Chapter Eleven
Ava
I am so in over my head. Though I grew up around people in the mafia, my parents were the bottom feeders even if they were murderers, and Roman and Stepan were the princes of cruelty and destruction. I watch the passing streetlights through the side window to distract myself. The warmth lingers in my lower stomach from him pulling the strap against me. The visceral feeling makes me uneasy and conflicted.
Unlike his vodka smelling shit-bag of a brother, his amber scent was like the warm earth on a sunny day. The scent of endless possibility in the summer, not having a care in the world, mixing with the mystery of tobacco. The deep aroma makes my head haze with the growing awareness of how fucked I am.
We zig-zag through the traffic as we take the exit toward the airport. I watch the terminal signs pass but I am afraid to ask again what we were doing. My nagging questions will not help my cover and neither will my ability to compare him to summer.
He isn’t your friend Ava.
I have ended up where I have always strived to soften myself away from and I can’t help but wonder if I can walk away unscathed.
Pulling under the pick-up here sign, he rests his hand on the steering wheel. A loud THWAP makes my head quickly turn to the driver side window.
“You fucker.” Roman seethes out as he rolls his window down.
The skinny, but tall man, shifts his weight back and forth on his feet. Scars slice across the left side of his face, jumping over his eye. His mousy hair is short and disheveled, poking out from under a black beanie. He may be thinner than Roman but his bone structure is broad and he has a sort of boyish twinkle in his eye.
The man pumps his arms in and out with a smile, “No fucking welcome sign for your favorite?” Roman laughs at his odd movements, relieving any breath I was holding onto when he said fucking at him.
“Give it a break, Alexei.” Another voice trails from behind the mousy haired man, who is also wearing black.
Did I miss the memo about wearing black clothes to attend a funeral?
He is stocky with wide eyes. His hair is dark brown with two stripes of white, trailing from his temples with a curve to his nape.
Roman nods his head at the man, “Hello, Sergey.”
Sergey slowly grins a wide smile stretching to his ears at Roman, “Hello.”
“Get in, we are running a bit behind and I would like us to have a family dinner before the job,” Roman says. The two pile in the back and stare at me for a moment. “This is Ava, she wants to join the Bratva, so we are going to give her the welcome she deserves.” He looks at me in the eyes as he puts the SUV in gear.
“ Privet ,” both of the men say in unison like it wasn’t a big deal that I was here or they were just smart enough to not question Roman’s decisions.
Roman reaches over to my upper thigh and gives it a light squeeze before letting go. He whispers in a gravelly voice, “Ease up, the fun is just beginning,” he assures, but I’m scared. I don’t know what this warm welcome will be and though his squeeze was playful, his grin tells me otherwise.
Like a hunter who doesn’t want to spook their kill, so the meat doesn’t sour from fear.
We pull into an almost vacant Diner parking-lot, except for two cars parked on the side of the silver building. There is a red neon arrow sign jutting from the top, glowing with the occasional flicker at the tip, like the huge arrow would help us from missing the shiny, silver building. A man steps out of a white Honda as we park next to it. He is in all black outfit as well, but a royal blue bottle opener sways from his keys. The small print of amanita muscaria mushrooms becomes clearer as the bottle opener dangles to a stop.
He is as tall as Roman but more muscular than him, almost like a beefed-up teddy bear. He is wearing a black canvas jacket, black jeans and has as many tattoos as Roman. His neck has skulls and mushroom tattoos, extending upward and across the side of his head. They are barely visible though under his brown buzzed hair.
I turn around to the two men behind me. “I’m Ava.” Immediately I regret my strength in introducing myself as they both stare at my hand aloft. They jot their eyes to Roman as I retract my hand to my chest. “Uh… I don’t bite,” I laugh nervously.
Roman gives them a slight nod.
“I’m Alexei and this is Sergey.” I stare at Alexei’s scars as he points to Sergey. He clears his throat, “Well, I am ready to eat some American cheeseburgers!” he announces, pushing his sleeves up. Sergey is stiff as he cocks his head at me with a large smile and I could have sworn his eyes glow blue from how icy they are. Alexei exists as Roman leans to me and unlatches the glovebox. He pulls out a Glock and lifts his jacket, securing it in a black leather, shoulder holster.
As I exit the car and close the door, my stomach growls. I watch the men walk up wide concrete steps as I follow Roman. They are quiet, other than Alexei, but it doesn’t seem to bother them like they know to let him ramble. The man that met us here, in his out-of-place Honda Accord, opens the door for everyone to enter as I trail at the end of the line.
