Luka (Las Vegas Petrov Bratva #4)

1. Lucia

1

LUCIA

T he smell of burnt oil takes up all the space in my nose, and I question if it’s the smell of freedom or its demise.

I’ve been pondering it for the past three hours that Mario and I have been stranded on the side of this road in the middle of this American desert. We’re over a thousand kilometers away from home but not quite far enough to say we’ve made it.

“ Mierda !” Mario growls, his hand flinging at a passing car. I watch him from the pickup, one leg dangling out the open door as my head rests against the seat dampened with my sweat.

My stomach turns, and I don’t know if it’s from the foul odor our overheated engine has made or if it’s the increasing hopelessness of Mario’s attempts.

“Maybe we should try walking,” I suggest.

“Walk to where?” he spits in Spanish. I don’t voice it aloud, but I wonder if that’s part of the reason we aren’t being picked up. “Look around, Lucia.” He waves his hands, clearly frustrated. I don’t humor him by looking. I’ve already searched the flat earth that runs as far as I can see. There’s nothing but dirt and this modestly trafficked road.

I eye Mario’s frustrated expression, his clenched fists. His black hair is slickened and glossy with sweat, pulled back into a low ponytail. He’s young, only twenty-four, but his youthful face is compromised by a jagged scar on his cheek and hairs darkening the space above his lip. The black cut-off he wears make the skull tattoos on his arms look threatening.

He looks like a criminal. If I were driving a car down this road, I wouldn’t stop to pick him up.

He’s too angry for me to tell him this, so I lower my eyes to my white dress and count the little yellow flowers along the seam. When Mario comes toward me, I don’t look up.

“I’m going to fix this, my love,” he says in Spanish, his voice not quite the purr he wants it to be. It’s muted with the defeat we’re both feeling. He cups my cheek with his large palm to bring me to look at him. “I promise.”

My eyes lower to his lips as a sigh sags my shoulders. “We’re undocumented here,” I say, making a point to speak in English. “We promised each other we would do everything possible to blend in.”

His lips press tightly together. “We’re the only two people out here.”

“We should practice .”

When his sunburned face begins to harden, I sink lower in the seat.

“Before yesterday, you’d never stepped foot outside your Papá’s fortress , Lucia. How about you let me handle this, yeah? I know what I’m doing.”

Ouch.

I fight to maintain eye contact and ignore the burn along my neck. Ungrateful thoughts swirl in my head but are quickly replaced by guilt.

He’s right. Not only that, but Mario is already risking too much taking me along with him on this trip. His only request is that I let him lead, that I play by his rules.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “ Lo siento .”

He must realize the effect his harsh words had because his face gradually softens. “Not everyone have good tutors like you, Amor.”

He gives me a tight smile that I accept as an olive branch while pretending not to notice the butchered English. He’s right, I was more fortunate than some.

I force a smile back. “It’s a new country for us both… We each have plenty to learn.”

“Mmhm.”

He holds words behind his pinched lips, but his eyes say it all. I have much more to learn than he does. Even in Mexico, I’d feel out of place outside of home.

A glint catches my eye, and I peer through the back windshield at a car in the distance driving toward us. I put my hand on Mario’s.

“Let me try alone,” I insist with as soft a voice as I can manage. “I might look less threatening.”

He looks off into the distance at the car and considers it, wrinkles fanning from the crevices of his eyes.

“It’ll be okay.” I cup his cheek gently. “I’ll be careful.”

He places his hand over mine and watches me closely. He’s always like this. Protective . It reminds me of my father. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I tried to leave Mario’s side, if he’d let me.

“American men are dangerous.”

“I know.” I nod. You told me. “But so is dying of heat exhaustion. We’re out of water, my love, and no one seems to be stopping for you.”

His lips purse as he starts to tap his feet. The car passes with him like that, and neither one of us even watch it, let alone try to flag it down. I think deep down inside, he knows I’m right. No one is pulling over for him.

