Lara
Chapter One
C hloe had been my best friend ever since the fifth grade, but sometime her impulsive ideas weren’t very smart.
And having a friend of a friend of a friend get us fake IDs so we could celebrate “turning over a new leaf,” as she worded it, wasn’t either.
She convinced me it was our last hurrah before we went our separate ways to college, never seeing each other, which would never happen, and it might be the only time we could get away from the control of our overprotective fathers. Well, at least mine.
We finally reached the front of the line, where a muscular man checking IDs was standing.
I wasn’t sure what I was so worried about.
The IDs Chloe’s friend had made for us looked like the real thing.
Chloe, always prepared, had her ID in her hand and held it out to him.
She was Milly Andrews, calm, cool, and collected.
I, nothing but a bunch of nerves, was still fumbling through my purse, trying to find the damn thing.
I could tell the people in line behind me were getting annoyed when I started pulling things out of my purse.
It had to be in here. I would swear I put the damn thing in my purse.
“If you don’t have an ID, sweetheart, you can’t go in.” Mr. Tall and all muscles crossed his arms at his broad chest, stretching his black t-shirt to the limit.
I dug around in my purse until my fingers finally grabbed onto the thin card. I plucked it out with a smile. “Here you go.”
Mr. Tall and all muscles took a moment to look at my ID before handing it back to me and allowing us into the club.
I had memorized everything on that ID just in case there was any question it was real—Sara Jones, 572 Brooklyn Street, Brooklyn, NY, yadda, yadda, yadda.
The best part about the fake ID was it made me twenty-one, making me old enough to enter and old enough to drink.
Chloe took hold of my hand because God forbid we get separated among the hundreds of bodies gyrating to the loud music.
There was so much energy inside this place, I could feel it bouncing off the walls.
No wonder it was the hottest spot in New York City to party.
All the girls wore short, shiny dresses that barely covered their asses.
No wonder Chloe lent me this barely-there red number, with a high slit on the side and a plunging neckline.
We made it to the bar and looked at each other for a moment before Chloe called over the bartender. “Can we have two Sex on the Beaches?”
“Coming right up, beautiful,” he replied with a pearly white smile that probably got him more dates than time.
As we waited for our drinks, I took in the club.
It was over the top, with cages suspended high above holding women dressed in various costumes representing different species of bird—hence the club’s name, Raptor.
Only the girls in the cages weren’t dressed as birds of prey, but innocent ones, canaries, blue jays, red cardinals, and other harmless birds.
The cute bartender brought us our drinks, then turned and tipped his head toward the upper level just above us. “These are on the owner of the club.”
“The owner?” I asked, not sure why he would be buying Chloe and me a drink.
“Yeah. When he spots a pretty woman, he always buys her a drink.”
I looked toward the upper level where I spotted a man holding his glass in the air, looking right at me.
He had to be the owner. Where he stood was dark, but I could make out most of his features.
He was tall, over six foot if I had to guess, with broad shoulders, dressed in an expensive black suit that molded to his body perfectly, and a white shirt.
I couldn’t see all his facial features, but I could tell he had dark hair, which was cut short around the ears and longer on top.
I wondered what color his eyes were and if they were as mysterious as he was.
He was nothing like the eighteen-year-old boys I graduated with.
“Come on, let’s dance.” Chloe quickly sucked her drink down and set the empty glass on the bar. “Hurry up, Lara. You can’t leave your drink unattended. You never know what kind of whack job might slip you a roofie.”
I wasn’t na?ve about women getting drugged in bars, so I quickly drained my glass of the fruity concoction and set it next to hers.
We made our way to the dance floor where men were dancing with women, and also men. It was basically a free-for-all. There were so many bodies, it was hard to see who was dancing with whom. But the music was good and after downing my drink, I was more than feeling the vibe.
Two drinks, and two shots, later we were stumbling back to the dance floor. My hips were moving with the music, my arms in the air with barely any room to move when I felt two strong hands on my waist. I turned my head over my shoulder to see a cute guy standing behind me, mimicking my every move.