He stops me, “Who are you?”
“Hi… I… I’m Ava” is all I can respond with.
“Hmmm? I am Nikolai,” he says, staring down at me. Roman reaches through the door frame and grabs my wrist, pulling me to enter.
He lets go of my wrist as I follow him to a table and sit down on a metal chair next to him. He is a stranger to me, but familiar compared to his wolves. They take their seats and scour the menu with chatter. Red neon lights line the ceiling, reflecting off the aluminum tables and onto us.
“What would you like to eat?” Roman asks.
“Oh,” I shift my shoulders into a hunch, “I…I am not hungry,” I lie. I look down at the table, knowing I didn’t like to eat in front of anyone, including these men. I could hear the hired help, who was supposed to turn me into a lady, I had when I was younger. She would always say; Men don’t want to watch a pig hoard food down their throats.
Roman situates himself to face me, adjusting his hands on my chair for a moment, spinning it toward him and me with it. My legs press together as his squeeze on either side of mine. I stare in disbelief that he just did that.
The tip of his tongue swipes outward of his lower lip, bending it inward, “I don’t think you heard me. What would you like to eat? I know you are hungry, I could hear your stomach growling in the car,” he says in a deep sedately tone. I can feel his cock next to his leg, pressing against my outer thigh. My lower abdomen tingles as his eyes fall to my throat and back up to mine. His eyes are soft, pleading with me to eat something.
I hesitate as I listen to my heartbeat rhythmically soothe, focusing myself to keep calm. My eyes shoot to my hands in my lap, “The cheeseburger and fries,” I answer. It isn’t that I don’t like food by any means, but eating food is an intimate experience. In an already vulnerable state, I didn’t feel like they deserved that from me.
The waitress walks over, popping her gum as she flips her tiny notebook open. He keeps his eyes on me, “Sounds delicious, I think I will have the same.” He watches me as I turn my chair back to the table. He looks up at the waitress and kindly asks, “May we please have two cheeseburgers and fries and whatever they would like?” The others quiet down from joking around with each other, like siblings do at Thanksgiving dinner, and Roman and I’s interaction was just a normal part of the dysfunctional family feast.
With our bellies full, I situate myself comfortably in the seat belt. I haven’t been out to eat with anyone in a long time, especially under these circumstances. With Roman not being able to keep his nose out of my business and follow my every damn move, I start to second guess myself. I didn’t account for him being involved like this.
I was going to woo Stepan, hell, even trick him, and be in and out with evidence quickly, but now I have a six and a half foot man watching me with every intent to see me burn —or feed me and flirt? Maybe all three. But the only good thing is, if I could take anything good from this, my stalker had no idea how to find me.
The drive to the northeast of Baltimore was quiet except for the hum of the engine and various metal songs softly playing. The silence is growing under my skin, along with the mystery job he had in store for me tonight.
I cross my ankles, “Do you live with your brother?”
“For now, yes.” His eyes focus ahead. Alexei and Sergey were quiet as they sat behind us, and I couldn’t help wondering if they were driving me to the middle of nowhere to kill me.
“Do you think this will be a normal thing?” I asked.
“What is not normal is you all of a sudden wanting to try and be involved in something you have no idea about. I know what happened to your parents and I know about your debt, but now you want to dip deeper into the beast, acting like you want to be a part of it. That is what raises questions, not just from me, but from all of us.”
Leaning in, Alexei places his hand on the top of my seat, “Don’t drag us into this, maybe she just was bored.” He was standing up for me, sparking my interest if Roman was more than a boss to them. It was a death wish to question the boss, especially if they were in line to be the Pakhan.
I swivel my body to meet Alexei’s eyes, “Thank you. You get it, but some can’t.” I felt like I was finding my footing like I could take a step out on the edge of the blade a bit.
I just hope it doesn’t cut me.
Roman ignores us as he pulls into a dark, large lot and parks, “You stay here,” he says as he opens the door.
I scoff with confusion, “Um, I thought I was helping with something?”
“You are. Keep watch,” he says, shutting the door. The others exit and close their doors, leaving me alone in silence.
I gulp down a defeat. If he hadn’t stashed my phone I could have been ahead of this already and record. I watch as they walk across to a dimly lit, dilapidated building with a massive attached garage. I jump at the roar the door makes as Roman lifts it. Nikolai parks his car next to me and hops out, giving me a nod as I stare at him through the window. I fold my lips together as they all shadow Roman into the garage and pull the sliding mass to a shut.