Chapter 3 #2
“Did you come with anyone? Are they going to wonder where you went?”
“No, I’m alone.” Something in her tone catches my attention, but I don’t have the time to think about the sad note or why a young girl like her would be at a club like this by herself.
I step back and to the side, and after one more wary look, she slips past me and jogs barefoot toward the alley’s mouth.
I watch her go. Will she come back or will she drive off?
I hope she comes back because I don’t relish hiding both bodies on my own… without a car.
I hook my hands under Petyr’s armpits and drag him backward, dropping him next to the dumpster before moving toward my father.
Now that I’m closer, I can see the shoe still embedded in his neck.
“Impressive improvisation,” I mutter, wrenching it free.
Scooping up the other discarded shoe a few feet away, I toss them closer to the entrance.
I scan the area quickly, but it’s too dark to see where the rest of the broken shoe landed.
Hopefully, if someone discovers it, they’ll assume a drunken club goer is responsible.
“Should have laid off the blinis, old man.” I grunt, dragging my father by the front of his suit jacket. My chest burns with a cold, steady hatred. I can’t find a single cell in my body that cares he’s dead.
Headlights slice through the alley, bouncing off the brick wall. My hand automatically goes to the gun in the holster under my jacket—but when I recognize my car, I release the grip.
Sera pushes the driver’s side door open, and I jerk my chin toward the back of the car.
“Trunk.”
She pushes the button on the door, and the trunk pops open. “I can help,” she says, moving toward me.
She’s still too pale but seems to have found some inner reserves to draw on in the few minutes she’s been away. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Petyr’s slight body is easy to lift, but my father is a different story. Sera lifts his legs, her face set along grim lines, and together we heave his body into the trunk. I don’t miss the pained roll she gives her shoulder and frown.
How many other injuries does her dress conceal?
She looks at me then, eyes uncertain.
“Are the keys still in the car?” She nods. “Okay, let’s go.”
Sera climbs in the passenger seat without a word, but I pause for a moment, looking down at my father’s grey face before leaning in to hiss, “I hope you’re in hell right now with the rest of the demons, absolutely mortified that it was a young girl that finally got you, you sick fuck.”
My lips lift into a bitter smile, and I slam the trunk shut before heading for the driver’s side. “Most beautiful karmic payback I’ve ever seen.”
Inside, Sera’s folded in on herself—knees angled together, shoulders curved, arms wrapped tight like she’s trying to hold herself physically together. I place her shoes on her lap and then pull out of the alley, merging into the thick stream of cars in the nightclub district.
With the crowd and the chaos, the Audi won’t stand out to my father’s bouncers at the door, and if anyone notices the blood… Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.
We drive in silence for several minutes. I aim us toward the highway, eyes cutting from the road to the mirrors, but no one pulls out behind us.
As we approach the overpass, I ask, “North or south?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Where do you live? North or south?”
“North.”
I nod and take the ramp, accelerating to merge.
“What happens now?” Her voice is thin. She’s doing a good job of putting a brave face on the situation, but the underlying panic is clear in her voice.
“Right now, I’m taking you home. Do you have a roommate, or do you live alone?”
Suspicion sharpens her tone. “Why?”
“Because I want to know if there’s someone you’re going to have to explain all that blood to.”
She releases her ribs and splays her bloodstained hands in front of her. A strangled, gurgling sound slips out.
“Nope. No time to freak out, Little Warrior. I need you to wait until you are in the shower to lose it. Okay?”
The words come out rougher than I intend.
I hate tears. I never know what the fuck to do with them.
They make me feel useless, drowning me in memories I’ve spent years burying—the weight of my mother’s arms around me, her tears soaking through my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas while she whispered promises she couldn’t keep.
“I live alone,” she murmurs. “But it’s a doorman building. I don’t know how I’ll get past him with…” She lifts her hands limply, holding them up to show me.
There is blood in the creases of her palms, and dirt and debris embedded in the scrape. Dried streaks cover her wrists and forearms. I don’t think she’s aware of how much is on her face and neck, and I’m certainly not going to draw attention to it.
“We’ll get you cleaned up first.”
She gives me an address, and I follow the GPS. However, when I see the sign for the next exit, I pull off and park in the shadowed far corner of a convenience store.
“I’ll be right back.” I crack the car door open. “Wait here with the doors locked. Don’t make eye contact with anyone.” It’s late, and the parking lot is practically empty, but there’s no reason to tempt fate.
Sera doesn’t say anything, which makes my concern ratchet up. She should ask more questions. Ask why I stopped… What the plan is…
But she doesn’t, and while her acquiescence should be a relief, it’s not. I don’t know her, but something about her meekness feels unnatural.
