8. Katerina
CHAPTER 8
Katerina
ONE WEEK LATER…
“Earth to Kat? Hello!” Rosita snaps her fingers in front of my eyes. “You good, girl?”
I blink out of my daydream and find myself curled up in Rosita’s neon orange bean bag chair. The cramped room reeks of egg, the air hazy and stuffy despite the three fans she has going. She’s standing in front of the mirror as she runs her flat iron across her hair a few times, making sure the keratin treatment has taken.
I rub a hand over my face with a sigh. “I’m good… just distracted.”
“This about what happened the other day with JC and them?” Rosita asks.
“I can’t believe it went down the way it did.”
“Kat, how many times have I told you? The crowds you run with are no good. My ma always says, no se puede confiar en los ladrones? * .”
“Thieves can’t be trusted?”
She nods at me in the mirror, half her head of hair pin-straight while the rest resembles the straw on a broom.
“I wish I had a translator for Russian. He said so many things I didn’t understand.”
“The man you were tricking on?”
“I wasn’t tricking on him. It was a kidnapping scheme.”
“Same difference. All I know is, if I’m gonna risk my life, it better be for some real stacks.”
Rosita goes on to tell me about some past john she had back when she was still working the streets. I’ve half-tuned out, my mind traveling to days ago when the police flooded Finch’s safe house.
Roman Volkova’s hand was still down my pants. His fingers were still inside me.
The police busted down the door and raided the apartment like they were on the hunt for the most wanted man in the world.
In reality, they were responding to the silent emergency call I had placed during the five seconds he had his back turned.
But relief poured through me anyway.
I lay immobile and obedient on the floor as Roman Volkova wrenched his hand from inside my jeans and rose to full height, an immediate, formidable force to be reckoned with.
Fury clenched onto his face, inspiring a flutter of nerves in my belly. He resembled a ferocious wild beast about to strike in that moment, and though I was glad the police had arrived, a part of me was worried for him…
I come back to the present to find Rosita talking about scraping up funds to get Lucero out of the foster system and win back custody.
My teeth rake over my bottom lip. “Sorry, Ros. That’s what part of the bounty for this job was going to be for. I was going to give you money for Luc.”
“Don’t worry about it, Kat. I’ll figure something else out.”
My best friend in the world winks at me before returning her focus to flat-ironing the other half of her head.
I take the opportunity to head out for a walk, tugging on my hoodie and stuffing my hands in the pockets.
I leave the rundown apartment building where I’m staying with Rosita behind and start down the cracked pavements. The two of us have been close friends since we were teenagers, both living on the streets and surviving by any means possible.
For Rosita, that was sex work from a depressingly young age.
For me, it was hustles like pickpocketing and purse-snatching.
Even now, as we’re both struggling, we look out for each other. Rosita’s letting me stay with her while I’m trying to scrape up money so she can get her son back.
But the farther away I get from her place, the more my thoughts wander along with me. I go from thinking about my friendship with Rosita—maybe the only real friend I have, especially in the wake of what happened with JC and the guys—to thinking about last week.
My brief time with him.
The Russian.
I haven’t been able to sleep in days because I haven’t been able to stop turning over the situation in my head. While I’m grateful to be alive and breathing, I can’t help focusing on how incomplete it feels. It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop…
The Russian Bear rushed toward the bedroom door as the police swarmed through the small apartment. He slammed it shut before they could make their way down the hallway and discover us.
“Be warned!” he boomed from through the door. “I will destroy you if you come in!”
Even when threatening the freaking police Roman Volkova sounded terrifying and formidable.
I watched in awe from where I was tied up on the floor. Was he really about to be foolish enough to get into a confrontation with city police?
In Northam, the cops shoot first, ask questions later.
He turned to me and said, “Devochka, you have two choices. Decide quickly. You can come with me or you can stay here and see how that will work out for you. Which will it be? Are you going to trust me or do you choose them?”
“Please…” I gasped. “I just want this to end…”
His top lip curled as he realized what my plea meant.
The police were done waiting on the other side of the locked door. They opened fire without regard to who could be inside the bedroom.
The Russian shot toward the window, wrestling the screen off. I squirmed on the floor, screaming and helpless against the sounds of gunfire. He leapt out of the window with half a second to spare before the police were breaking down the bullet-riddled door and flooding the room.
I was in tears by the time they cleared the space.
Roman Volkova was long gone, having fled on foot.
The cops assumed I was the victim. Just some innocent young woman who had been kidnapped and bound. Not the perpetrator of a crime myself.
I didn’t correct them, sniffling in tears as I played the part of the victim. They missed the furtive glances I shot toward the window where Roman had escaped. As they threw a thermal blanket around my shoulders and helped me to my feet, I was wondering what happened to him…
A week later, I’m still wondering.
It’s like Roman Volkova disappeared without a trace. I’ve been forced to pick up the tiny fragments left behind after a botched kidnapping attempt.
JC was finally released from the ER missing almost all of his front teeth. Finch and Fozzil have distanced themselves from both of us, effectively blaming JC and I for the mission gone awry. I haven’t cared because I’m aware of my temper—the next time I’m in a room with any of them, I’m telling their asses off.
Otherwise, I’ve been left to couch surf wherever I can ’til I can figure out another scheme for cash.
