37. Luna
37
LUNA
M y breath catches as he comes to stand in front of me. He holds out his hand for me to take it, and I’m momentarily dumbfounded and stare down at his hand like I’ve never seen it before. Which works out in my favor because I realize how it would look if I just took his hand and rode off into the sunset with him.
My mind stutters… what is he even doing here? Who is this man that has such a reach that he can just appear randomly out of nowhere? Here, in my father’s home?
He flutters his fingers, urging me to take his hand; still, I don’t move. It’s only when my father speaks that the spell is broken and I turn away from Attila.
“Not so fast,” my father warns, throwing an arm out in front of me. It’s a move that has nothing to do with protection and everything to do with ownership and payment. “Who are you?”
“Does it matter?” Attila asks, turning to face my father. If it were at all possible, I could swear that my father shrunk back at that moment.
“Of course it matters. I need to know who I’m transacting with.”
“You invited all these people here tonight,” Attila reminds him. “Therefore, you’re transacting with one of them. The who is not important.”
They’re loud enough that the guests can hear. Murmurs start circulating amongst them, and everyone turns to watch on in curiosity. Interested in the man who bought me. The enigma who won’t give a name and is eager to get me home to his bed.
“It’s important. I need to know who I’m doing business with. And how will payment be made?”
Attila brings out his phone, taps a few numbers, then holds the phone up for all to see.
“I’ll make the payment now then be on my way,” he says.
My father eyes him suspiciously. For some reason, he’s not satisfied with this transaction, and I wonder if it’s because he was expecting more money. Is he going to renege on this sale too, and make another enemy other than Nestor?
“I need to know your name,” my father says. “And see your face.” He pulls me closer to him, holding me roughly by the arm. I see the way that Attila’s jaw locks when he sees the firm hold of my father’s fingers around my arm.
Attila sighs like he’s bored and just wants to be done with this. But I guess he knows what he’s doing, otherwise he wouldn’t be so calm and confident as he faces my father.
“Take your hands off her,” Attila commands, his voice a low growl. If anything, my father holds on tighter.
“Show me your face.”
Attila lifts his hand to his mask and pushes it up past his forehead until it’s resting on the top of his head. His dark hair is an impeccable mass of strands, his eyes hard and unforgiving. I’d be afraid if I were in my father’s shoes. I’d be very afraid.
I watch as my father’s face contorts to one of misunderstanding. He doesn’t know this guess he’s invited into his home. Is he a gatecrasher? How did he get past the guards? I know exactly what my father is thinking, because he’s become so predictable.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“You can call me Attila.”
* * *
All hell breaks loose. One minute I’m standing in front of Attila, the next minute, my father has grabbed me and is using me as a shield, a knife pressed into my side. I know Attila sees the knife, because he quietly directs my eyes to his, telling me it’s going to be okay. He can’t have me falling apart right now. But there’s too much activity going on around me and I find it hard to keep my eyes on him.
Guests are spilling out of the ballroom, knocking over each other in a bid to leave quickly and safely. Others look on in curiosity as men come running down the length of the room, from all angles, pointing their guns on us and then at one another, before fighting erupts.
A gunshot rings out. Attila doesn’t bat an eyelid. He has his laser focus on me and my father, a hard glint in his eyes. It’s scaring me that he won’t look away just to see what’s happening. Like he already knows… like he doesn’t care. The house could go up in flames right now, but still he doesn’t care.
“This is what’s going to happen,” Attila tells my father. “You step away from the girl, turn around, and walk away. It’s the only chance you have of survival.” He is calm and cool, his voice barely rising. Just another conversation over tea and cookies.
My father sneers, then presses the knife into my side until he cuts through the dress and nicks my skin, readying himself to go deeper. I suck in a breath, holding back the curse I’m longing to hurl at him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Attila warns.
“Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe you’ll just let me walk out of here alive?” my father hisses.
“No. But I think it matters to you which way you die.”
This earns me another shove and the knife slides in deeper, penetrating my skin until warm liquid drizzles down my body. I can feel it as it slides down my hip and coats my thighs. I don’t know how much Attila sees, but his eyes become harder, darker — fathomless pools of black.
“You have a death wish, Coyin?”
“The greatest pleasure I will have before you kill me is watching you watch me gut this perra like a fish. That’s the way I wish to kill you.”
My father’s words — or maybe it’s the blood — stain my mind and make me light headed. I feel nauseous as I watch my blood pool at my feet, staining the garish purple stilettos in their brightness.
There is chaos and mayhem all around us, but it’s as though we’re in a bubble of our own. The noise of the outside world collides with our conversation, jolting me back to life. I can’t die now. I won’t die this way. Not by my father’s hand. If I give in to him, I am slowly but surely facing my own horribly premature death. I won’t allow him that satisfaction. I straighten, take a deep breath and wobble unsteadily in the stilettos, making sure not to look down again. There is not an ounce of nervous tension in me as I look back at Attila, cementing my eyes to his. That’s where I need to be right now.
“Drop the knife, or I’ll use it to feed you your own dick before I put a bullet in your brain,” Attila says. Honestly, I spent a few days with him, but I never would have guessed Attila had it in him. I never saw this ruthless side of him.
“Drop it.”
It’s another male voice I don’t recognize coming from behind me. And then I hear the cocking of a gun and squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for the worst.