Chapter 24 Kelly
Kelly
The sound of the keyboard tapping echoes across the room while I scroll through job listings.
Squinting at the screen through the lingering headache that’s been my constant companion since the concussion.
I’m so done with the harassment from Gary.
Though he hasn’t messaged me in twenty-four hours, which is a goddamn miracle.
Next time he calls, I’m telling him I’m done.
There aren’t many openings right now. I did just send an application to one of the biggest clinics in New York even though I probably don’t stand a chance of getting called for an interview. Still felt productive to send it, like I’m actually doing something to get out of this mess.
Alexei walks in with his hair still wet from a shower.
Probably washing off evidence from one of his little “jobs.” I roll my eyes and keep tapping at the keys while he brushes past the counter, kisses the top of my head, then heads straight to the freezer and pulls out a bottle of vodka and taking a sip straight from the bottle.
“Really? It’s nine in the morning.”
He starts to respond, but my phone vibrates against the counter. I wave him off and answer without checking the caller ID.
Camilla’s voice blasts through the speaker so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Jesus, wait, slow down. Start over. You’re making my ear fall off.”
She sighs. “Sorry, forgot you’re sensitive to sound right now. I still feel so guilty for missing your call at the hospital. I’m so sorry about that.” She pauses. “Anyway, Gary is dead.”
“Gary is what?”
Alexei chokes on his vodka. Takes another sip, screws the cap on, then walks out of the kitchen without a word.
I narrow my eyes after him. That was suspicious as hell. He didn’t … right?
“He’s dead, Kelly.”
“They found him at home this morning. His wife said he woke up in the middle of the night, started choking on food, couldn’t call for help.”
Oh. Just a coincidence then.
“Wow. What a shame.”
“I know, right? He’ll be so missed.” She coughs to cover a laugh. “Not.”
I laugh too. I mean, Alexei couldn’t have killed him by making him choke on food … There’s no way that’s even possible.
I shake my head and push the thought away before it can take root.
“I was thinking of sending in my resignation anyway. I applied to a few different jobs this morning.”
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“Good for you. And seriously, send it in. Screw that clinic.” Her voice drops. “I didn’t tell you before, but I applied to vet school.”
I know she’s been thinking about this for months, weighing it, doubting herself, talking herself out of it every time we brought it up. I’m so proud of her.
“That’s incredible. You’ll do amazing, I know you will. You can ask me anything you want to know about the program, seriously.”
She starts rambling. I let her go because it’s nice hearing her sound like this instead of stressed about work or worried about me.
Alexei walks away, looking sheepish in those sexy black workout shorts, heading toward the home gym like he’s trying to escape from me.
“Hey, Camilla, can I call you later?”
I shut the laptop with a soft click, then follow him.
I don’t even know how to say what’s churning in my head.
I need to know if there’s some kind of future we can plan for.
Something outside this house, outside all the hiding.
I also kind of want to set some basic ground rules about murder and maybe discuss boundaries around killing people who make my life difficult.
The sound of weights clanking and Russian rap blasting through the speakers hits me before I even reach the door. I stop in the doorway, while he pretends he doesn’t see me.
“So, I just got an interesting call …”
He stops mid-deadlift and looks at me, then drops the weight without warning. The floor shakes from the impact.
“I heard.”
“Alexei …”
Ignoring me, he just bends and grips the bar like I didn’t say his name at all. Lifts it again with a grunt, then drops it with another floor-shaking crash.
I roll my eyes and walk over, stopping directly in front of him.
“You didn’t, right?”
Once again, he stares at me with an undecipherable expression.
“You haven’t even asked how he died,” I hedge.
He scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t need details. Bastard had it coming.”
Then he bends again and lifts with perfect form, the weight belt around his waist pulling tighter while his muscles strain under the load.
Beads of sweat roll down his chest. I hate that my mouth waters even when I’m trying to have a serious conversation about potential murder.
The weight slams down again. He walks past me like nothing happened, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long sip before ripping off the waist belt.
“Look at me.”
He looks at me with raised brows.
“I need to talk to you. I—” But I don’t get to finish because something crashes in the living room, followed immediately by shouting.
