Chapter 3Hazel
3
Hazel
A dull pain pounds inside my head. I utter a low moan and try to sit up. Nausea rolls in my stomach. I swallow bile back down and try to breathe through the sensation. Pain sears between my temples, sending stars bursting across my vision as I try to figure out where I am and what’s happening.
I blink and try to bring the blurry shapes hovering over me into focus. The last thing I remember is looking through a broken window, but as I see a man’s glaring face looming inches from mine and hear the raggedness of his breathing, panic screams to the surface of my brain.
Panting, I scramble to sit, tucking my knees up to my chest, eyes darting around the room. A sudden chill sends goose bumps traveling across my skin. The memory of seeing the guns in the warehouse and being dragged into it races back through my mind.
“What is going on?” I manage to croak out. “What do you want with me? Who are you?”
Six men stare down at me with intimidating, icy scowls.
“We’ll be the ones asking the questions here,” a man with a buzz cut and gold rings on every finger says with a snarl.
The men encircle me. A shiver crawls up my spine and I try to recoil from them, but one of them grabs me by the arm before I can make it even a foot away.
A scream pierces the air, and it takes me a moment to realize the sound is coming from my own throat.
The man’s muscles bulge in his arms like tangled roots as he drags me across the cold, dirty warehouse floor.
“Please stop,” I cry.
“Quiet,” he commands, “or I’ll have to knock you out again.”
It takes all my willpower to clamp my mouth shut. I have to stay awake for this, or I’m afraid I’ll never wake up again. I’m lucky enough not to be dead already.
The man shoves me into a corner and my back hits the solid wall, knocking the breath from my lungs.
The other men trudge in my direction, huddling around me in a circle again, trapping me with their imposing figures.
“What do you want?” I ask again, tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m trying so hard to be strong but it’s impossible. I’m not built for this kind of treatment.
“Who sent you?” the one who dragged me across the floor demands.
“Nobody,” I squeak.
He takes a step closer, and I flinch, raising my arms up by my head. “Please, don’t do this. I was just walking by. I don’t know anything.”
“You were staring into the window,” he shouts. “What were you looking for?”
I swallow hard, my eyes jumping from him to the men behind him, all wearing fierce expressions as if they want to break and smash something.
“Tie her up,” one in the back grounds out through clenched teeth. He has tattoo sleeves running up and down both arms, trailing up his neck.
“Undress her,” another says. “Make sure she isn’t hiding anything.”
“Look in her purse. Find her ID. Maybe if we find out her name and where she lives, it will encourage her to get chattier.” The man who says it rakes his tongue across his teeth with a thirsty glint in his eyes and a grin on his lips that makes me tremble.
“I mean no harm,” I urge. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Liar,” the man who dragged me hisses, his scathing glare cutting through me like a knife.
“I still say we tie her up and torture her until she talks,” tattoo sleeves suggests, his voice brimming with excitement.
“Will you all please just shut up .” The ringleader’s voice is like a sledgehammer coming down and the room goes quiet. His chest rises and falls fast. “I can’t think with you morons making all these suggestions.”
He swivels to face me. The pad of his thumb cocks his gun. It makes a tiny clicking sound. The chrome of the barrel is blindingly shiny like the reflection of the sun on a body of water. My breath catches and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
“I don’t want to die,” I squeak. “Please let me go. I won’t say anything. I won’t tell anyone. Please .”
“Why would we let you go?” The man points his gun at me. His facial expression is benign. It’s like he’s having a casual conversation that he’s indifferent about. His sudden calmness unnerves me.
I glance around the room. The people who had been looking at the guns are gone. The men surrounding me must be the weapons dealers.
I’m utterly alone. A million scenarios play out in my mind. Me running and getting away. Me running and them shooting me in the back of the head. Me running and them pulling me back, kicking and beating me to death.
A rattly sob shatters like glass inside my chest. I’m going to die here, and it’s all because I’m an overambitious workaholic.
“Who sent you,” the man growls, impatience making his face flush.
I stare at my feet. My knees are still tucked close to my body. I say nothing.
“She’s not going to give us anything,” one of the others declares, “you’ll just have to kill her.”
