Chapter 17 Natalya
NATALYA
The sound of gunshots.
I start awake, lifting my head up sharply from Anton’s chest. He starts awake as well and his arm tightens around me reflexively.
The sound comes again. It echoes from somewhere downstairs. It’s somebody banging on the front door.
“Stay here,” he says, getting out of bed. I watch him walk around the bed to get his boxers, then he goes to the nightstand and pulls out his gun. “Don’t leave this room until I come back for you.”
I sit up and listen fearfully, pulling the blanket up and over my naked body. I don’t have any clothes here, and in this room, there’s just the shirt I was wearing. Even my panties are in rags somewhere on the floor.
The idea of running out of here naked is less than appealing. If somebody decides to come get me, there’s no telling what they might do to some pretty young girl with no clothes on. This is quite the predicament I’m in.
I’ve got the clothes I was wearing yesterday in my room. It isn’t much, but it’s better than being completely naked. Maybe I should run over and grab them. I could wrap this sheet around me, I guess.
I glance around the room and thankfully, I spot a robe on the far side, blending in the shadows. It’s hanging off the door of a half open closet and it looks to be made of black silk. I get out of bed and walk over to put it on.
It’s huge on me. The sleeves hang well over my hands and the hem trails behind me like the train of a wedding dress. I do my best to wrap it around myself and triple-tie the belt so that my tits don’t fall out as I walk. I pick up the hem and leave the bedroom.
I get out in the hallway, remembering what Anton said. Don’t leave this room until I come back for you. But what if he doesn’t come back? What if…?
Okay, let’s not panic. It’s just across the hall. There and back before he even knows I was gone. I open the door and step out. The bottom line here is that if somebody’s coming for me, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be killed wearing nothing but an oversized robe.
I move as quietly as I can across these old wooden floors, but it’s impossible. The floor creaks with every step I take. “Natalya?” I hear from downstairs. “Come down here, please.”
Dammit. Fuck these old floors.
I turn around and walk to the landing. From here I can see part of the living room and front door.
Anton’s standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me expectantly.
“Go to the linen closet next to the bathroom and bring me some towels. Dark ones. Leave any that are white or lighter colored.”
Someone moans in pain somewhere behind him in the living room. “What’s going on?”
“Do as I say, please. Now.”
He doesn’t bark the order at me. In fact, the words sound tinged with distress. Something has gone very, very wrong. He’s asking for my help.
I turn around and run back to the guest bathroom between our rooms. The linen closet is just inside, so I dart in, grab a bunch of black and dark blue towels, and run back out.
I run down the stairs and to the living room.
A man is lying on the couch, his shirt covered in blood…
and the handle of a knife sticking out of his shoulder.
His skin looks clammy and pale as he grimaces uncomfortably.
Anton is sitting on the couch with him. His gun is sitting forgotten on the coffee table as he reaches for the tear in his friend’s shirt.
“I’ve got to get this off,” he says. “Just hang in there.”
“Fuck,” the man swears. “This is my favorite fucking shirt.”
“We’ll get you a new one.”
“Towels,” I say, setting them down on the table. Neither man acknowledges me. Carefully maneuvering around the knife handle, he grabs at the rip and widens it. The exposed wound oozes out from under the handle and I have to look away. Ugh. I was never great around gore.
“You should have gone to Iggy with this,” Anton says. “It’s a wonder you didn’t bleed to death on the way over here.”
“You were closer,” his friend says through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, all right.” Anton takes hold of the knife and adds, “When I take this out, you’re going to bleed like a sieve. You'd better hope the fucker that did this didn’t nick any arteries.”
“I wouldn’t dare bleed to death all over your fine wood floors,” his friend jokes. “Can I get a shot before you do it?”
Anton glances at me, and I move to the bar on the other side of the room. I don’t know a lot about alcohol or if one is better for this than the other, so I just grab some vodka and bring it over.
Anton takes it from me and helps the man take a swig. He grimaces a second or so after he takes the drink, then he nods. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Okay. On three. One, Two—” Anton yanks the knife out. The man yells out in agony, lifting up off the couch. Anton quickly grabs one of the towels and presses down on the wound, pushing him back down to the couch.
“Shit!” he curses. “Fucking shit! You said on three!”
“You’re all right. You’re all right,” Anton repeats, holding him down. “Let me apply pressure. You’re going to be okay.”
