Chapter Twelve
Roman
I wanted to grab that pretty plump face of hers and devour her at the diner. Her curiosities grow, falling into me, ricocheting as she tries to hide herself. She doesn’t know how beautiful her body is, but I’ll make sure she does. I am sure she felt my stiff cock pressing against the leg of my pants, when I spun her in that chair. Her pouty glistening lips, like she did something wrong. I wanted to take her on that table for that alone, if not to show her how to be properly worshiped. But I want her to cry out for it, crawl to it, and perfectly beg for it.
If I find out who made her self-conscious about eating, they will burn. Humans deserve the pleasure of eating, not shame. I remembered when the boys and I would live off of cabbage and stale bread for weeks at a time, in the name of craving food is a weakness, at St. Kilsreny.
But for now, business. It’s not the time to get my dick stuck in my brain, no matter how much I wanted to part her lips with it.
Lights blind my eyes for a moment, before I see three men standing next to a sleek car. One is holding a duffle bag and the others stand with their arms crossed, like they were waiting longer than they wanted to.
Nikolai steps to my side as I light my cigarette, “Nice fucking night, right?” I say to Ronnie. He is the lead for this deal and pretty well known in the Italian mob as the errand boy to the second in command. His long hair is in a bun, and he and his men’s outfits were almost matching with their brown slacks and gray athletic shirts tucked-in.
I gotta hand it to them though, nice coordination. Like a mafia boy band or some shit.
I shake my head and chuckle at the thought as Ronnie steps forward with his arms out. “Roman Volokhov, I haven’t seen you since you were a little shit-nosed kid. Though, I hear you still are a fucking puss-bag of a man. That school Daddy sent you to didn’t work huh? Because I haven’t seen you do shit around here.”
I drag off my cigarette, pulling the smoke into my lungs as the boys stand by my side. I ignore him, “I came with the goods as requested,” I shout across the garage.
“Well then, where are they? Your brother texted me about possibly another gift with it.” Ronnie strides toward me, crisp and stiff with his movements as he rubs his palms together. His head dodges to the side to try and peek behind us, like we were hiding it from him.
When he reaches me, a sigh comes out of Alexei’s mouth as he tries to compose his itch to not fistfight like a school boy. These three men were known for taxing the people in their neighborhood, and making deals with politicians to smuggle drugs to their side of town.
Which makes them fair game.
I lie keeping still, “They are out front. But first, where is the cash?”
Ronnie calls out to his men and they slide over the bag. Sergey unzips the money and gives me a nod.
Ronnie narrows his eyes and walks past us, “You know what I like about Autumn, Roman? It is the wedding preparation season. Call me sappy, but sadly I am not too happy about my beautiful cousin marrying your dumb-fuck brother.” He isn’t wrong about the brother part.
I face him flicking my cigarette to the cold cement, thinking about how his blood would pool nicely on it. I was ready for what this fucker really wants or maybe what I crave. The thrill to keep this kind of scum out of our cities.
I put my hand in my pocket as Ronnie lifts the garage door.
This is it .
I mentally check off the names of the men, repeating them over and over.
Ronnie points to the SUV, “Who is the pretty girl?” His face drops, realizing there are no crates in those cars, “You don’t have shit, Volokhov! But I’ll get my money's worth,” he says, looking at Ava.
The joy and hate of this realization contorts a sinful smile, spanning to my ears. I make eye contact with Ava as hers widens, lunging her hands to the door handle, yanking over and over to try to escape. She must have realized that the doors to the SUV can only be unlocked from the outside because she leans herself up over the dash and yells something.
I point to my ear and mouth the words I can’t hear you .
Ronnie nods to his men and examines my face as I pause on Ava’s fear. He sprints, grabbing a crowbar from the nearest wall, toward the SUV. I bolt after him and all I see is red.
Ava
The door to the garage opens, uncovering a stranger looking at me. I try to escape this damn car but there is no way I can unlock it from the inside. I am frantically searching, running my fingers over the door for some sort of button but I give up.
I am screwed.
I lean in over the dashboard and yell at Roman, “You fucking shit head! He is going to kill me!” The lanky stranger with a man-bun stomps toward me with a crowbar, dragging behind him. I set myself back in the seat and search for anything I could defend myself with. There is just a box of tissues on the floorboard and a book in Russian.
As he nears the hood of the car I watch Nikolai, Sergey and Alexei start to duck for cover from the gun fire. Roman’s eyes mangle into a glare as he strides with ease toward the guy coming straight for me. It was like I couldn't look away as I anticipate his rage, approaching the hood of the car.