A memory of her walking into the meeting last summer, not at all impressed by the collection of powerful men in the room, flashes in front of me. There’d been something about her even then that drew my attention. A vague ‘fuck you’ attitude that I’d found sexy as hell.
Now, she stares silently out the windshield, picking viciously at her cuticles, drawing fresh beads of blood.
I cover her hand with mine to stop the motion. “I’ll be right back.”
Her eyes swing to mine, and the dome light lets me see the gold and green swirls of her eyes. “I heard you the first time.”
She’s still in there.
I don’t let myself smile until I’m inside, grabbing bottles of water from the humming refrigerator units. Snagging two bags of peanut M&M’s off an end display, I take a huge stack of napkins, stuffing them in my pockets.
The clerk’s gaze drops to the dried blood on my hands and on my white dress shirt. His posture stiffens, but one look at my expression and he wisely decides he doesn’t want to know.
Sera jumps when I open the door, and after settling in the seat, I uncap a bottle of water and wet a napkin. “Here.”
Her fingers brush mine when she takes it. They’re freezing… and soft. The contact sends a jolt almost like an electric shock up my arm.
I ignore it.
She roughly scrubs her hands and wrists, causing the cheap brown paper to shred.
“Hey.”
Her eyes dart up. I take the napkin and toss it to the floor before wetting a new one and stroking it over the delicate skin on the inside of her forearms.
Her body stills as I stroke the cloth over the pale blue veins in her skin, and the air between us thickens with something I don’t quite understand.
Sera’s fingers close over my wrist, stopping the motion. “I can do it.”
Clearing my throat roughly, I nod, and the next few minutes pass in silence as I pass her napkin after wet napkin.
Her movements are more methodical now, and the majority of the blood lifts.
There is still blood under her broken nails, but fortunately the dark material of her dress hides the worst stains.
She no longer looks like someone who crawled through a crime scene.
She lifts her face under the dome light, inches from mine. “Did I get it all?”
“Your neck,” I grunt.
Her brow creases in confusion, so I reach over to flip down the visor’s mirror. She flinches at the sudden movement, like she thought I was going to hit her, and every muscle in my back goes rigid.
“Sorry,” she mutters, ducking her head.
I don’t answer. My jaw and chest are too tight.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
We're sitting in a parking lot with two dead bodies in the trunk, and I’m staring at this woman like I’ve never seen one before.
I turn to stare out my side window while she uses the visor mirror to eliminate the blood on her face and neck.
She hisses a tiny, pained breath as she skims the wound on her cheek, and the steering wheel creaks under my tightened grip.
I fight the urge to pull the body from the trunk and do more damage.
“Better?” she asks quietly.
I look back.
Without the smeared makeup, she looks even younger. Fresh. Innocent. Too young for the way my body is noticing her.
Blyat. I really am a depraved fuck.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck.
This is not the time, asshole, and certainly not fucking helpful.
My thickening cock doesn’t care.
“You’ll do,” I manage. “Nothing we can do about your bare feet. Just walk quickly. Not fast. Act like nothing’s wrong, and if you’re stopped—lie.”
“I can do that.” She swallows and nods.
The next few minutes pass in silence, but out of the corner of my eye, I see her chew her bottom lip. It’s a nervous gesture, but it does something unexpected to my pulse.
Finally, she blurts out the question I’ve been waiting for.
“Why are you helping me?”
Her voice is husky, and the bruises are already deepening across her windpipe. That bastard hurt her worse than I realized.
Should I take her to a hospital?
“Liev?” Sera whispers, eyes full of worry but strangely calm. “Why in the world would you help me? I just killed your father. You should hate me, and if not, turn me over to the police...” Her voice trails off. She knows who I am. What I am.
I start the car again and pull onto the road attempting to smother my anger enough to speak without scaring her. I can’t get the image of what my father’s hand wrapped around her throat must have looked like.
“Two reasons. One, he deserved to die. Long before tonight.”
I risk a glance at her. I should probably ask her exactly what happened, but I don’t really need to. I’ve known my father for thirty-five years, and I’m well aware of his attitude toward women.
They are to obey and be used as he sees fit. With force if necessary.
Her throat bobs, visible under the streetlamps we pass.
“I’ve wanted to kill him for years, but because of his position, I couldn’t without signing my death warrant.”
Silence stretches. “Because you’re both Russian mob.” A beat passes. “Bratva.”
I don’t bother answering.
“What’s number two?”
“You don’t deserve to die because of him.”
Her eyes go wide, breath catching in her throat.
Something shifts inside me. Pieces I didn’t know existed click into place.
I’ll protect this girl with my life if it comes to it.
And by the end of the night, it just might.