37. Daphne
37
Dad has never hit me. Even now, after everything—all the bullshit, all the nightmares—that’s the first thing I think. He wouldn’t hurt me, right?
The worst he’d do is yell… right?
“Dad, I’m?—”
Words turn into nausea the second his fist lands in my gut.
I double over.
Wheeze.
And try not to vomit all over both our shoes.
He shoves me hard from behind, one hand firmly planted between my shoulder blades to make sure I hit the ground as hard as possible. I’m able to break the fall at the last second, which scrapes the shit out of my palms and knees.
Dad—no, Stewart; he’s no father anymore, if he ever even was one to begin with—pauses at my side and sucks in a breath, like he’s thinking about kicking me in the gut just to make sure I’m completely down.
I want to think he wouldn’t.
I’ve clearly been wrong before, though.
In the end, he leaves without a word. No kick, thank God.
From him, that is.
But that’s only because the foot that connects with my stomach belongs to a woman. A high-heeled, freshly pedicured woman who stifles a screech of fury between her clenched teeth.
“You fucking bitch!” she seethes.
Brittany.
She is absolutely the kind of person to kick me while I’m down. And she does—or at least, she tries.
I snatch her ankle with one hand while trying to push myself back up with the other. It throws her off-balance, and she lands on her bony ass with a satisfying thud.
Holy shit, she’s stupid. I’m sizing her up while I get back up onto my feet, and the first thing I notice is how underdressed she actually is. Strappy heels, cigarette jeans, and some weird corset top underneath a restrictively tight red leather jacket tells me she came ready for a bitchslapping contest.
Not the kind of ass kicking I’ve been training for under a mob boss’s second-in-command.
I’m limber. I’m dressed for flexibility and comfort.
And I’m done putting up with this bitch’s bullshit.
I wait for her to scramble back onto her feet and maybe, just maybe, figure out that this is neither the time nor place to pick a literal fight with me. She wobbles back and forth on her heels before tossing her hair back and huffing at me.
“Oh, that’s cute,” she snorts as she sizes me up. “You think you can take me?”
“I think you need professional help.” I want to turn and leave, but if I’ve learned anything from Sofi and recent life in general, it’s this: never, ever turn your back on an enemy.
Unless they’re definitely dead. Like, bullet-through-the-head, lights-out-in-the-eyes, stick-a-fork-in-‘em-‘cause-they’re-done deceased.
I didn’t bring a gun, and I have no plans on killing Brittany. It’s not my style.
The only reason why I’m not hitting my little panic button is because it’s absolutely her style. And I’m not sure I want that.
Yet.
“What I need, you selfish bitch, is my fucking fiancé back!”
She swings an open palm at me. She’s fast, but obvious about it, so I’m able to duck out of the way in time.
Instinct—and recent training—has me thrusting a retaliatory jab into her stomach.
“Just so you know, Brittany…” I breathe deeply, just like I was taught. Two inhales through the nose, let it all out through the mouth. Focus. Poise. Calm. “… he was never yours. He couldn’t stand you. I didn’t even want him, and he still kept crawling back to me because that’s how much he just didn’t want you.”
“Liar!”
She tries to tackle me, but I throw my weight against her so I roll more on top of her than under her. We both topple to the ground; she takes most of the scrapes while I take her vicious scratching as she flails at me.
Once I’m able to untangle myself, I do my best to shove her away and put some distance between us. It only lasts for a few seconds before she lunges at me again.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
I swat her claws away and jab her in the nose. Blood starts trickling from one nostril as she flails to protect her face.
She needs to stop. That’s the only reason why I swipe a leg under hers, slam my fist in her chest, and use the momentum to knock her to the ground.
This is getting ridiculous.
“How did you track me down?” I ask with a calmness that surprises even me. “You don’t have my number.”
“I’m not telling you shit, you bitch—aahh!”
She clenches her teeth and hisses in pain when I press my foot to the side of her ribs. I must have busted something with that last move. Things move beneath my sole that aren’t supposed to move.
I press my foot against that wound a little harder. “I asked, How did you track me down?”