A full minute passes before the sound of his boot tapping on asphalt ceases and he gives me a reluctant nod. We switch places, me hopping down excitedly and him climbing into the pickup with unease. I walk away from him with my thumb prematurely stuck out, mimicking his gesture to passing cars.

I’m twenty feet from the pickup before Mario yells for me to stop.

My sandals slap on the asphalt one last time before I stop on the yellow line and stare down the middle of the road. My hand raises to shield the sun from my eyes, but the unforgiving rays scorch the exposed skin of my shoulders and back.

I don’t know how long I stand until a car comes, but it’s long enough that letting the last car pass feels like a missed opportunity. Sweat collects between my breasts, giving me the strong urge to dig it out with my hands, but I wouldn’t do something so obscene in front of a man. I’m a long way from home, but my upbringing still rules me.

Finally, a car appears in the distance. I lean forward with a sigh and shift my feet farther apart, as if to take up more of the road. The idea of this car leaving me behind makes my heart beat faster, my breaths deepen.

I wave my arms when the car gets closer, my eyes wide with urgency, and when it comes to a stop in front of me, I’m almost afraid to move out of the way. I pause, my arms slowly lowering when the driver side window rolls down and a woman with large square sunglasses pokes her head out.

“You look like hell.”

I blink against the bright sun and try to focus on the woman.

“Well?” she prods. “Get in.”

My spine snaps straight at that, and I hurry to the passenger side while waving for Mario to come. He hops out of the truck and jogs to us.

Just as I go to open the door, it locks.

I jerk the handle anyway, my chest tightening with panic. The window opens just a crack as Mario makes it to us.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice devoid of remorse. “No boys allowed.”

“Please,” Mario begs. “We stranded. We no have water. We get oil for truck, then?—”

The car begins to roll forward as the woman lets off the break.

“No, wait!” I shout.

The woman stops, pushing out a loud sigh as she presses the brake pedal.

I turn to Mario with the question clear in my expression.

He shakes his head. The scar on his cheek twitches as his jaw tics, a tell-tale sign of his temper brewing. I don’t dare correct him when he speaks Spanish. “No. We’re not splitting up.”

“I’ll be back. I swear .”

His foot starts to tap again.

“She’s a woman. She isn’t dangerous. Please, we’ll die out here if we don’t?—”

My words cut off as the car rolls forward again, this time not stopping at my call. I gasp and jerk my head to Mario whose eyes are just as wide with worry. He knows. He knows the trouble we’re in without her help.

Swallowing, he nods.

“Wait!” I scream, running after the car.

I chase after her brake lights and hurry into the passenger seat, my chest heaving. Cool air blowing from vents in the dash soothes my heated flesh and blasts me with a burst of fruity air freshener that relieves my nostrils of the burnt oil. But my anxiety doesn’t lessen until the woman pulls away with me in the car.

“Wow.” She slides her sunglasses down her nose to peer at me over the top of them. “You must’ve been out there for a while.”

I tuck my hands beneath my thighs and take too long to say something. I know this. But all at once, an impossible discomfort comes over me.

This woman is a stranger. I don’t talk to strangers. I don’t meet strangers.

“Do you speak English?” she asks with an obvious disapproval in her tone. “?Habla inglés?”

I told Mario we promised each other we’d try to blend in and chided him for his speech. Yet I’m the one who’s going to ruin things for us, aren’t I?

I clear my throat and shift in the seat. “Y-yes. Sorry, yes. My boyfriend’s truck broke down about four hours ago.”

“Doesn’t seem like much, but Vegas summers will cook you fast .”

I look around at the barren land, my lips lowering with a frown. I'm very good with English, but her words don’t quite make sense. Vega means fertile land by a body of water in my language, and not an inch of this land looks fertile.

What is a vegas summer?

Am I not as good with English as I thought?

Should I have prepared more before coming here?

