42. Devina
Overhearing part of their plan from the other side of the door made me uneasy. My brother and my husband are planning to storm a warehouse full of men who will have one mission: to kill them. Maybe it’s because I know the softer side of each of them and I have only heard the worst about the Bratva, but the thought of losing them both is enough to make me heave.
Settling into the bath, I try to rid my mind of the chaos that is about to ensue, when my phone pings with a message from MaryClaire.
MaryClaire: Ivan left me. I need you. Can you come to my apartment?
Me: Ry will want to come too. He won’t let me out of his sight… unless you can come here?
MaryClaire: No. I need you to come here. Alone.
MaryClaire: Girl stuff.
MaryClaire has been so good about coming over. I want to reciprocate the gesture she’s made for me, but I’m at a loss for what to say to Ryder. Maybe I can just slip out while he’s distracted with Declan.
Me: Give me a few minutes and I’ll head over. Hang in there, girl.
Toweling off, I see my reflection in the mirror. I can’t remember the last time I examined my scars. I feel smaller. My body is weaker, but only slightly. But I also feel beautiful. These scars are fading. Maybe not on my skin, but on my heart.
I get dressed quickly in a pair of leggings and soft hoodie. Mentally planning my argument, I head down the stairs. MaryClaire needs me. She’s my best friend. She’s been there for me. I need to be there for her. I am a grown woman!
That’s it.
Lay on the guilt so I can get there quickly and without a chaperone.
Hitting the bottom of the stairs, I pause to soak in the silence. No one is here. They must be in the basement. The one place I’m not supposed to go.
I send a text that I’m heading to MaryClaire’s and sneak out the front door before anyone can stop me. She lives above the coffee shop in town. I text her that I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
* * *
When I walk up to MaryClaire’s apartment, I’m not surprised that her front door is unlocked. I hear the shower running and stuff my phone in my coat pocket before shrugging it off and laying it over the dinette chair. “Hey girl, I’m here!” I holler. “Is it too early for wine? I’ll open a bottle. It sounds like you need it.”
The living room light illuminates the open space as I reach for two wine glasses and spin around to begin my “he doesn’t deserve you” speech but I’m met with a massive mountain of a man with striking blue eyes and bright blonde hair. The glasses are dropped and shattered as I push myself back against the counter.
“She knew you’d come,” His voice is ice cold. From MaryClaire’s descriptions, I know this is Ivan.
My eyes dart around the small apartment looking for evidence of MaryClaire, for a weapon, for my phone – which is in my coat pocket across the room from me.
“Where is she?” I demand, although I’m pretty sure it only came out as a whisper.
“You can calm down. I need you alive. . . for now.” He tips a bottle over a rag and takes his first step towards me. The bathroom is closer than the front door. I just have to get through the door and I can go out the fire escape.
I make my move and lunge trying not to fall on the shattered glass but he’s too fast. He grabs my arm and I fall forward into the door head first. My ears ring and a sharp pain shoots down my neck.
“I wouldn’t have taken you as a fighter.” He taunts. I kick. I scratch. I scream.
The rag presses down on my face and everything fades to black.