The man lifts the crow bar smashing it over and over into the hood. Grunting, he inches it upward with every blow to the windshield. The glass bounced as the metal came into contact, but I brace my hands on my knees, plastering myself against the seat.
He looks at my face with wide eyes like he was reaching for my soul, “I will fucking use you up, kill you and then kill your little fucking boyfriend!” The man screams.
He looks back as he extracts his gun from his belt holster. I pull my legs up to my chest as I swivel onto my back. Kicking both legs, I try to shatter the side window, over and over. Using all my energy to escape death, I give up. There is no use. As the man turns with his gun ready to blow him away, Roman snaps his arm, breaking it with a descent of a crusade. The man screams, clutching his arm inward as he drops the gun to his feet and the crowbar with it.
I sit up as Roman yells into his ear, “You fucking went after the wrong one you thick headed fucking pile of shit.” The disarray of the grunts and yelling are like when I would scream in the pool as a kid, and no matter how hard I screamed the water strangled the sound into a thin band of suffocation. He picks up the crow bar as he grabs the man's hair-bun. Holding his head up, Roman bashes his knee and then his ribs.
The man struggles to stand as he leans on the front of the hood, planting his good arm down. I force down the urge to vomit as the man's bone sticks out of his flesh.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Roman pulls out his gun and places the barrel to the man’s temple. He looks at the tears filling my eyes as I grip the dashboard.
For you, My Sweet Rabbit, he mouths. But that can’t be right. There is no way. For one, I can’t read lips, and for two, I feel like I'm going absolutely fucking mad with everything going on. I shut my eyes as fast as I can, compacting myself into a ball.
Bang
All I can hear is a loud sizzle from the gunfire as it sends a wave through my ears, flossing my brain. I open my eyes over my forearms to a blood shower on the hood of the car. Roman hauls the man by the nape of his shirt, scraping his face on the ground as he walks toward the garage. Sergey meets him halfway, taking over with a nod.
Roman shucks his leather jacket off as he unlocks the SUV. I am crumbling as the tears roll down my cheeks. I know what death is, it's inevitable in this world, but that doesn’t mean it's easy for me. Nikolai, Sergey, Alexei and Roman’s eyes are emotionless as their mouths straighten, satisfied. The familiar weight of their expressionless faces is like when my parents would tell me about how many bodies they dropped in a day.
I sit still as I try to listen to Roman standing outside of his door, hoping I hear anything but all I hear is silence. Nikolai shakes his head at Roman slowly, like he was telling him not to do something but it was not in disappointment.
What would he be saying no to his boss about?
I rub the cuffs of my sleeves on my lower eyelids, wiping the tears away because I either let the tears flow and collapse or I gulp them down and keep moving. No matter the sickness that stirs in me, a relief that a man is dead.
These monsters need to pay for everything. All of them.
Roman may have saved my life though because who knows what man-bun was really going to do to me. But I know it wasn’t to have fucking tea and talk about the universe.
Roman opens the driver’s side and sits like it was any other day getting in the car to run errands. He places his wrist lazily on the steering wheel as he tosses his bloodied jacket in the back seat. The silence drones, as I try to ease my shaking hands. He grabs my wrist and pulls me in close to his face as he leans inward over the center console.
His voice is low, “I told you who I was and this is no place for a sweet cottontail like you.”
As his grip loosens on my wrist, “Are you, Are you…. Why did you call me that?” I mumble. He hasn’t called me Rabbit yet, but maybe it was just coincidence because the logo of the Cafe is an actual fucking rabbit.
Shawn has to be the stalker, and the way he was acting today made me certain he was. It made sense with him always coming in every day, twice a day, ordering the same coffee, the restaurant, and tonight when he edged closer like he was ready to eat my flesh. Roman wouldn’t want anyone like me. He is the kind of man that gets his fill and on to the next, no obsessions, emotions or strings attached. Shawn on the other hand is the kind of man that his obsession would leave a woman dead. I know what mafia men are and they are not afraid to let others know, but weird stalkers are unpredictable.
