Chapter 22
BANE
The casino that Senator Ruiz led us to is an unassuming warehouse on the outskirts of the Mission District, overlooking the San Francisco Bay.
Cars line the streets, the pavement cracked and filled with gum and debris.
We have to park several blocks away and walk the rest of the way there.
As we move, I feel the tension in the air, just as thick as the saltwater lingering around us.
Last night, falling asleep next to Georgiy helped me calm down, but I still don’t feel right, as if Death is waiting for me around a corner, stealing me. Forcing me back underground.
In the distance, I make out the sound of a foghorn and the bark of a seal.
It reminds me of something—a distant memory, something clawing at me—but before I can pull it from the recesses of my mind, a horn honks and I’m jerked back to the present.
“What are you thinking?” Georgiy asks as we approach the building, the one where I worry something terrible will happen.
“Nothing,” I begin, but then add, “A memory, I think.”
“What brought it on?”
“This place. I know this place.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the house we were in?”
“No, that’s far enough away. But this…I feel like I know this.”
“We can go.”
“No. I want to stay. I need answers.”
Georgiy looks uncertain, but before he can usher me away, Jax and Kit stop in front of a thick metal door, and Kit reaches out and knocks.
Casey is standing to the side, his arms folded across his chest, a wisp of blond hair falling across his forehead. He tucks it back just as the door swings open and two large men fill the doorway.
They’re dressed in all black, earpieces obvious behind their ears.
And if I look closely, I can see that both have guns ready and waiting.
My hand sneaks into Georgiy’s, and the other goes to the knife I’m carrying.
“Who sent you?” the guy on the left says.
Casey eyes them and then says, “Senator Ruiz.”
“Password?”
“Death.”
The guards look at each other and then nod.
“That’s ominous,” I say when Casey eyes me.
“Yeah, it fucking is,” he replies, but both men step aside and we’re met with a blast of air conditioning.
“Any weapons need to be surrendered.”
Casey’s arms flex. “How are we supposed to protect our money then?”
The guards don’t miss a beat, having heard it all. “Weapons need to be surrendered to enter.”
“Fuck,” Casey murmurs as he, Kit, and Jax start pulling their guns out and setting them on a table.
The guards pick them up, place them in a locked container, and hand Casey a tag.
“You can retrieve them when you’re done. Just show us the number.”
When it’s all said and done, I feel the knife in my pants like a weight, but I don’t take it out. I don’t reveal that I have it. It’s tucked near my dick and made entirely of bone. It shouldn’t be detectable by the metal detectors.
And it isn’t.
Whatever Georgiy has in his pockets isn’t detected either. Even through the pat down.
I don’t know what he’s carrying, but I’m glad he still has whatever it is. I want him to protect himself if I’m not able to.
“Through that door and to the right,” another security guard says, pointing to another set of double doors.
Kit and Jax walk ahead, their shoulders touching, Casey lingering behind Georgiy and me.
And the entire time we walk, the ominous feeling grows. It swells and expands until I’m swallowing back bile. Now that I think about it, any time San Francisco was mentioned over the past few weeks, my stomach roiled. I waved it off as indigestion, something I ate. Maybe an incoming cold.
Now I realize that my body is remembering. My childhood, my life before I escaped.
And it doesn’t like it.
Not one bit.
We push through the door in front of us and are greeted by an array of colors and sounds, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy in the air.
“It’s an actual fucking casino,” Casey says with a laugh. “I assumed it would be some kind of metal table with chairs all around it like you see in the movies.”
“Me too,” Jax replies. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”
Kit is the only one quiet, his gaze narrowing as he glances around.
Georgiy’s hand tightens around mine as we step forward, assessing it all. There are poker tables, slot machines, and a long bar on either end of the room.
I can tell that Casey is scoping out security while Jax and Kit search for the exits.
Meanwhile, I’m just standing here, blinking wildly.
Why does this all feel so familiar? I’ve been in a hundred casinos, been in dozens of clubs, but nothing has made me feel faint like this.
What is it about this place?
“I’ve got you, umnyashka.”
I blink up at him and stare at his face, those gleaming eyes, those pink lips.
My reaper. Mine.
He’ll protect me.
And yet, it doesn’t dull the feeling of dread as we make our way past the guests and toward a security guard manning a closed door.
“I’m going to get Bane some water,” Georgiy interrupts. “He’s not feeling well.”
Kit moves toward me, his hand landing on my arm. “What is it? Is it another panic attack?”
I manage to shake my head. “I don’t know. Everything is fuzzy. Everything feels wrong. I can’t feel my hands.”
“Come,” Georgiy snaps, pulling me toward the bar. He gently guides me to an open stool and helps me perch on it, my head resting in my hands. When the bartender makes his way over to us, Georgiy barks that he needs a glass of water.
I think his tone only makes the guy move slower.
By the time the water is slid in front of me, I’m panting.
“What is it?” he asks, grabbing an ice cube from the glass and rubbing it across the back of my neck. The coolness brings my focus back for a moment, and my breathing evens out. “What do you need?”
His hand cups my chin, and he forces me to look at him.
“I want to go home,” I whisper, feeling my eyes swell with tears. “I don’t like it here.”
Georgiy nods, his fingers slipping from me.
“Drink the water first,” he tells me. “Then we’ll leave. I’ll tell Anthony to ready the plane. The others can stay and find the answers you need. We don’t have to be here. It was too much. We had no idea what we were walking into.”
I nod, pulling the glass toward me and sipping at the water.
“Let me try calling to get everything in place so we can leave.” He pulls out his cellphone, but frowns when he realizes it’s dead.
“Blyat! This phone.”
He looks at me but I shake my head. I didn’t bring a phone. I have nothing on me.
Georgiy squeezes my neck reassuringly and then leans down. “Can you stay here for just a second while I find the others to tell them what’s going on?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Go. The sooner we can leave the better.”
He looks unsure, but I know he’ll be close. Close enough to get to me if needed. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I nod, still sipping at the water, some dribbling down my chin and hitting my warm neck.
I feel him leave, his distance making the room swim once more. I feel unsteady when he’s gone. I need him to come back.
I need him back.
I glance up, trying to focus on something in front of me, when I see the bartender staring at me intently.
Something flashes through his eyes. Guilt? Maleficence?
I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s not good.
My vision grows hazier the longer I stare, and when the bartender steps up to me, his hands landing right before me, I blink up at him.
“You okay?” he asks, and I open my mouth to say something, to tell him that I’m not okay, when he shifts even closer.
“You should drink more. You’re dehydrated.”
He lifts the cup up to my lips, and I swallow the water he pours onto my tongue.
The room twists even more, the colors blurring together in a wild kaleidoscope.
“Wh—”
And then I feel someone behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, and my body being lifted up. I can’t move. Can’t even speak.
And when I hear the voice whisper in my ear, I know who it is.
“Gotcha.”
Henry says it with anger, with malice. There’s no point struggling, no point in trying to escape. They have me.
I knew I shouldn’t have come here, should have turned around the first time my stomach clenched.
I failed. I fucking failed.
I let my eyelids close, let myself be carried away from my family, from the people I love, the people I’d die to protect.
From Georgiy.
His name makes my heart rate pick up.
Oh, when he gets back and finds my seat empty, he’s not going to like this one bit. Not one fucking bit. I shouldn’t have let him leave me, even for a second. I should have made him stay.
He was right. He’s always fucking right.
But the one thing I’m sure of is Henry better pray Georgiy doesn’t find him.