I feel so helpless. All I can do is watch as this happens. Finally, the man stops twisting under Anton. He grabs hold of Anton’s hand and says, “I’d better not bleed out.”
“You won’t. I’m not letting that happen.” He looks over at me. “Get over here.”
I will my feet to move. As soon as I’m near the couch, Anton grabs my wrist and pulls me down, placing my hand on the wet towel. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll be right back.”
He gets up and rushes out of the room before I can say anything. I hold the towel down with both hands. The blood is oozing through the towel and between my fingers.
“So,” he says to me, a smile on his face. “You’re the Bratva princess that’s got his head all turned around. You know, I’ve never seen you up close before.”
I tilt my head in curiosity. “You… know me?”
“Of course I know you. Petrov’s daughter. You are really stunning, you know that?”
I blush. “You should probably focus on other things right now.”
“On the contrary. When a person is in extreme pain, it helps to have a focal point of some sort. I think your pretty face will do just fine.”
“Stop flirting and sit up,” Anton says as he walks into the room. He’s carrying a tin box with a fat red cross on it. With a nod of his head, he signals for me to move. I do, standing up to let him take my place.
He sets the tin box aside and slowly removes the towel. The wound isn’t oozing anymore, but it doesn’t look good. Dark blood stains the sides of flesh that’s been ripped apart in jagged edges.
“You never properly introduced me to your paramour,” he says, winking at me.
Anton sets the towel aside and opens the tin box. He fishes out a curved needle already attached to a long thread. “Mikki, this is Natalya. Natalya, this bleeding sack of shit is Mikki.”
Mikki chuckles, then coughs. “Don’t do that. I’m not a well man. Laughing could kill me.”
“Yeah, yeah. This is gonna hurt like hell.” He takes the bottle of vodka and pours it over the wound. Mikki sucks in air sharply but bears the pain. “You good? I need you conscious.”
Mikki’s wincing in agony, but he nods quickly.
“Good. Ten or eleven stitches, friend. Ready?”
“Just do it.”
Anton leans in and starts stitching the wound closed. Mikki winces, grabbing onto the cushion as Anton pulls the string through. “So, who did this?”
“Don’t know,” he responds through clenched teeth.
“Didn’t see his face. I had just packed up the car with the stuff from Maria’s, I turned around, and the next thing I know, I was fighting for my life.
” He pauses as Anton applies another stitch, closing his eyes to bear the pain for a second.
Then he looks over at me and says, “The car’s full of clothes and things for you.
Hope it all fits. You look about my daughter’s size, so I just eyeballed it. ”
I have no idea who Maria is, but I’m thankful for the clothing. “I appreciate it,” I tell him.
“It’s… it’s nothing. Just some things to get you by until you can go shopping—Shit.”
“Need another shot?” Anton asked.
“No. Just keep going. Get it over with.”
I look over at the bloody knife on the table and realize that there is something familiar about this. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something about this attack that’s ringing a bell in my mind. Maybe it’s the covert nature of it. It’s like something I’ve heard about before.
“It was weird,” he went on. “You know, Maria’s security is usually out and about at this time of night, but the front of the club was deserted.”
Anton looks up at him with a frown. “Bono wasn’t out front?”
Mikki shakes his head. “And he was there earlier when I went in.”
“Is he always out front?” I ask, and Mikki nods his head. “Maybe somebody was watching for him.”
“I’d bet on it.” He sucks air through his teeth as Anton pulls the string again.
Anton doesn’t respond. He looks like he’s focusing on sewing Mikki’s shoulder. He gets to the last stitch and ties it off. Then to me he says, “Leave us alone, please?”
I don’t argue or object. I don’t think I want to know any more about whatever happened tonight. I’m in enough trouble as it is with this whole situation.
As I go back into his room, however, I can’t get Mikki’s attack out of my mind. I guess because it doesn’t sound like what I might expect of a ‘hit’ or whatever. I wonder why whoever jumped him used a knife instead of a gun.
Maybe it wasn’t a hit at all. Ugh. How in the world am I supposed to tell one end of this from the other? Everything seems like it’s turned upside down.
I need my phone. I want to call Ilya and maybe bounce some of this mess off her. Or maybe just to hear a friendly voice. I look around the room. He took my phone… I’ll bet it’s here somewhere.
My first thought is the nightstand. It’s where I’d probably put it. I go and open the drawer. Inside, just as I’d thought, is my phone, turned off and untouched and sitting right on top of his gun.