Chapter 25 – Ivan #2
The men advanced in a black, boiling rush. Ski masks. Hoodie strings knotted tight. One of them carried a steel pipe, another a heavy canvas duffel, another a pistol. He handled it carelessly, making it look like a prop.
How fucking dare they.
“Out of the way!” The words ricocheted around the empty shop, bouncing off tile and glass.
I took a loose stance in front of the counter, ready for war. “No.”
The gunman stopped, sweeping the weapon through the air with the wobbly authority of someone high or desperate. “The old man owes us.”
Behind him, Pipe Man swung the metal rod in a lazy arc, testing its heft. He let it drop against a table with a thunk.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said a little too calmly. The rage thundering inside me was right near the surface, ready to explode.
I risked a quick peek over the counter. Teddy knelt there, shielding Brady. In his gnarled hand was a ten-millimeter.
That was all I needed to see before I moved.
I took one step forward. “You’re on the wrong side of the highway, boys.”
“Fuck off,” the gunman screamed, but his voice cracked halfway through.
“Open the register and the safe! Now!” one of his buddies yelled.
The fourth guy, the duffel carrier, was pacing near the door. He kept glancing back toward the parking lot, nervous, tapping the strap with both hands.
Pipe Man grew impatient. He brought the rod up again, this time higher, and crashed it down on a table hard enough to make the ancient wooden piece split in two.
I lifted a chair and hurled it at the Pipe Man.
He yelped and ducked, the wood barely skimming him.
The gunman lost patience and fired a shot into the ceiling. The bullet punched through a water-stained tile, spraying plaster and dust.
A tiny yelp sounded behind me.
No one scared my son and lived.
Time slowed. The falling plaster hung in the air like snow. My focus narrowed to a laser point as I launched myself at the gunman, closing the distance in three rapid strides.
An animalistic growl tore from me as I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. I twisted it backward until something snapped. The gun fell as he howled.
With the speed of many battles giving my muscles the edge, I caught it before it hit the ground, my fingers wrapping around the grip like they were coming home.
Pipe Man rushed me from the side. I pivoted, firing a single shot into his throat. Blood flew through the air. Clutching at the wound, he collapsed, the pipe clanging against the linoleum.
The third man reached inside his jacket. Too slow. I put two rounds in his chest before he could draw whatever he was reaching for.
The lookout by the door turned to run. Why he hadn’t escaped yet, it was hard to say. His stupidity was his death sentence. I caught him with a bullet to the spine. He fell forward, face smacking against the glass door.
Three down in less than six seconds.
I stood over the gunman last. One round in the head, two in the chest. The execution was quicker than he deserved.
“It’s over,” I shouted, letting Teddy know his weapon wasn’t needed.
A rush of sneakers slapped against the floor. “Tatko!”
My boy hurled himself into my arms.
Instinct had me turning him away from the carnage, shielding him from the destruction.
“It’s alright, Hristo. It’s alright,” I murmured into his messy mop of curls. “It’s all over.”
His little body trembled. Those little fingers clutched at my shirt, pulling the neckline down. Something wet spread over my bare skin.
I tossed the gun and cupped his head. Nothing was more important in this moment than holding him close. He was never in any real danger. These were just punks from rough homes, thinking they could make a quick buck—
“They said you owed them money?” I growled, pinning Teddy with a look that promised death.
The ice cream man held up his hands. “My grandson, the troubled one. He’s been going places he shouldn’t. Making mistakes.”
I sighed. “The kid’s going to need to learn a lesson, Ted.”
The older man bobbed his head.
“I’ll send Rayko over there after we clean this shit up.”
Teddy was going to say something, but he looked around me, eyes popping out of his head.
I heard her before I saw her. The hurried slap of her sandals on the sidewalk outside. She appeared in the doorway, brown hair loose and wild, eyes huge and rimmed with mascara that had begun to run. She looked at us and froze, silhouetted by the strobing neon, her lips parted in shock.
“What in the fuck happened!” she shouted.
The only thing I could think in that second was how beautiful she was—and that she’d sworn. It was the first time I heard such foul language from the little flower, and I had to fight back a laugh.
Laughing would have been a miserable mistake.
She moved. Crossed the space in three long strides, ignoring the bloody pools and bits of carrion.
Brady wriggled out of my hold. I set him down but blocked the majority of the mess from his view.
When Poppy reached us, she went to her knees in front of Brady and gathered him up so fiercely that he let out a startled “Oof.” Her hands skated over his head, his face, his shoulders, as if checking for cracks.
“Are you hurt? Are you—” Her voice was ragged, knotted with adrenaline.
Brady mumbled into her shoulder, muffled but alive. “I’m fine, mama.”
She kept him pressed to her chest for a long moment, only pulling away when she noticed the sticky residue matting his hair.
“What the—?” She picked at it, then looked at me, a question on her face.