I know every capital of every state. Everything there is to know about Tecate, California, where I’m supposedly from. I can recite the Declaration of Independence, list the presidents in order, tell you the names of every Supreme Court Justice. Yet I still feel stunted with ignorance.

The woman angles her head toward me like she can sense my confusion, and although I can’t see her eyes, I can tell I’m missing something basic.

“Yes, I agree.” I nod while trying to smooth the confusion from my wrinkled brow.

“Where are you from?” she asks.

I don’t hesitate. I’m not used to talking to strangers, but I’ve spent weeks preparing for this question. “California. My boyfriend and I are just passing through on our way to see friends in Illinois.”

“Mmhmm.” She nods with a cocky grin lifting one side of her lips.

I shift uncomfortably.

“You want a word of advice?” she asks.

My eyes trained on the road, I shrug. “Sure.”

“If you want people to believe you’re from California , you might want to pretend you know about Las Vegas. Most Americans do.”

Las Vegas. The city. Of course.

Idiot.

“I am American.”

“Okay.”

“I got confused because you called it Vegas instead of Las Vegas.”

“You’re making it worse.”

I open my mouth again, but then close it and wring my hands.

Would she call the police? Turn me in? How easy will it be for them to confirm I’m here illegally?

“I’m Piper, by the way.” She, Piper , flips her iron-curled hair off her shoulder to flow over her back. A bright pink bra strap peaks through the blonde strands that darken to brown above her ears. I wonder if she knows how obvious her bra straps are in her tank top or if that’s the point. The black and pink are striking. I’d never wear something like that.

“I’m Jennifer,” I lie, taking a brief glance at the cleavage spilling from her top. More bright pink covers the curve of her breasts.

What does her father think of this?

“Yeah, no you’re not, but that’s okay.”

I clear my throat, my tongue shifting. It has the taste and texture of a dehydrated fish. I eye the water bottle in the cup holder.

“W-would it be all right if I had a drink?” I ask, gesturing to the bottle.

Piper shrugs. “Go for it.”

I carefully pick it up and twist off the cap. Without pressing my lips to the lid, I pour a modest amount of water into my mouth and hold back my moan. My hands wrap the bottle a smidge too tightly, making it crinkle, and when I bring it back down, my hand is shaking from restraint.

Piper’s head turns my way. “You can have the rest if you want.”

“Oh, really?” I squeak. “Are—are you sure?”

When she gives me a sly smile, I carefully pick up the bottle again and try not to embarrass myself as I chug the rest of the water. As the bottle empties, I hold in a whine, my tongue licking around the rim before I pull it away and set it down.

“Thank you.” Wiping water from the corners of my lips, I lock onto a shiny roll of photos tucked into the adjacent cup holder. Only one photo is visible, but when I spot it, I don’t need to see the rest.

Ultrasound pictures.

Piper notices me staring and quickly stashes the roll in her center console. “Don’t worry about those.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry.”

She curves the car onto a road that leads us upward, the first hill I’ve seen in hours. I think she’ll say something else about the photos, but when she doesn’t, a tension in the car grows. I can’t help but glance at her flat stomach.

She must be newly pregnant. And not happy about it?

I spot a gas station up ahead and let out a sigh of relief. We’ve been driving for more than ten minutes, so it’ll take me hours to walk back to the truck with the supplies, less if I can find another person to give me a ride.

When Piper passes the station, her eyes staring down at her phone as she types away, I point and make a small sound of protest. “Oh, um, actually?—”

“Can I give you another piece of advice?” Piper asks.

My mouth opens to point out the gas station we just missed, but I force myself to close it. I don’t want to be rude.

I twist toward her and wait. She continues typing recklessly, only peeking up at the road on occasion to ensure we aren’t careening off a cliff or veering into the other lane. Every meter of distance the car forces between Mario and me raises my anxiety. Finally, she finishes with her phone and tucks it between her thighs before glancing at me.

“Ditch that boyfriend of yours. He’s bad news, and you can do a hell of a lot better. I could tell that in two seconds through the window of my car.”