“Yeah, get it over with. We don’t have time for this,” one wearing a leather jacket, even though it’s a million degrees outside, says.
The man holding the gun brings the trigger closer to me. His steps echo through the room. The only other sound is my hollow breathing. My pulse pounds through my eardrums. My blood is hot, rushing through my brain, making me lightheaded.
The man brings the gun down to the center of my forehead. My organs liquify. I’m shaking to my core.
“Stubbornness gets you killed. A hard lesson to learn.” He clicks his tongue as if it shames him to murder me, but that’s just the way of business.
Hot tears roll down my face. I force myself to lift my gaze and look into the eyes of a killer. My killer. I hope my family finds peace. I hope that they bring my death to justice. I hope they will fight for me, even when I’m gone.
“You’ve chosen this,” he whispers as if it’s my fault he must kill me.
My throat seals shut. I take a deep breath through my nose, maybe the last one I’ll ever get. I refuse to give these men any information. They’ll find it on their own, but at least I won’t die with the guilt in knowing that I sold out innocent people. I picture Veronica at her desk again, her headphones on, her hot pink painted nails clacking away at her keyboard as she hums to the beat of her music.
There’s no way out of this. Even if I try to run, he’ll shoot me anyway, or the men will grab me and do unspeakable things to my body.
Just as I’m resigning myself to my fate, I hear a door burst open and loud footsteps pounding across the floor.
Two men rush in, guns aiming at the group. “Drop your weapons!” a grizzly of a man shouts. His shoulders are like a mountain, his head like a boulder. His eyes are vicious as he points a handgun at the men surrounding me.
A loud bang goes off. My eardrums nearly explode from the sound of it. I scream and instinctively press my palms to the sides of my temples, dropping my head to my knees.
Another bang shatters the air around me. My head snaps back up, my eyes darting, trying to find the danger so I can try to get away from it. I want to spring to my feet and flee, but fear freezes me in place, refusing to let me save myself.
Another man emerges from behind the towering man. He’s holding a pistol too, pointing it at the thugs.
“I said drop your weapons now!” He roars. The tendons in his neck bulge. He towers over most of the men. He’s wearing an expensive tailored suit with no tie, the blazer the color of slate, matching the sharpness of his piercing gray eyes.
My breath catches for a moment, and I’m stunned, my mouth dropping open. I recognize this man charging forward, yelling orders with an air of authority and not a single ounce of fear.
It’s David Petrov, the Russian mafia boss. I instantly recognize him from all the research I’ve been doing on his crime rings the last few weeks.
My heart does a giant leap, stemming from adrenaline and fear, but also, something else. A thrill?
He’s so attractive in a way that a man can be when he can draw the attention of the entire room, with or without violence, I know he often has this type of presence.
He exudes confidence and danger. His broad shoulders are straight, the angles of his cheekbones sharp, his jawline enough to make any woman feel dizzy.
I cower in the corner, tremors going through my bones as I watch him and his male companion moving with determination.
The gun running men scatter like bugs, but I notice they are shooting first. I clutch my head in my hands, staring at the gun fight through my fingers. I’m terrified that I’ll be hit with a stray. Maybe I already have and just haven’t noticed. Adrenaline can do that to you.
A few men in the back I hadn’t noticed before run out of the warehouse. David whirls around, his eyes landing on me and narrowing.
His helper starts to race toward the door to chase the others, but David holds a hand up. “Wait!”
The man halts in his tracks and turns on his heels.
“Stop,” David says. He’s used to getting his way, giving out orders and having them be obeyed without question.
I try to swallow but my throat feels tight and dry. David starts walking toward me, his expensive, shiny shoes now covered in a layer of dirt and dust. I feel like he’d be more bothered by that than almost getting shot.
His eyes train on me and I fix my gaze right back at him, unable to look away. Plus, I don’t want to look at the still, lifeless bodies sprawled on the floor around me. Anything is better than that, even the devilish icon that is David Petrov.
The hard angles in his face dissolve into something resembling protection. Confusion courses through me like a pulse, dissolving my fear a little. He can’t possible be here to protect me. He’s the very man I came to ruin.