But it’s not so easy when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder waiting for that other shoe to drop. Where did the Russian go and was he going to let go of the fact that a group of random individuals tried to kidnap him? Was he off somewhere plotting revenge?
He’d mentioned I’d gotten involved with things I didn’t understand. He’d told the sovietnik—whoever that is—that I wasn’t some threat. Though he also made sure to let me know this sovietnik guy could have my head on a pike if he wanted…
I sigh in confusion and realize I’ve walked several blocks farther than I meant to.
I’ve left Rosita’s neighborhood altogether and made it to Old Northam.
A few more blocks and I’ll run into a pocket known as Sochi , an immigrant community full of first, second, and third generation Russians and other Eastern Europeans.
I back up a couple steps as my heart skips and I decide to go the opposite way. The longer route that’ll take me to the city center.
I never thought I’d have to avoid a segment of the city because of a kidnapping gone wrong. But it’s as I turn to walk away that someone calls out to me.
“Devochka!”
It’s a pot-bellied man smoking a cigarette outside a café.
My skin runs ice cold. I whip around. “What did you just call me?”
The man merely blows smoke and laughs, his beady eyes set on me.
I panic and decide to get the hell out of the here. Even faster than originally planned. I’m quick on my feet, sprinting back down the block in the direction I came.
Several streets later, I’m slowing up, panting for air, hoping I’ve made it far enough.
I head downstairs to the subway where dozens of others rush in every direction. Swiping my card, I wander onto the platform and wait for the next train.
Crowds have never bothered me. Part of living in a huge city like Northam means encountering hordes of people at any given time.
But as I stand on the platform with my hands stuffed in my hoodie pockets, I can’t help noticing the people around me.
There’s the guy with a beanie strumming a guitar for pity coins. Some chubby woman and her children selling beaded jewelry. A bunch of men and women in business casual, likely off to some soul-destroying job in a cubicle.
And then there’s the pair of square-jawed men on the far side of the platform who are watching me. They might as well be twins, both dressed in all black with crewcuts. Both bear the same kind of unflinching intensity that Roman Volkova had possessed.
Large and stocky, they look like they could cause some damage.
I test the waters. I take a few steps to the right and then glance in their direction.
Their gazes have followed me. I step to the left and they follow me again.
Crap.
Who are these assholes!?
Some of the Bear’s friends?!
The subway train breezes into the station, pulling to a sharp halt in front of me and the others waiting.
Just in time.
The doors roll open and I push and nudge my way on.
The two men rush forward as if to chase after me, but they’re a second too late. The subway doors snap shut before they can bully their way onto the train. I wave at them through the glass window as the train takes off at full speed.
I sigh in relief and then decide to send off a text to JC.
Things between us have been tense since our botched kidnapping job (and that’s putting it lightly).
You heard from Finch?
No why would I?
This whole botched job… I need more info
Such as??
Just saw 2 strange guys on the subway. They were russian too
Kat… u kidding? Hurry and gtfo
I frown at my phone, my fingers hovering above the digital keyboard. I type up a text asking who they are. JC suddenly stops responding.
“Typical,” I mutter under my breath.
Then another idea strikes me. I pull up my internet browser and type in a word that’s stuck with me since that night.
Sovietnik.
Ice-cold horror fills me up ’til I’m so out of it, the subway train’s stopped and I haven’t noticed. People rush off while more people rush on. I realize at the last second I have to get off. Squeezing through the passengers coming aboard, I stumble onto the platform with my phone in the palm of my hand.
“Hierarchy of the Russian Mafia,” I mutter, reading aloud. “Advisor and confidant to the pakhan. What in the fuck, JC?! We were pulling a job on the Russian mob?!”
The next time I look up from my phone, I’ve ridden the escalator back onto the street outside. My ears fill with the big city sounds as I stand on the street and try to swallow down my shock.
So does that mean the Bear… Roman Volkova’s a part of the…
I’ve barely moved from the subway station when an unmarked black vehicle pulls to a stop at the curb. The tinted windows roll down to reveal a man with a jagged scar on his cheek and misshapen yellow teeth.
“Devochka, where are you headed? Come with us! The sovietnik wants to say hello.”
I back away. “What… how did you… stay away from me!”
I break out into a run, unsure of where I’m even going. The man laughs, the sound gruff and unsettling.
I cut down a side alley, racing toward the other end, throwing the occasional glance over my shoulder. The men have remained parked against the curb with their mouths open in crude laughter. I keep running anyway, pushing myself even faster.
But as I toss another glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed, I don’t look up ahead in time. My body collides with what must be an immovable brick wall. My feet slip on the wet gravel beneath my sneakers and I’m airborne for the quick second it takes me to crash down.
A groan warbles out of me as I land flat on my back. Air vanishes from my lungs. My vision’s spotty as I blink and look up at the wall that’s taken me down.
Except it’s not a wall at all.
It’s well over six feet tall with shoulders that are hulking and wide. It’s a man who’s the size of a beast.
The Russian Bear.
Roman stares down at me like I’m a bug he’s crushed, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s my little kitty cat. I have been looking everywhere. Vy gotovy k svoyemu novomu domu? * ?”
* ? no se puede confiar en los ladrones - you can’t trust thieves
* ? Vy gotovy k svoyemu novomu domu - Ar? you ready for your new home?