Chapter Four – Maria
“Bye, Maria!”
Smiling, I waved to the chatty eight-year-old brunette, who couldn’t stop talking about how excited she was about the class for today. She waved back, flashed a toothy grin, and disappeared down the hallway with her jiggling Hello Kitty backpack.
“See you inside, Anita.”
I liked her. I liked all the kids at PMAA. Listening to them go on and on about various jiu-jitsu lessons or what they’d had for breakfast could be such a delight... if I didn’t have to stand outside under the guise of waiting for each of my students to arrive while, in truth, I was hiding from Mr. George and not facing reality.
“Hi, Miss. Simons.” Another kid with ginger hair, ocean-blue eyes, and a high-pitched, sing-song voice waved at me. Paula McCarthy. Small, quiet, but super smart.
I returned the polite wave. “Hello, Paula. See you inside.”
Thankfully, she didn’t bother to stop for a chat.
One by one, more kids appeared in the parking lot as their parents dropped them off. Anxiety pressed in on me like a stack of boulders on my shoulders. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, feeling the sweat form on my palms, and made efforts to take my mind off personal disturbances and focus on work.
But it proved to be difficult.
The darn hand dryers weren’t the only thing waging wars in my head. Finn Jameson haunted my dreams at night and remained in my waking thoughts.
How the hell was I going to pay him fifty grand in a month?
Don’t panic, Maria.
Don’t panic.
I rubbed my palms. Squeezed my fingers. Forced a smile on my face when the bright and early students passed by, yelling loud greetings. But nothing worked.
In and out.
I exhaled and was on the verge of blowing up like a freaking dynamite when three sleek black Mercedes pulled up, each lining up behind the other. And when two men stepped down from each of the cars, dressed like the crazy combination of Men in Black from The Matrix , gone were the thoughts of hand dryers and loan sharks.
I assessed the convoy: gleaming rooftops under the morning sun, black-tinted windows, and, of course, the nanny.
Before the student came out with her golden glow and signature smile, I already knew who it was. The grand entrance announced her identity.
Polina R. Varkov.
If I needed any more convincing, the entourage was more than enough proof that she belonged to high society.
I couldn’t suppress it; my excitement level at seeing the little blonde girl boosted to over a hundred. In a short time, we had grown a friendship—I liked to call it—that possibly had more impact on my life than hers. The kid was just a breath of fresh air. It was nearly impossible for anyone not to appreciate her optimism and high spirits.
Her regular bodyguards—I’d learned their names were Kian and Evgeni—assumed their spots behind her, and her nanny walked by her side.
Polly caught my stare, and the corner of her lips pulled up even wider. I signaled her with a thumbs up. It was our way of greeting each other from a distance, and when she was close, we’d share a special handshake that we’d made up.
They’d almost made it past the park when, suddenly, and from almost out of nowhere, random shots were fired. Deafening ricochets of bullets cut through the silence in the air. Children in the classrooms screamed, and those yet to come out of their cars had their parents turn around and zoom off.
I dropped to my knees, my hands over my ears, and, in horror, watched Kian fall to the ground and Evgeni stagger and sway sidewards. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach at the sight of red flowing on the asphalt.
They’d been hit. And they’d been hit pretty badly.
Kian had taken a headshot, and Evgeni had two bullets in the side.
I wasn’t sure how to feel or react. But that was not until I made a quick scan and noticed that the nanny was among the many who had fled the parking lot. The realization hit me, and I was on my feet at the speed of lightning. Polina was there, standing all alone, screaming and searching but having nowhere to run.
The other men in black had guns out and were already firing randomly at the intruders. But their aims were not accurate enough, or else a black van wouldn’t have drifted to the center, opened their side door, and picked up a shrieking Polina.
Picked up Polina?
Fuck, no.
Those hoodlums had fucking kidnapped her!
They’d kidnapped her.
Everything happened so fast. My head was swimming, my heart was racing, and the adrenaline was revving up in my veins. When the door swung shut, I immediately entered flight or fight mode. But deep down in my heart, I knew exactly what I would do.
Fuck flight. I was going after those shitheads.
Thankfully, I’d chosen comfortable work clothes for classes today: stretchy skinny jeans and a white blouse. If I had to, I was going to put a bit of dirt on that white, but who fucking cared? Polly’s life was in danger.
In seconds, without processing any further thoughts, I was on the curb and in my car. And it was not surprising to see George running after me, chasing the car’s tail, waving his arms, and trying to stop me. I shifted the rearview mirror. It couldn’t be that ol’ George cared a hoot about me. Definitely those darn—
No time to think.
I put the gear in top speed and gripped the steering wheel tightly, my heart racing as I floored it. My sweet companion surged forward, and for a second, I thought it wasn’t strong enough to take the extra push. But the engine gave a healthy roar, throwing my doubt out the window.
Ahead, the van swerved and dodged, trying to shake me off its tail. Through their windows, they opened rapid fire and rained bullets on my windshield.
