cell I’ve been using from my side pocket.
The last text I sent her was two weeks ago. It shows as delivered. Megan keeps her read receipts off so I can’t tell if she actually read it, though.
I flip the phone around so he can see. “I messaged her weeks ago, like I’ve been doing. ”
He leans forward enough to see the screen. “The money she was expecting from you hasn’t arrived either.”
“No. No. That’s not possible.” I swipe the messaging app away and open the email I’ve been using. “No, I wired the money. See. I wired it.” I find the email confirmation from the Western Union I use in town.
He grabs the phone from me and reads the confirmation email.
“She hasn’t gotten it.” He hands it back. “She wasn’t able to make the last payment for you, and Marco’s been sniffing around. Alexander has it handled. But you need to come home.”
I blow out a harsh breath. “What? You’re not making any sense.”
“She’ll explain everything. But we need to go.” He grabs my bag from the floor where I dropped it and reaches for my arm.
I’m quicker this time and jump away from his grasp before he can get a grip on me.
“No.” I point at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll call Megan and figure out what’s going on. If I really need to go home, she’ll let me know. And then I’ll get there on my own.” The last part is important.
The last thing I need is getting involved with another man who claims he can help. So far it hasn’t worked out for me.
He stands straighter, which makes him bigger as he drops his hand to his side with a heavy sigh. Like I’m disappointing him with every breath I take .
“You’re making things harder on yourself, Mira.” His voice is steady, as though he’s talking to a small child who refuses to eat their vegetables.
“You need to leave.” I jerk my head toward the door behind him.
Suddenly, I’m very aware of the fact there is no other way out of this apartment. No fire escape or back door that leads down to the laundromat downstairs. Nothing.
If I want to get out of here, I’ll have to jump out the window. Which would probably break a few bones, making it hard to escape, anyway.
I’m going to need some cooperation from him on this.
“Not happening.” He takes a threatening step toward me. “I’m not chasing you anymore, Mira. If you make me, you’re not going to like what happens next. Now get your ass over here and let’s go.”
I stare at him, my heart playing the congas so loud in my ears I can barely hear myself think.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You could be working for Marco, and you’ve come here to take me to him…or worse.” I swallow past the lump forming when I think of what ‘worse’ might be.