It had to be the alcohol, but I turned toward him and placed my hands on his shoulders and began moving my hips more seductively.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he leaned in, his breath warm on my ear.
“La… I’m Sara,” I stuttered, almost giving him my real name.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No… I’m good. But thank you,” I smiled. The second rule when going out, never drink too much and do something you would end up regretting in the morning.
~***~
When I vowed to never do anything I would regret in the morning, it must not have included waking up with a hangover. I rolled out of bed cursing at myself for not stopping at the second drink or saying ‘no’ to the last shot of tequila Chloe insisted we have at last call.
Trudging to my bathroom, I opened the cabinet next to my mirror and pulled out the bottle of pain relievers. Popping two tablets in my mouth, I held my hand under the stream of water and brought it to my mouth.
After a long shower, my head was still pounding, but at least I could function and make my way downstairs for some breakfast and coffee.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, all I could hear was yelling.
“Lidia, you need to take Lara out of here. The Antonovs will retaliate. They will stop at nothing until they kill all of us.” My papa’s words were strained and tense as I stood by his office door and listened to him talk to my mama.
“Andrei, what have you done?” Mama asked in a shaky voice.
“I did what had to be done. Why must you always question me? You can’t stay here.” The sound of my papa’s hand coming across my mama’s face surprised me. He had never hit her before.
“What’s happened to you, Andrei?” Mama cried. “We should have done the right thing long ago and told her the truth.”
Truth? Truth about what?
“I’m sorry, moya lyubov’ , my love,” Papa said regretfully.
Whatever my papa did, it had to have been bad for him to strike my mama. He was always firm with his word, but not once had he ever struck her or me. This was bad. Really bad.
“You should have never gone against the Antonovs,” my mother mewled, while I prayed for her to hold her tongue.
“Viktor was going to take Lara. There was no way I was going to let that happen,” Papa hissed. “Not when I had different plans for her.”
Why would Viktor Antonov want me?
“What about what you agreed to?” Mama reminded him. “Have you forgotten what he would do if you ever betrayed him?”
“I don’t care how much money we owe him or our agreement. He will never marry her.”
My papa just spelled it out. Viktor Antonov wanted to marry me in exchange for the money my father owed him. What did my father do? And what were his plans for me?
Before I could interrupt the conversation, I heard glass breaking, and it was coming from my papa’s office.
Looking through the small gap where the double doors came together, I saw two men, one dressed in a suit and the other dressed in black, enter my papa’s office through the broken glass panel of the glass door leading out to the gardens.
I couldn’t see their faces since their backs were toward me. If only they would turn around.
“Where’s your daughter?” the man dressed in the suit asked as he pointed a gun at my mama.
“She isn’t here,” my papa answered, standing tall, unafraid.
“I believe she is?” the man wearing the suit said as he walked toward my mama. “Where is she?”
“As I said, she isn’t here.” Papa stepped up to the man.
Without so much as a single twitch, he pulled the trigger and shot my mother in the head. I would never forget the tattoo on the hand that held the gun that shot my mama. It was a skull with a dagger through it from the top to the bottom.
Mama! Oh, God, no! No!
Placing my hand over my mouth, it was all I could do to keep from screaming. I watched my mother fall to the floor, her blood seeping into the Oriental rug she gave to my father as a birthday present when he turned fifty.
“Find her,” the man in the suit ordered the other man.
If I didn’t move, they would take me. I couldn’t think, but I had to do something.
Backing away from the door, I moved back up the stairs to my room and grabbed the tote bag that was already packed.
I knew who my family was. If the time ever came where we had to run, my mother made sure I was prepared.
It was the same reason there were no pictures of me in the house.
I quickly looked around the room for anything else I might need—the adrenaline still pumping. That was when I spotted my purse. The fake ID. I rounded the bed and shoved my purse inside the tote bag.
As I lifted the window to my bedroom, the faint sound of another gunshot rang in the distance. Papa. This was no time to break down. I needed to go. I needed to save myself. One day, the Antonovs would pay for what they did.