Lily
Tears flood my vision as I walk to my car. I’m overcome by emotion, blinded by it in a way I’ve never been before. Everything hits me at once, a dreadful tidal wave of sorrow, and I break down into ugly sobs as I take a seat behind the wheel of my car.
It’s such a stark contrast to what I just left. The air smells like stale French fries and old car oil, and it’s so humid that my face is already covered in a layer of sweat.
My car starts with a long shudder, and the fuel tank indicates I’m down to my last gallon. I’ll have to fill up on the way home. I could probably make it back, but then I’d just have to go and get gas later.
I sigh, wiping the tears from my eyes as I try to ignore Ivan’s car idling beside me. He’s just going to sit there until I leave.
If he’s smart, he won’t try to follow me. I don’t want to call the police on him, but I’m not beyond reporting him if he starts acting like a stalker. I had one of those before in high school when I worked late nights at a fast-food joint.
It was a creepy old man who came through the drive-through every single night that I worked. He followed me home one night and I turned into the police station on the way there. Never saw him again after that.
Granted, Ivan is a lot more attractive than that guy was, but that doesn’t mean he can get away with inserting himself into my life where he isn’t wanted. I’m starting fresh today, and that means wiping my tears and continuing what I would’ve done had there not been a shooting at Dimitri’s funeral.
My hands grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles feel like they’re about to split as I turn out of the parking lot and drive away. Ivan’s car disappears in my rearview mirror, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding once I’m certain he’s not following me.
“What a day,” I say to myself, shaking my head as I join traffic on the highway.
After being shot at, isolated from the rest of the free world, and screwed in a dozen different positions, it feels weird to be part of the free flow of traffic again. Nobody out here knows what I’ve gone through, and nobody cares.
It’s liberating, in a way, but it also feels like I’ve become trapped in a prison of my own making. Purely mental, sure, but it’s still preventing me from functioning like a normal person. No matter where I go or what I do, the war between the Bratva and the police will haunt me.
I won’t be able to relax for a long time after this.
My car exhaust sputters as I turn down the road to my apartment. There’s a gas station just a minute from where I live, and I like to fill up there and grab a candy bar every Friday. The guy who works there is named Jason. He’s super nice and always gives me free water in the summertime.
The sad thing is that he’s obviously poor, despite how much he works. I feel like good people always get the bad end of deal, and the wicked are the ones who prosper. People like Ivan are filthy rich, and everyone else is fighting for the scraps.
The stack of hundred-dollar bills is spread out in the seat beside me. I bet Jason wouldn’t mind having a few. I don’t need nearly this much for a new phone. The one I had before wasn’t even that good. It was an older model that had been refurbished.
I park the car in front of the pump. I’m about to get out and walk into the building when a police car pulls up to the pump behind me.
The back of my neck prickles, and my heart rate picks up speed. I take a deep breath, trying not to look suspicious. It’s just a cop. There are hundreds of them in this city, and they get gas here all the time. I haven’t committed any crimes, and I doubt they even know who I am.
Despite my line of reasoning being sound, I still feel uneasy. The cash on the seat beside me is enough to warrant suspicion. I scoop it up and shove it into my jacket pocket, getting out of the car and hurrying toward the building.
“Hey, woman in the black,” a stern voice calls from behind me.
I freeze in place, my entire body going stiff in an instant. There’s nobody else here but me and the police, which means there can be no mistaking whose attention he’s trying to get.
“Come here. I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
I turn around to see a bald cop in a blue uniform coming toward me, the sun reflecting off his silver plastic sunglasses. He’d look like a typical cop to me if he wasn’t so muscular. It’s honestly a bit scary, considering men don’t get that vascular unless they’re doing steroids.
“Let’s see some ID,” he says, his fists clenched as he comes toward me.
“What’s this about?” I ask, my voice coming out softly because of how dry my mouth suddenly is.
“I’m the one asking questions,” he says, coming to a stop in front of me. He latches his thumbs into his vest, tilting his head down at me. I can’t see his eyes, but I’m certain he’s attempting to stare holes through me. “ID. Now.”