I ducked and cringed when part of the glass didn’t hold for very long. From small cracks, glass splinters flew, and I knew it wouldn’t last if they didn’t cease fire soon.
But the warning signs weren’t enough to deter me. I was determined not to lose sight of the van or let them escape. I refused to back down, my eyes fixed on the fleeing vehicle. Soon, the bullets came in trickles, and I suspected they had run out of ammo.
I pushed my car to its limit and watched as the speedometer climbed higher. The van’s taillights loomed closer, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples. I was gaining on them. But maybe it was too early for a victory dance.
Suddenly, the van swerved hard to the left, screeching and building a cloud of thick gray smoke behind it as it cut off a truck and sent it honking and veering to avoid a collision. I followed suit, my tires screeching in protest.
The tension in the air was palpable. My heart was in my throat as I pulled up alongside the van, our vehicles mere inches apart.
For a split second, our eyes met—mine and the driver’s—and I saw a flash of concern before he clenched his jaw and hardened his gaze. He had probably not expected to be chased by a seemingly defenseless young woman. Before he floored the van again, I’d already predicted his cause of action.
I kissed my steering wheel, feeling my heart squeeze painfully as I sideswiped—pushing my car forward and blocking the driver’s path. We crashed into each other, bumper to bumper, and smoke clouds rose in the air. For their sakes, I silently prayed not much damage was not done.
The driver climbed out of the intercepted vehicle with a deep scowl etched on his face, clearly not happy with my intrusion. He had his gun out and up in the air, shouting and cursing as loudly as he could to make sure every syllable word hit my ears.
Swiftly, I observed our surroundings. There were hardly any living souls around, just closed shops, deserted roads, and a few street boys who scurried out of sight the minute they saw guns.
“I am going to end you,” he said, his croaky voice regaining my attention. The anger in his tone should have made anyone hightail out of there without looking back.
I considered it—because I was no Wonder Woman with superhuman strength and speed, after all—and drew a quick conclusion: I could be many things, but I was no coward. And that was exactly how this story would end: Someone was certainly going down, but it wasn’t going to be me.
I stepped forward, and we were close enough now for me to rate him physically. Dark, crazed eyes that didn’t hold back his evil intentions, short dark hair, and long animal and figure tattoos stretched across his neck and around his ringed fingers.
Super unimpressive, by the way.
His tattoo artist had to be a kindergarten student. They just had to be.
Focus, Maria.
It was important to note an opponent’s physical strengths and weaknesses in a brawl, and after the assessment, I felt more confident.
The brute standing before me was hardly brawn or brain. He was tall, much taller than me, in fact, and had really broad shoulders, but his lean stature and poor posture gave him away.
I suppressed a grin.
This was going to be an easy one.
“You’ve got it all twisted, pretty boy,” I announced, flashed a sickly-sweet smile, folded my fingers into fists, and took a stance. “The only person that’s going to end today will be you .”
“Delusional little girl,” he spat and pointed the gun. “Foolish—”
The gun flew out of his hand and fell a considerable distance away from where we stood.
Stunned, he looked at it and dragged his gaze back to me.
I allowed my leg to linger in the air for a proud moment before slowly dropping it. His jaw dropped for the briefest second, and I rolled my eyes.
“Taekwondo? It’s called a dollyo chagi , fool. Come on now, what are you waiting for?”
That provoked him, and he came rushing in.
I ducked beneath his wild swing, my eyes locked on his momentarily exposed neck. In a flash, I struck, my fist connecting with a precise jab. He stumbled back, gasping, and I seized the opening—delivered a straightforward kick to the nuts between his legs and, with another kick, sent him crashing to the ground.
“Fuck!” He cursed loud enough for the birds in the air to hear, his face contorting with pain. “Son of a bitch—I’m going to fucking end you.”
He was stronger than I gave him credit for, but I was willing to bet that he didn’t know karate.
He recovered rather quickly and charged at me with an ugly snarl. I sidestepped his clumsy attack, using his momentum against him. He stumbled forward, and I met him with a flurry of punches, each one landing with more precision and speed. He swaggered backward, and I seized the opportunity to deliver a devastating roundhouse kick.
I watched him crash to the ground, defeated, and pointed out, “And that’s a mawashi geri . Felt fucking good, didn’t it?” I beamed at the unconscious man on the ground.
I might have done a celebratory dance but was barely given adequate time to catch my breath before the side door swung open and revealed the second man with Polly in his tight grasp, a knife held to her throat.
“Get the fuck back,” the man barked, and my feet moved accordingly.
This was not time for sharp retorts or tricks. Silver glinted under sunlight, and the blade’s sharpness mirrored the clear fear in her eyes. Her lips quivered, and her eyes wide with terror when he dragged her toward the driver’s side.
My mind raced with a mix of fear and adrenaline as I took in the scene. The bastard was trying to flee again. His meaty hand was clamped around her tiny wrist, his fingers digging into her fragile skin.
I felt a searing pain in my chest, like a knife twisting deep into my heart. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at her terrified face.
“I’m moving. Just...please, don’t hurt her,” I muttered, my heart thrumming in my ears.
