Chapter 2 - Katya
The steady pressure behind the spray gun in my hand is comforting in a way that words could never do justice to. I move it in smooth, even strokes, watching as the electric blue pigment blooms over the side panel, bringing the piece to life.
Everything about it is hypnotic, keeping me in that trance-like state while the rest of the world stays quiet, save for the radio playing throughout the shop.
For a long while, I sink into that familiar rhythm, inhaling through my mask almost in time with my gliding hand, allowing the paint to flow.
My routine is easy. At least, it’s straightforward and predictable. I get to keep my head down and work, to feel like I’m genuinely building something for myself.
It has been years in the making, but I wouldn’t change any of it. Not when it was me who did it. When I decided to take matters into my own hands, and took the path I wanted.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, annoyingly pulling me out of my zone.
Sighing, I keep the gun steady while I finish a final pass before stepping back and setting it down. I peel off the mask, subsequently tugging my braid loose the moment it gets caught on my coveralls.
My phone buzzes again, almost more insistent.
I already know who it is.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble under my breath, pulling off a glove before fishing my phone out of my back pocket.
Sure enough, my brother’s contact flashes across the vaguely cracked screen.
My thumb hovers over the answer button, and for a moment, I consider picking up just to get the inevitable over with.
He’ll want the usual—a meeting, a talk about the family business, all while using whatever words he thinks will hook me in. Of course, I already know where that road leads.
Yuri has always been more interested in Dad’s dealings than me, and the moment he passed, he wasted no time jumping in to take the reins. Since then, he’s been trying to pull me into the fold, and that’s the last thing I want.
I wasn’t blind to Dad’s business growing up, but I chose to stay as far away from it as possible. That fact hasn’t changed for me.
Ignoring the subtle feeling of guilt that bubbles in my chest, I hit decline and shove the phone back in my pocket.
Stripping off the other glove, I stand and roll my shoulders out to give my back a break. The shop smells like paint and oil, and for most, it wouldn’t be too pleasant, but for me, it almost feels like home.
Behind me, the office door creaks open, and Roland’s voice drifts in.
“Ignoring calls again?”
Glancing at him, I watch as he grabs a relatively clean rag and drapes it over his shoulder. His tank top is stained with grease, and his shoulder-length hair looks wild while he runs a hand through it, making it look even darker than usual. He adjusts the coveralls rolled down to his waist.
“You know me too well,” I murmur dryly.
“Was it Yuri?”
I sigh. “Who else would it be?”
Roland stifles a chuckle and approaches, squinting at the fresh paint job as if to evaluate my work. We both know he never has anything negative to say about it.
“He’s probably pissed.”
“Probably,” I agree, grabbing my water bottle and taking a swig. “But I’m not letting him drag me into his mess. His men, his dealings, and whatever he has in mind for me, he can keep it all. It’s not my life, and it never was.”
“Good. Keep it that way for your sake,” he returns before standing to his full height and resting his light blue eyes on me.
The slight furrow of his brows is serious.
“You’ve made your own life, and there’s no sense throwing it away on his whims. But I have the feeling he won’t let you stay out of it completely forever. ”
“He can certainly try.”
Roland gives me an amused grunt and absently nods while he gestures to the panel. “Clean work, by the way. It might even be too good for this asshole’s car.”
“The customer gave you trouble about the engine modifications, right?”
He scoffs. “He sure did. Tried to tell me how to do my job, too.”
“Some people have little faith,” I muse, well aware of the issues he faces with some of our clientele.
“Damn right they do.” He gestures with his arms out in an almost arrogant way with a grin. “But when the master is at work, the magic happens.”
That earns him a chuckle from me. “I think your head is getting a bit big.”
It’s true that Roland is a professional in his own right when it comes to the mechanical side of things, which is why I partnered with him in the first place.
He had the know-how I needed to get my detailing services started, and fortunately, our skills have come together nicely in the last few years.
He can be rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy. Since he’s familiar with some guys who used to work for my dad, he isn’t a stranger to that world either, which at least gives me someone to vent to about it all.
“As per usual,” he says with a grin, tossing the rag at me. “You heading out soon?”
I nod. “Yeah, there’s a meet tonight.”
“I’m not at all surprised. You taking the bike?”
“As always.”
Roland lifts a brow at me, giving me the same pointed look a sibling might. “Don’t get yourself in trouble, little one.”
With a laugh, I toss the rag right back. “No promises.”
***
The car meet is busy as usual, with the familiar roar of engines filling the air surrounding the abandoned lot. It’s in full swing when I pull up on my Ducati. The matte black paint catches the neon lights spilling across the space.
Killing the engine, I swing off, pulling my helmet off as a few familiar faces approach without hesitation.
It doesn’t take long before I’m swept into a group conversation, settling in while the others wander, clustering around lowered cars, sleek bikes, and everything else in between. There are more than enough stories being traded, talking shop as expected.
It smells like exhaust and cheap beer while music thumps from someone’s heavy subs. The chatter is familiar, along with the usual edge that comes with it.
This is where I breathe easiest.
Here, nobody knows or cares that I’m Igor Balakin’s daughter. Nobody sees me as a pawn or someone who should be swept into the family empire the moment his body hits the ground.
I get to be just Kat.
Making my rounds, I greet the usual suspects. The guys show off their rebuilds while a few of their girlfriends hang around, some interested and some not. A few people are newer to the group and looking for inspiration. I talk cars, swap a few jokes, and take in the contagious energy.
As night sets in and the floodlights kick on, I feel a flicker of something odd. A shift in the air.
Like someone’s watching me.
I turn casually, scanning the crowd behind me. Most faces are familiar and unassuming, but then my eyes catch on someone I don’t recognize.
A man I’ve never seen before leans against a car several rows down, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.
His dark hair is cut close on the sides but is long enough to look almost wind-swept on top.
There’s something about the way he carries himself…
relaxed and almost careless, but not entirely.
From the look of it, he’s tall with broad shoulders, and everything about his appearance seems intentional.
His gaze brushes over the group, then it lands on me.
For half a second, our eyes lock, and something almost heavy hangs between us.
Given how many meetings I attend, I know he must be new. There’s no way I’ve missed him before.
Almost just as quickly, he looks away like he wasn’t watching at all.
But I know he was.
I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about him that sticks out. He’s almost too well-dressed for this crowd. His dark jeans and leather jacket pass, but they’re too clean. Plus, the watch on his wrist is out of reach for someone detailing cars and fixing engines for a living.
He’s too still, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Maybe he’s trying to break into the group and find his stride like we all had to at some point, but given how he’s on his own, lounging in the car like he owns the place, I’d say he isn’t too successful so far. He’ll have to try a little harder.
Even if an odd feeling settles in my gut, I force myself to turn back to the car next to my bike, jumping back into the conversation unraveling around me.
Let him look.
I’ve had men stare before, some bold and some subtle. This one, however, I can’t decide which one he is yet. At the very least, he’s easy on the eyes.
But attractive or not, I get the feeling he doesn’t belong here, and that leaves enough unanswered questions to unsettle me.