My lips sag. “With all due respect, you don’t know either of us. Can you please take me to the gas station back there?” I turn and point behind me. “I think I could probably walk back.”

“We’re at least fifteen miles from your broken-down truck, darlin’. You’re not walking back. And if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t go back at all.”

My pulse jumps.

Is she not going to let me out of the car?

“How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?” Piper huffs while I try not to panic beside her. “I was just like you. Always falling for the bad boys. They know how to sink their teeth into the vulnerable, but you know what?” She glances at me like she truly wants me to guess. “Life is so much better when you bite back. Trust me on that.”

Sweat beads on my forehead while I nod like what Piper’s saying is reasonable. But I can’t make sense of it. All I really hear is her implying she’s learned to bite.

The air freshener becomes overpowering, its fruity scent turning my stomach until I think the water I just cherished might come up.

Mario was right. I need him, if only to calm my anxiety, to provide an extra layer of security over the vulnerability I never left at home. Maybe we shouldn’t have split up.

I grip the door handle and slyly pull, my eyes seeking out the lock.

“What are you doing?” Piper asks.

I pull up on the lock, prepared to jump out of the car if I have to, but Piper just presses the lock button to relatch it.

“I repeat, what are you doing ?”

“I want you to let me out,” I say, my voice sounding weak and afraid.

“Why?”

Why?

I try one last time to rein in my panic, tell myself this is a product of rarely interacting with outsiders. That I should try not to make myself stand out, appear strange, or do anything that would result in her contacting the authorities.

But I fail.

“Because I don’t know where you’re taking me.” I don’t mean to raise my voice, but it’s what happens.

When Piper slows to pull the car over, my panic finally has a chance to calm long enough for shame to take its place. Shame that it’s been a day and a half, and this new world is already getting to me. I left the estate skipping with pent-up excitement, but I should’ve known that freedom comes with the cost of insecurity.

The sound of the locks disengaging prompts me to grasp the door handle, but Piper’s hand on my arm makes me pause.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Her voice sounds over the quick breaths that invade my ear, a source of calm within the stormy fear and shame. I pull the handle but then let it fall back into place, my hand still gripping the metal.

“I was on my way to meet my boyfriend when I picked you up. I just need to have a quick conversation with him, then we can get the supplies you need, and I’ll take you back to your truck… I want to help you.”

“Why?” I quietly ask.

She sighs. Seconds pass like maybe she doesn’t know the answer.

“When I drove past, I saw your boyfriend sitting like a fucking king in his truck while his girlfriend did the work of standing in the middle of the road to flag down a vehicle, and it just… It pissed me off.”

I stay silent but let go of the door handle.

Her words loosen the muscles in my shoulders, calm the rapid beat of my heart.

It’s just a misunderstanding. She thinks Mario is a bad guy. She doesn’t know I’m the one who insisted I flag down her car alone.

“Secretly, once we’re done here, I’m hoping you’ll let me talk you into coming back to my place where you can clean up and I can get you some real help. I know some people who have work that might be fitting for someone in your position… But I’ll take you back to your boyfriend if that’s what you want. Let’s just drive, and you can think about it, okay?”

My hand curls around the back of my neck, collecting cold sweat that I wipe onto my dress before nodding. My cheeks flame from the awkwardness at having overreacted.

“Good,” Piper says. She puts the car in drive and pulls back onto the road. Neither of us say anything while we drive higher in elevation, shrubbery growing thicker the farther we go.

When Piper pulls off a main road onto a dirt path, she slows the car to a stop and crooks her thumb at the back seat. “Hop in the back and duck down. My boyfriend won’t like it if there’s anyone with me.”

I blink at her, my brows knitting slightly, but move to the back seat without complaint. She drives us farther down the road for another few minutes before pulling off the path and parking beside a cluster of boulders. We seem to be even more out in the middle of nowhere than when she picked me up, and if she was a man, I’d think for sure she was about to kill me. But maybe that’s exactly what she intends to do. Maybe I shouldn’t assume things.