He glanced at the unmoving body of his colleague slumped on the ground and yelled, “Stay the fuck away! Else I’m going to slice her like chicken bits.”
“I don’t want to be like chicken bits!” Polly cried.
“You shut the fuck up!” He hoisted her into the van and climbed in after her, still pointing the blade at her.
The man’s sneer was like a slap in the face, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He was enjoying this, enjoying her fear and pain. I felt a wave of rage wash over me, a primal urge to rip him apart and save her coursing through my veins and burning beneath my skin.
But I was paralyzed, frozen in place. All I could do was watch as he tried to start the vehicle. Polly met my gaze, and a figurative bulb lit up over my head.
I looked at her intensely.
Polina was one of the smartest little girls I knew. She could pick up on the faintest signals and know exactly what to do. Back at the Academy, I’d taught her a few personal tricks, and all of them started with one important ingredient I needed her to remember now: confidence.
I sucked in a deep breath and silently prayed that this crazy idea of mine would work.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Pull the breaks, Polly!”
She acted even faster than I would have. Her hands went down on the brakes, and she shoved him hard enough to loosen his grasp on the knife. The second it fell out, she threw it out the window and jumped out of the passenger’s side, running to me with open arms.
But the fight wasn’t over yet.
I grabbed the knife from the floor and positioned Polly behind when the man gingerly hopped out and grabbed a rod close by.
Where the fuck did that even come from?
He dragged the rod on the asphalt, taking menacing steps closer. “Hand over the girl.”
Polly moved back, and I mirrored her steps.
If he thought I would simply comply, he had another thing coming.
I scoffed. “Only in your dreams, mister.”
“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”
I lifted a shoulder and swished the knife in the air. “Blame my father.”
Apparently, the man was done with our chit-chat. He rushed toward us, the rod raised high in the air, and my heartbeat doubled when, from the periphery, I saw a fleet of black cars suddenly appear from every corner, surrounding us.
Shit.
Even the man in front of us paused.
I sidestepped, still protecting Polly, with my small knife in a firm position. But I couldn’t stop the sudden rush of anxiety that clawed at my nerves when more than a dozen men in black filed out of the car in an instant.
No....
I know I’d said I was no coward, but I had to be realistic. How was I supposed to deal with more enemy maniacs? It was just me against them with a scared six-year-old and a freaking knife.
Blood rushed, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears, blocking out all other sounds.
The car stopped, and the men filed out.
They had a weird formation. More of them waited by the cars while three advanced.
I searched their faces, struggling to even read their guarded expressions. And when my eyes met the one in the middle, my heart hitched to an immediate halt.
He possessed everything that could make anyone drop to their knees before him.
An aura so dark and commanding that even I swallowed in fear.
Tall frame, dark hair, drawn brows, full, tempting, bow-shaped lips, and broad shoulders that were nothing like the scrawny man’s on the ground. This one was different. He filled out his dark suit nicely and had a posture that could land a great deal of any kick without stressing.
But it wasn’t his unreal attractiveness that reeled me in.
He was oddly familiar, and I squinted to peer closer.
Blue.
Those eyes—the cruelty, the soulless look, and the determination in them. That jaw. Those fingers clenched around a silver pistol.
I instantly knew where and why I recognized him.
Something weighty, like an anchor, dropped to my stomach. This man... he was more dangerous than Mr. Scrawny and Mr. Rod and all the other hosts of villains at the Academy put together.
But nothing shocked me more than feeling Polly voluntarily slip out of my grasp and hearing her call him, “Daddy!” as she rushed to him with open arms.
Daddy?
This man was Polly’s father?
“Lev, take her...” he started with a harshness I recognized, and the rest of his words, in that silvery baritone, got lost in a string of other foreign speech I couldn’t understand.
I watched the taller man beside him grab Polly and swiftly drive away with her.
“Please...” someone whimpered, and I turned around.
Mr. Rod no longer had his rod. Now, his hands were held up at the back of his head, surrendering. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could blink, the empty road echoed with the crack of gunfire. The echoes lingered. I heard my breath cease.
And again, for the second time today, I watched a man go down to the ground with a stream of red spilling from his body, no life left in him.
I froze on the spot, stunned that, in seconds, the man I’d confronted was no longer breathing.
When I dragged my gaze back to the murderer, a wave of nausea washed over me. That same soulless look was there as he tucked his gun back between his belt—no remorse, no emotion, and no care that I was appalled by his actions.
He looked at me and didn’t say a word.
My flesh rose to goose pimples on my skin, and if I could, I would have sworn that my life began to flash before my eyes. Because… how the hell did I end up here?
Stuck in the middle of a real-life murder with a monster?
I would have liked to imagine that if I were given a chance to be interviewed and asked to tell the world about my life’s story, a part of it would go this way:
“So, tell us, Maria Simmons, how did your life change?”
“Oh, that. That’s an easy one. I was chasing a girl who got kidnapped—a student of mine—and somehow managed to stumble into the wrong story. And that very story started eighteen months ago.”