I reach into my jacket to grab my license. I keep it there with my credit card and keys. Before I can find it, though, the officer grabs my hand, jerking it out of my pocket. “Don’t you go reaching for anything,” he barks.
“I’m getting my license!” I squeak, fear coursing through me.
“You’re going to get handcuffs if you don’t start complying,” he replies, reaching to his side and pulling a pair from his belt. “Better yet, I think you’re going to be coming with me. We can talk in my car.”
“What? No!” I try to pull away from him. His grip is hard, not as much as Ivan’s, but also less gentle. His nails are digging into my skin, and there’s a smirk on his face, like he enjoys causing me pain.
“If you resist, I’m going to break you fucking arm,” he snarls, twisting it behind my back.
I cry out from the sharp pain, but I haven’t forgotten what Ivan told me. If the police are willing to shoot at a funeral, they’re willing to kidnap and torture me for information. If I don’t get away from this freak, I could very well end up dead.
Getting charged for resisting arrest is the least of my worries right now.
I throw my foot back, hitting him squarely in the shin. His fingers loosen as he lets out a howl, and I take the opportunity to flee. I know I won’t be able to make it back to my car and leave without getting caught, so I run toward the side of the building, hoping to clear the metal gate and make it back to my house before he can catch up.
After that, I’m going to need to get in contact with Ivan. I’ve made a terrible mistake by going out on my own like this. I thought Ivan was exaggerating his claims to keep me with him, but now I realize he was stretching the truth at all.
“Get back here!” The sound of the cop’s boots falling heavily on the sunny pavement tells me he’s in close pursuit. I might not even be able to make it to the gate before he catches up.
A loud popping sound causes me to stumble for a moment. It sounds just like the gunshots at the funeral, only much closer. Am I being shot at? If so, he won’t have any trouble hitting me, considering how close he already is.
I turn my head as I continue running, only to realize the cop isn’t the one doing the shooting. Three cars have just pulled into the gas station, large black SUVs with tinted windows. One of them has a gun sticking out of the passenger’s side, and it appears to be aimed at the cop.
“Shit,” the cop wheezes, pulling the firearm from his belt.
I slow down to a jog, watching in awe and horror as a shower of bullets take him down in an instant. They explode against the front of the gas station, shattering the window and throwing bits of brick in every direction.
The cop collapses, his head cracked open in several places, and his vest already drenched in blood. The shooting continues, his feet jumping up like he’s still alive, but it’s only from the impact of the bullets. He’s already long gone.
I stop running, knowing it’s useless if I’m the next target, but I suspect these guys aren’t here to kill me. They must be with Ivan, or somehow related to the Bratva. Who else would pull up to a gas station and empty a thousand rounds at a lone police officer?
My heart slams in my chest, and I clutch it with my left hand as men jump out of the SUVs. They’re dressed in the same camouflage tactical gear like the guards at Ivan’s estate. They look like soldiers, but they’re obviously not.
“Don’t be afraid, Lily. We’re here to help,” a man with a deep Russian accent says as he comes toward me.
Every fiber in my body screams at me to run from him, but I have no choice but to trust him. What else can I do when he’s holding a rifle in his hands while I stand defenseless?
I look over at the cop, ripped to pieces by more bullets than he’s probably ever fired in his lifetime, training included. What they did to him was beyond reasonable force, and nobody here seems the least bit bothered by it. In fact, the half dozen armed Bratva soldiers seem rather pleased with themselves.
“We will meet with Ivan at the rendezvous point,” the soldier in front of me says, resting his hand on my shoulder. “You are safe now.”
Relief floods my entire body, but it comes with the twisting motion of regret in my stomach. Ivan is going to be so pleased when I come running back to him. Maybe he does want to help me, but I hate that I came back to him so quickly. It makes me feel like a failure.
I drop my head, looking at my dirty shoes as we walk past the cop’s broken body on the way to one of the SUVs. A siren goes off in the distance, and I’m hurried into the vehicle, leaving my own car behind.