“Just stay down,” she says, pulling off her sunglasses and plopping them into the cup holder where the ultrasound photos were.

“What happens if he sees me?”

She shrugs. “Probably nothing. I just don’t want him to be mad at me. Luka is a very private guy. If he knew anyone saw us together, he’d be pissed.”

“But isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“That’s him,” Piper says, twisted in her seat as she peers behind her. “Stay down.”

A car rumbles as it passes us, and although it’s only the anger of a boyfriend at stake, the sound still has me holding my breath.

Piper opens her center console to retrieve the ultrasound photos then gets out of the car while I press my head against the back of her seat and wait.

It isn’t a hard guess to imagine what this conversation is about. The ultrasound photos plus her flat stomach plus the tension that formed when the photos came up.

She must be telling him about her pregnancy.

A couple minutes pass before a masculine yell comes from outside the car, the boyfriend’s words fast, clipped, angry . I tense and cover my hands over my ears to keep myself from listening. But then something breaks through. His voice, it doesn’t just sound angry. It sounds violent .

A chill runs through me as I lower my hands from my ears, and I raise onto my knees to peek at the couple through the windshield. They’re far enough in front of me that I’m certain he won’t see. Plus, his back is facing me.

Boyfriend’s hands are raised as they argue, while Piper’s are crossed over her chest. She shakes her head, backpedaling. He follows, his long legs swallowing the distance between them in only a couple strides. My shoulder’s hunch, but I don’t take my eyes off the couple.

Piper’s mouth opens in speech, and as soon as it shuts, Boyfriend’s hand wraps around her throat.

Her eyes bulge at the same time mine do, and I shoot up, my hands slapping against the seat. She claws at her boyfriend as he lifts her into the air, her legs flailing uselessly. When her eyes seek out her car, imploring me to help, I lunge toward the door but hesitate like a coward.

A whimper exits my mouth as my hand starts to shake.

By the time I look back at Piper, I’m too late. The plea leaves her eyes as life drains. Her legs dangle limply, her head hanging against Boyfriend’s brutal grasp.

Her boyfriend drops her to the ground carelessly. Coldly. Not an ounce of remorse in his posture as she crumples in a heap at his feet. He leans over her and spits before snarling something incomprehensible.

I’m an icy statue watching him. My mind takes me to three years ago when I watched my father panic over a glitch in our security system. Everything went down for about an hour which left the tall, iron gate leading to our home compromised. My sisters and I were rushed to the safe room—a ten-by-ten-foot steel box in our basement.

That was the day I started to see him beyond the man I trusted with my whole heart, taking every word he said of fact. I began to see him as controlling. Insecure. A man living with constant fear clutching his throat, his demons imagined. I questioned if the world could really be as dark as Papá claimed.

Now, as I gape in horror at the sight before me, I wish I’d never doubted him.

It isn’t until the back door of Boyfriend’s car opens to reveal another man that I snap from my catatonic state and duck as low as I can.

Rustling sounds outside Piper’s car as the men walk by, talking in a language I don’t understand. I clench my eyes shut and pray they don’t see me. When one opens the driver side car door, I hold my breath.

He says something over the beeping that indicates the keys are in the ignition, but it’s impossible to tell whether or not to feel fear from his words because I can’t understand what they mean. What is this language?

I jump at the sound of the trunk popping and then again when the door slams shut. They load something—Piper, presumably—into the trunk, chatting while they do. At one point they even laugh. Boyfriend no longer sounds angry by tone alone, and that’s more unsettling than if he were furious.

Leave .

Please leave .

The driver door opens again. Boyfriend’s voice booms in the tiny space, halting my lungs. But I still don’t think he’s speaking to me. He waits for the other man to reply before shutting the door.

He starts up the car and pulls away while I shake on the floor of the backseat, wondering one thing, the only thing that matters.

What is he going to do when he finds me?