“Your idiot husband!” Brittany smacks my leg.
I ignore the sudden flip my stomach does. Pasha is no traitor, especially not to me. “Explain.”
“Get off!”
“Tell me, and I might let you up.”
If looks could kill, her glare would have me in a heap. “Pasha owns everything, yeah? Through his company. The same one my family worked for.”
I frown. “As consultants.”
“Yeah. Security development consultants.” For some reason, she thinks this is actually funny and starts to laugh. “Your dumbass husband forgot about the systems my family put in place in all his fronts. I have the codes to everything. And he can’t kick me out because?—”
“Your family built the systems.”
I keep my word and remove my foot from her ribs. It’s a lot to take in—realizing that the woman who’s hated me since high school is using Pasha to hunt me down and ruin my life. Maybe even take it.
And that’s when it occurs to me.
When the pieces of this fucked up puzzle suddenly click together.
Brittany screams in genuine pain when I kick her—hard—in those same ribs I already cracked.
“You knew all along!” I don’t bother asking. Why bother? We both know the answer. “You knew exactly what Conrad was doing! You helped him!”
She opens her mouth to retort, but I don’t let her. I just kick her in the stomach and relish the way she heaves and curls up in pain.
“You fucking bitch.” Now, I’m the one seething. “You let him in. You told him where to find me. Here you are, playing the victim, when you’re the one who’s been trying to ruin my life from the start.” I scoff. “You even roped my own parents into it. Fucking incredible.”
No words from her, for once. She’s too busy coughing and wiping blood from her face.
I crouch down so she can hear me loud and clear. “You wanna know the fucked-up part? He’d be alive if it weren’t for you. Conrad would probably be home in your arms if you weren’t such a vindictive bitch.”
Brittany coughs and wheezes some more. “Wh…where is he?”
“Fuck if I know. Even if I did know, it would probably only be a piece of him.”
Her glare wavers. For once, there’s actual fear in her eyes.
I’m not usually one to rub things in. But this? This is a special occasion.
She brought this on herself.
“That’s right, Brittany. He’s dead. Conrad is fucking dead and it’s all because of you.”
She takes a moment to let that sink in. I’m not going to hold my breath over it, but maybe now, she’ll realize the gravity of her mistakes and back the fuck off.
Or maybe not.
With a sudden blur of motion, Brittany hurls something at my face. Gravel flies into my eyes and I scream and back up. As I go, my shoe catches and I fall back to the earth again.
I hit the ground all wrong. Something pops out of place and sends searing pain through my shoulder.
I don’t care how bad it fucking hurts to do it—I reach for my bracelet and squeeze the shit out of that panic button.
Because now, I’m panicking. Brittany is coming at me, flailing and screaming and lashing that foot at me again and again.
“When—” Kick! “—are you—” Kick! “—gonna fucking—” Kick! “—learn?” She pauses just to wipe her face again. “This is how it always goes, NayNay. This is how it will always be. You think you’re on such a high horse, always better than me, until I drag you back down and remind you—” Kick! “—where you fucking belong!”
My head snaps back. I pray to God nothing’s broken. She rears back for one more and I know in my heart of hearts that this one will do it. This one will kick me. It’ll connect with my temple, the world will go black, and it will never, ever be light again.
All I can focus on is her foot. Looming closer and bigger and bigger and closer and it’s almost here and?—
A blur of leather flies between us.
Lev.
He hits Brittany and sends her soaring. Before she’s even hit the ground in a pile of limbs against the alley wall, he’s pulling his gun out and aiming it at her.
She moans and tries to move and he unloads a shot into the bricks next to her head. She screams.
“Move one more fucking time,” he snarls, “and I won’t miss.”
I try to push myself up. I can’t. I don’t even realize I’m groaning in pain until Lev whirls his gaze to me. He still has his gun trained on Brittany, but my unintentional distraction gives her the space to slip away.
Dammit.
He notices, too, but doesn’t hold it against me. He holsters his gun and whips out his phone. “Yeah, I need to report a mugging. She’s in bad shape.”