Chapter 30 – Ivan
Boris: Any bets?
Boris: That was what I was betting!
Kiril: She’s sleeping. But yeah, when she wakes up, my money is on her flipping out on me.
Georgi: It will be worse than the ass beating boss gave you.
Boris: On a serious note, you earned it.
Kiril: I did. I don’t think there’s an inch of my body that isn’t bruised. I now know how his canvas bags at the gym feel.
Kiril: Shit, baby’s up.
Kiril: Yep. Katerina smacked me upside the head for not being in the grocery store today.
Boris: Is the frying pan alright?
Kiril: No pans were harmed tonight. The rolling pin, however, will need to be replaced.
Georgi: Good girl, Kat!
Kiril: Watch it!
Boris: I’m buying another rolling pin! Plot twist, version 2.0 will be metal.
On my side of the Skokie Highway was a motel. We conducted business from one of the end rooms, but only local shit like information or contact with prominent community families. My boys wanted to run drugs out of it, but the traffic was too high these days. It was too easy to be noticed.
But lucky for me, the pretty boy was staying here.
Knocking on the door, I stepped back into the pool of light. I heard the cop on the other side.
“Come on, cop, you’re not as quiet as you think you are,” I rumbled.
The door cracked, pulling the chain taut. “What do you want, gangster?”
I lifted my hands. “Gangster? No, not that.”
“I’ve heard all about you, Mladenov.” The deputy sounded…drunk?
I kicked in the door.
With a yelp, the clean-cut boy jumped back. He scrambled for his gun, which wasn’t already in his hand.
“There’s no need for that.” I kept my arms up. “I just want to talk.”
“Then why the fuck you kick my door down?” he slurred. That fine blond hair was askew. His tank top showed a stark farmer’s tan on his arms and neck. While there were muscles, he was slimmer than he’d looked the other night on my porch.
And a half-empty bottle of marshmallow vodka sat on the TV stand.
Fuck me. We were off to a great start.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah, first thing.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t a question. You’re leaving tomorrow and you’re taking Poppy and Brady with you.”
The gun fell from the cop’s fingers.
“You are a stellar example of civic protection,” I growled. “Pick that up and hold it like a damn man, or holster it.”
Those Midwest blue eyes blinked at me.
“Now, boy!” I barked. “I shouldn’t be the one to teach you how to act like a grown ass man.”
Shaking his head in frustration, the cop put the gun back in the holster and tossed the belt on the bed. “Happy?”
No.
I was the furthest thing from happy.
“You’ll continue to watch over my son and his mother—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” The kid held up his hands. “Brady is your son?”
This guy was unbelievable.
“Are you stupid or something?” I snapped.
“I didn’t know, honest!” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
My own nose itched, but I resisted the urge to rub it, keeping my hands were the jumpy, marshmallow slurping drunk could see them.
“He’s mine, but it’s time for him to go home.”
Those words hurt.
Hurt worse than any pain I’d ever felt.
“I don’t get it, man.” The farm boy, because that was what he was under the polished veneer of being a deputy in the county sheriff's office, shook his head again. “Why would you want to send YOUR son and HIS mother away?”
I wasn’t explaining myself to him.
It hadn’t worked out. It was one big, failed experiment.
“Poppy chose you.” The kid stabbed a finger at me.
No, she feels trapped.
“She said she loves you.” He sank onto the edge of the bed, reached for his cup, and threw it back, only to find it empty. “Hey, man, could you pass me the bottle?”
With slow movements, I lowered my reach and plucked the bottle but paused. “Why should I give this to a lying drunk?”
The cop pouted. Pouted! He was more of a child than my own sweet boy. “I’m not lying. She loves you. She said so. And she chose to stay here with you.”
Doubt was beginning to creep into my mind. Not about what he said, because my little flower did not love me. She might not fear me, but I was the beast of fairytales, who imprisoned her in a castle in a foreign land.
No, the doubt was from the idea of sending my son back into the wild wild west. If this was the best example of masculinity, I didn’t want Brady growing up to be some shiny face with a hero complex who fell apart the moment life got tough.
“Oh, wait, there’s something you need to know,” the cop said, forgetting about the bottle I kept held high in my hand. “Steve Dallas was charged with a misdemeanor. Pays to have friends in high places, I guess. Anyhow, he’ll be out on bail tomorrow morning.”
My grip tightened around the bottle until a splintered crack shot through the room.
“Jeezes, man!” The deputy shot to his feet. “You’re bleeding.”
Was I? It was hard to feel anything under the blinding ball of fiery rage tearing through me.
“Thanks for telling me,” I ground out. “Once again, the justice system has failed.”
“Yeah, they do that quite a bit.” This time the farmer boy picked up his glass, turned it upside down. “Dammit, it’s empty.”
Fucking hell, he was shit-faced. I doubted he would remember this conversation in the morning.
But just to be sure. “I’ll find another way for Poppy and Brady to return to Carrington.”
The deputy’s head snapped up. “They’re coming back? When? Why?”
That proved my point.
“Goodnight.” I backed away slowly. Warm, sticky tears ran down my wrist, losing themselves in the leather of my jacket sleeve.
“Wait, why is Poppy leaving you? Do you think my grand gesture worked?”
I paused. “What?”
The cop rolled his eyes. “I came out here as a big, grand gesture to prove how much I care about her. If I saved her, maybe she would FINALLY notice I existed.” Those light eyes peered at me, as if trying to see me more clearly.
We were standing not five feet away. “She never looked at me like she looked at you.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I muttered. “Drink some water, okay?”
“Kay.”
I shut the door and marched down to my car. Poppy had good reason to believe they weren’t safe here. But out there? In the great wide open? Brady was terrified of bears. He told me so in confidence, but he didn’t want his mom to know. He read the books on bears, hoping it would help.
It didn’t.
“Love is stepping back so others can be happy.” I spoke the words from memory. That stupid stuffed bear. It took him saying it to make me see it. If I love my little flower, I’ll set her free.
Part of me, the blackest part of my soul, wished the cop had been right. He’d said she loved me. He was just drunk and jealous. But it would be nice if it were true.