Alexei’s eyes widen and he turns off the music and grabs my wrists before I can react. I flinch so hard the room tilts. My concussion makes everything blur for a second. The taste of metal floods my mouth from biting my tongue.
He freezes, his grip loosening. His eyes flick down to where he’s holding me, and he drops his hand like it burned him. Takes a step back.
“Sorry, zaychik. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice softens, panicked now. “But you need to hide.”
The roaring in my ears makes it hard to think. Something is wrong.
I nod, starting to scan the room desperately for anywhere I could disappear. I spot a built-in wardrobe and move toward it, but I don’t even make it two steps before he catches my wrists again, gentler this time, and pulls me against his chest.
I look at him, and his expression knocks the air out of me. All that violence, coldness I’ve gotten used to, completely gone. Just raw terror mixed with guilt and something that looks like goodbye.
He frames my jaw, tilting my face, then kisses me—just a press of lips that barely lasts a second.
Footsteps pound closer down the hallway, and the shouting grows louder, more urgent.
“I think my father found out what we did. I can’t hide you anymore. Stay behind me. Don’t say anything. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
He positions himself like a wall between me and the door.
I want to ask what he means, what’s happening, but I don’t get the chance before men crowd the doorway. Five of them in dark suits, standing shoulder to shoulder.
Another man steps into view. Tall, early sixties, wearing a sharp black suit. Dark hair streaked with gray, neat beard, tinted glasses. Something about him makes my skin numb.
He adjusts his cuffs. Then shouts in Russian.
Alexei answers, but the tension in his shoulders tells me everything I need to know. They’re fighting. About me.
The old man’s eyes snap directly to me. He lifts his hand and gestures toward me like I’m something he wants removed. Then he pulls out a gun and points it at Alexei.
I take a step back, heart hammering against my ribs.
Alexei doesn’t hesitate. Three fast steps and he’s on the man. Grabs the gun, twists it out of his grip, and shoves him hard against the wall. The gun is now pressed to the man’s temple.
All the guards pull their weapons and point them at Alexei.
No, no, no, no—
My lungs seize. The air in the room turns to concrete. That’s his father. Has to be. The one who would put a bullet in his own son’s head for liking men. And Alexei just pressed a gun to his temple without hesitating.
His father tries to shove him off, but Alexei doesn’t budge. So, his father brandishes a knife and presses it against Alexei’s throat. Blood wells up and drips down his neck.
Alexei doesn’t react. Just keeps the gun pressed to his father’s head while blood runs down his bare chest.
They’re both shouting at each other in Russian. My brain tries to grab onto something, anything, but it’s all noise. White noise. Static. I’m trapped in my own head, standing here with my hands useless at my sides while Alexei bleeds.
A woman around the same age as his father steps into view, black hair braided back. She shouts at them and runs up to Alexei, grabbing his arm, trying to pull him off.
He doesn’t move. His father presses the blade deeper, blood running faster down his neck. She screams louder at them. The realization hits me like ice water. This is Alexei’s mother trying to pry her son off his own father while he holds a knife to Alexei’s throat.
The older man’s eyes flick to me. He nods in my direction with a cold smile and says something cold. The guards point the guns at me.
The world tilts sideways. My hands fly up, palms out, like that’s going to do anything against guns. My legs almost give out.
They’re actually going to shoot me. Right here. Alexei’s going to watch it happen with a blade pressed to his throat, and he can’t do anything. I can’t do anything. We’re both just—
The gunshot cracks through the room.
My ears ring, sharp and painful. The bullet slams into the wall next to his father’s head, and chunks of plaster scatter across the floor.
Every gun swings back to Alexei. Away from me.
I suck in air. When did I stop breathing?
Alexei takes a step back, gun still raised and says something in Russian. His voice is flat. Cold. Deadly. He points at me with his free hand.
His father spits on the floor. He points the knife toward me and says something, then at Alexei, his face twisting with so much disgust I feel it like a physical blow. The woman gasps, hand flying to her chest.
I don’t speak Russian. Don’t need to.
The meaning’s clear enough.
Abomination.
Disgrace.
Wrong.
The woman’s hand cracks across his father’s face hard enough to snap his head to the side. She starts yelling even louder at him this time. His father spits on the ground again while ignoring her, then he turns and walks out. The guards follow.