Roman eases his stature, settling into my nape, inhaling, “Because you are soft and fragile, and that is the very reason you are a cottontail.” He licks his lips, folding them inward as he watches mine. “You are in a place you shouldn’t be, like the pesky cottontails that go into gardens and steal what is not theirs. In a place where they don’t belong and will never belong.” His dimly lit eyes meet mine before he puts the keys in the ignition. The rain began to pierce the hood of the SUV and it was like ink in water, swirling the blood into spirals before descending its streaks down the sides. The floods themselves began to wash away Roman’s deadly transgressions, and mine for reveling in the enjoyment of him saving me.
“Let’s get you to the house, shall we?”
Ava
The windshield wipers rhythmically bounce back and forth, like how I felt about that man's death. My knees bounce as he taps a button on his steering wheel. Soft classical music dances past us, filling every pore of me, including the ache I have in my stomach, calming my body and stimming bounce.
“You don’t seem like a classical guy,” I blurt out and instantly regret saying that.
“Are you saying I am not classy?” Roman’s eyebrow raise in curiosity.
“Well, no… I just mean with the all black and leather get-up.” I wave my hand around.
“Black is a classy color is it not? Or is this princess used to paisley print shirts with an earpiece hanging from a man's ear?” he shoots back a flirty smile.
I roll my eyes and scoff, looking away.
Roman yanks the steering wheel, skidding to the side of the road and unbuckles his seatbelt. He bends to me and grazes his nose on my cheek, “Did anyone ever tell you that if you roll your eyes enough, they will get stuck like that? Or do I need to teach you about that too? As well as not to judge someone because they don’t fit in a pristine box with a bow?” Warmth radiates off of him, sending tingles across my skin. He pulls his face away from mine slightly with heavy eyes, set on my mouth waiting for a response.
My nipples harden and my core warms at his breath against my jaw and the thought of him saving me. I've never had anyone do that for me. If anything it was always the complete opposite with my parents saying; do what you want with her. I've always had to save myself.
“Thank you,” I whisper, leaning my head down, “I mean, for saving me,” I add.
He grabs my chin and lifts it with a large exhale of frustration, “You don’t have to look away from me, sweet girl,” his fingers run down the center of my neck, “Do you want to know why I love classical music?” He leans into my ear as his breath graces my skin. My lower abdomen tingles with heat as I lean my head into his lips. His mystery is like a magnet, pulling me inward toward the fractals of disorder. I shake my head slowly. “Mmmm that’s right, it’s because it sings from a place that most humans disregard,” He whispers as his hand slowly, too slowly, strokes my collarbone, “It comes from a place of appreciating sorrow and relishing in the joy of sadness. Where the sensual notes play on the edge of the shadows, bouncing back and forth, from light to dark, like the dance of death. It's a ritual of mine after I kill anyone, and has been since my first.”
I close my eyes to conceal the fear and the want for his touch.
“Do you know what that dance is like?” he asks and clenches his hand around my neck. My eyes bolt open as he stares down at me, squeezing on the sides.
“Please,” I whimper out.
But it feels so good.
He groans, “You do know, don't you? Tonight was that dance, and everything I have warned you about. Don’t you know? If you follow the Rabbit, you're bound to the abyss,” he says with a smile. “You just so happen to have me as the chauffeur, like the ferryman to hell.” He releases his grip but keeps his face close, lowering his chin as he watches my chest rise and fall.
Tears well in my eyes because he knows I have been close to death and not only tonight. How could he not know about his fucking brother almost beating me to death? I brush my thumb over the scars through my pants. He doesn’t get that piece of me. I am here to get a piece of them.
I gulp, “How… how would you know?” He licks his lower lip with a swipe and keeps his focus on the tear rolling over my cheek.
He brushes the tear away with his thumb and plunges it into my mouth, “Circle your tongue, sweet girl,” he demands. I swirl my tongue, closing my eyes until the salt is all I can taste. He removes his hand, “You did good tonight,” he praises as he, tightens the seatbelt between my tits, stroking his hand down and over my nipple. I squeeze my legs together to try and help the ache I have in my pussy.
He unpins me and I straightens in his seat as I lower my face, searching for the answer to either play the reckless flirt in this moment, or stand in silent strength. The growing heat in my lower abdomen, conflicting with my hatred for him and his family, makes my chest hollow. I cross my arms to fill the emptiness, hoping he gets the fucking message. I hate how he plays on my emotions and I hate how I am second guessing my plan.
He pulls back onto the road and his focus is forward, but there is a worry in his eyes like tenseness was tugging at the corners. I am not sure if it is because of me, or something else. We drive down the narrow street as strings in E minor play in the darkness around us until we reach the open iron gates, welcoming my return.
Home, sweet home.