He walks slower when he approaches me, stopping at a careful six foot distance. He reaches out a large hand and I stare at it, then stare at him, unmoving.
“Look at you,” he says, without an ounce of venom in his voice. “You’re shaking.”
I have no voice. I can’t move.
He takes another cautious step toward me.
“Miroslav?” He calls out, but his eyes never waver from mine.
“Yeah boss?” The large man clomps over to us.
He stops next to David, his head tilting as he gives me a curious glance.
David’s eyes roam over me as if I’m an impressionistic painting he’s trying to figure out. “Take her back to my condo in the city.”
“No, please,” I say in barely a whisper. My voice is burning in my throat, harsh from the screaming.
Somehow, I find my footing and slide myself up the wall to a standing position. I clasp my fingers together and start sobbing and begging like a blubbering mess. My nose and eyes are wet. My face feels puffy and hot. “I’ll do what you want, just please don’t hurt me.”
“Relax.” David isn’t smiling, but his eyes are soft. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”
He bends his knees, lowering himself to the ground. He sets his gun down, inching his way back up to standing with his arms raised by his sides. His eyebrows lift as he looks at me.
See? His expression seems to say. I keep my promises .
He glances at Miroslav and nods. “Put your gun down.”
Miroslav, on the other hand, is more hesitant to do this. He licks his lips and shifts his weight. “Are you sure about this boss?”
“Do it.” There’s no room for debate when the words leave his mouth.
Miroslav lowers his gun to the ground, giving me a dirty look. It’s clear he doesn’t trust me, but that makes more sense than how David is behaving.
David gives his man a satisfied nod before returning his gaze to me. “We don’t want to frighten this lady any further, now do we?”
Beside him, Miroslav shakes his head but says, “who is she?”
“Good question.” David gives me an expectant glance.
I shake my head. “I’m no one. No one important, I mean. I was just walking by and…”
“Take her to the condo,” David says again, cutting me off. He gives me a reassuring look. “You’ll be safe there.”
When I don’t move, Miroslav takes a step forward. I flinch and make a reflexive whimpering sound.
“You heard him,” Miroslav says and gives me a look that says he doesn’t want to do this anymore than I do, but we don’t have a choice.
I put one foot in front of the other, my arms coiling around my chest, every muscle in my body taut with tension. I weave around the blood and the limp arms and legs on the floor, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me.
Miroslav drags his feet as he walks, his wide shoulders rocking side to side with the attitude of someone reluctant to comply. David’s eyes roam over me again, making me feel a concoction of emotions. Exposed, abused, protected, fearful, and relieved.
“I’ll take care of things here. I’ll call for a crew,” David calls out.
“Ok, boss,” Miroslav sighs, rubbing his forehead as if he’s seen it all, and this gun fight isn’t even the tip of the iceberg. His eyes are tired, and his expression is drawn and grave. He’s seen so much suffering that it only makes him tired, not fearful or sad.
We walk outside and the oppressive heat hits me, the unrelenting sun beating down on my face. My eyes burn from the bright light, and the humidity hasn’t gotten any better. My dress clings to my body again, and I feel a prickle across my skin.
I glance into the warehouse one last time. David is still staring at me, standing deathly still like a Greek statue. The door slams closed, his distracting figure disappearing behind it.
Miroslav urges me forward with a hand on my back toward an armored vehicle.
“Come on,” he says. “We need to get you out of here.”
My eyes land on the warehouse again. How can a man associated with so much evil, crime and violence be the one who just saved me?
More importantly, why did I feel a heat spread through me when his eyes burned into mine? Shouldn’t I loathe him with every fiber of my being? He’s the reason for all the violence in the city, the root cause of so much suffering.
I shouldn’t be going anywhere with this stranger. I should be running for my life. But as he puts me in the passenger seat, straps my seatbelt on for me, and cranks the engine, the cold blast of air conditioner levels my thoughts and turns my sanity to rubble. All I want to do is get to safety. If it’s in this car, then so be it.
We peel out of the parking lot. I watch the warehouse in the side mirror until we round a corner.
Who is this David Petrov? I realize in that moment that the research I’ve done to this point are far more complex in real life than I can ever imagine. One thing is clear. I’m in way over my head.