“Ice cream,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. I knew how this must look to her. She hated the mob. She tried to run away. Now, what was going to stop her from trying to do it again?
Her breath hitched.
“Mama, you’re shaking.” Brady pawed at her cheek, worry focused on him.
“Call Boris,” I snapped over my shoulder, not waiting to see if the ice cream man heard as I hurried the duo outside. Gravel crunched under my shoe.
Poppy kept taking short, stilted breaths. Each hitch sounded painful.
Brady watched her, pressing his body tightly against her.
A few feet away, and Poppy dropped. She wrapped Brady in her arms, cuddling him, and dragging him down to her lap. Her knees bit into the rough cement, and I noticed there was broken glass just a few feet away.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Brady assured her. “Tatko gave me a protection bracelet. The bad guys can’t hurt me.”
He wriggled his arm free to try and show her. She only held him tighter, hyperventilating.
I squatted. “Hey, let him breathe, okay?”
Poppy jerked away, reaching out just in time to catch herself from falling sideways. “No. No!” she shrieked. “I knew this would happen. I knew it.”
“Mama,” Brady protested, torn between comforting her and survival against being crushed.
“I left this shit behind!” Poppy gasped. “I abandoned my father in his old age. I cut ties with my only sibling. I HATE the underworld.”
She was shaking. There wasn’t enough oxygen in her body to quell the tremors, to make the words come out.
“Poppy!” I grabbed her shoulders and tugged her into my arms. “Calm the fuck down.”
“No!” she wailed. “We need to leave. I need to—to—to save him.”
With a burst of adrenaline, she ripped away, hauled Brady to her chest, and tried to run. Two steps, and she tripped on the curb.
I caught them.
These two who were more precious than life itself.
“Poppy, he’s safe,” I ground out.
Those three words broke through her hysteria.
“No, Ivan.” She stabbed a finger at me. “He was almost shot!”
“Tatko did the shooting,” Brady interjected and wriggled.
I tugged him out of her arms, propping him on my hip, and pulled the frantic ball of energy into my arms.
“This wasn’t mob business,” I snapped, seeing the situation as it appeared to her. “Just a group of thugs trying to rob a small business.”
Small fists pounded against my chest. “That doesn’t make it better!”
I hauled Poppy off the ground, adjusting my grip to hold her around the back. I gave her a gentle but firm shake.
“Listen to me,” I ground out, keeping my voice low.
Three trucks pulled up. My men shot curious glances in our direction, but a clipped order from Boris had them hustling into the ice cream shop.
“There aren’t bad men in the country?” I insisted.
“No!” Poppy’s voice was a whisper. The breath wailed from her lungs. “No, there’s no—”
“There’s no what? Meth heads? Punk kids? Evil men?” I bent, my face directly in hers. “There are bad people everywhere, little flower. This isn’t a unique epidemic that is isolated to big cities or the underworld.”
Poppy blinked.
A shuddering gulp of air filled her lungs.
That’s it, beautiful, keep breathing. “The difference here, is that I can protect Brady. I can protect you.”
My son laid his cheek on my shoulder. He placed a palm on his mother’s head, patting and stroking her wild hair.
“His cousins and his mam protected him there,” Poppy seethed.
I nodded. “They did a damn fine job. But here, there is a small army to keep you both safe. Every one of my men would die for you, Poppy. Myself included.”
Poppy hiccupped. She wasn’t convinced.
I was grateful nothing had happened in their past. That her memory of the small town was tinged with rose-colored glasses. But I needed her to understand that there was always danger. That life came with risk.
It was going to take time to prove that. And if there was a turf war over this stupid shopping complex, that wouldn’t help matters. But the promise I made my son, the same that extended to her, was set in stone, carved in blood.
I did the only thing I could think of to seal it.
Closing the distance, I kissed her.
Brady whooped in my ear.
Poppy went stiff in my arms.
It was a chaste caress, the briefest contact. But for the few heartbeats my mouth covered hers, I seared my resolve into her very being.
Pulling back, I smiled down at her. “I’ll prove myself worthy to be yours. I am strong enough to protect you.”
“Oh, okay,” she panted, and I wasn’t convinced she’d heard me.
No matter. It was still true. “Now.” I smirked. “Would you like an ice cream?”
“Ivan!” she chided.
The deep blush on her cheeks told me it worked.
“Tatko and mama, sitting in a tree—”
“Brady!” Poppy yelped and struggled.
I set her down, adjusting my grip on the boy. “Come on, let’s go to the store, and I’ll buy however many pints it takes to make it up to you.”
The narrow cut of her gaze told me this wasn’t over. But all she said was, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for ice cream.”
I snatched her hand and began to walk back to my vehicles. “Bourbon and cookies it is.”
Brady chattered excitedly about the prospect of more sweets before bed. It worked like a charm, momentarily distracting the frazzled she-bear as we left.