Chapter 50 Amara
AMARA
I wake up to the smell of alcohol and bright lights.
“Am I at the hospital?” I moan. I’m trying to open my eyes, but it’s like they’re stuck together. My head is throbbing. Actually, every muscle in my body hurts.
“It’s okay.” I recognize Electra’s voice. “You’re okay.”
I’m able to peel my eyelids open. With some struggle, her face materializes in front of me. But despite her words, she doesn’t look like everything is okay.
And that’s when I realize the lights aren’t fluorescent, they’re dim. And the alcohol isn’t sanitary, it’s vodka.
“Where are we?” I ask, attempting to look around. But even the small act of moving my head hurts. “And why does it smell like a bar?”
Electra swallows hard, shifting in her seat. The bed I’m lying on is nice. Comfortable. If there’s anything I have learned about staying at hospitals, it’s that the beds are anything but nice and comfortable.
“We’re not at a hospital,” Electra says softly. She smiles down at me, but something about her expression is off. Something about all of it is off. She’s wringing her hands and shaking. She’s also bleeding from a cut on her forehead. A new cut.
That’s when it all comes back to me.
We were getting Thai food. I ran into a man in a black hood. As we were driving back home, we were chased by that man in a blacked out car. He ran us off the road. I hit a tree… or a pole… or something.
“Why are we not at a hospital?” I ask. “My baby. What if my baby is not okay? You’re hurt, El. We need to go to a hospital.”
But Electra just continues to force a smile through her tears. That’s when I know something is really wrong.
“Where are we?” I force myself to sit up through the pain.
I look around, and while I don’t recognize the place, a chill goes up my spine.
“We’re at Sean’s penthouse,” she tells me.
“Sean’s? Why the hell would you call him? You should have called an ambulance!”
“I didn’t call him.”
Then a man appears behind her. A man in a black hoodie. He lowers the hood and looks at me. “Hello, Amara.”
I know the voice. I know the face.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
“You heard my girlfriend,” he says. “This is my house.”
“I thought you said his name was Sean,” I say as I look between them.
Electra frowns. “It is.”
I look at him. He smiles, a snaky smile I’ve never liked.
“No,” I snarl. “His name isn’t Sean.”
The grin crawls even further up his face.
“What do you mean?” Electra shoots me a puzzled look. “Wait. You two know each other?”
He smirks down at me. “You want to tell her the story or should I?”
“Go for it,” I say with my chin high. “That way, if you tell any more lies, I can correct them as you go.”
He chuckles at that before looking down at Electra.
“My name is not Sean. Not even close.” He flashes us a smirk, all teeth. “It’s Tristan. Tristan Chadovich.”
After that, Electra sits in silence as he tells her all about the Chadovichs and the Rozanovs.
About how his parents are dead and Dmitry adopted him as his own, not because he wanted a son but because he needed a future pakhan.
After that, he explains what that is and how Ransome is the pakhan for his rivaling family.
He tells her the whole story. From the generational feuds to the truce and everything in between. Once in a while, Electra looks at me as if to question if any of it is true.
My silence answers that question.
“You never cared about me,” Electra says after a hard moment.
Tristan just laughs. “Bitch, I don’t care about my own flesh and blood. You think I give a fuck about you? You were just an easy in to get what I want.”
“So, wait…” she says. “What does Amara have to do with it?”
“Because my cousin is married to Rozanov,” he answers.
“And why does that matter?” she asks. “You said yourself you don’t give a shit about the truce. That you just want to be the only pakhan in power.”
“That gets a little tricky. You see, even if I do get rid of Ransome, your friend here is carrying the Rozanov heir. And the last thing I need is another Rozanov in my way.”
“You’re not touching my baby,” I grit out.
“You can’t get away with it,” Electra says.
“Get away with what?” he grins.
“Any of it!” she cries out. “The police—”
“The police are rigged. And I’ve just gotten started.” His grin lasts all of three seconds before it’s gone, replaced by something I’ve never seen on his face before. A wild rage that feels unpredictably dangerous. “Now get up.”
I glare up at him. “I was in a car accident. You wrapped our car around a pole. I can’t just get up.”
Tristan eyes flare with anger. He grabs Electra by the hair, yanking her to her feet. “I don’t think the two of you understand. Every ball is in my court. Everything that Ransome had is mine right now. So, if you care about your siblings or your bastard son, you better start listening, bitch.”
As much as I don’t want to comply, I’m not stupid. I know how unhinged this man is.
So I stand up.
Next thing I know, bags are being pulled over our heads. Our arms are being yanked behind us as zip ties bind our wrists together. Electra’s crying.
“It’s okay.” I try to comfort her as we’re forced out the front door. “We’ll get through this.”
I hear what sounds like the hatch of an SUV. Both of us are shoved inside, where we lay on our sides facing each other. All of the rear seats are down and the floor is hard.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say again, for the two seconds we are alone before Tristan gets in the driver’s seat.
To say that Electra is freaking out is an understatement. She is wailing at this point.
“Bitch, will you shut up?” Tristan shouts.
I shimmy my body closer to her, resting my forehead against hers.
“I can’t breathe,” Electra gasps.
“It’s okay,” I hush her. “You just need to calm down. Breath slower. Deeper. You’re okay.”
If I’m being honest, I’m just as panicked as she is. But I also know that freaking out is only going to make things worse.
“Where do you think he’s taking us?” she asks.
And that’s when it hits me. We don’t need to know where we are going so much as where we are. “Electra,” I whisper. “Where are we?”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I answer as quietly as I can. “Where are we? What street? Or neighborhood?”
“Liberty Heights,” she whispers.
Liberty Heights. Okay. It’s not as ritzy as where Ransome lives, but it’s up there.
“I can’t calm down,” Electra whimpers.
But as we start to move, I have a plan.
“Start singing under your breath,” I tell her.
“Singing?”
“It will distract you.”
“Singing what?”
“Bohemian Rhapsody. And don’t stop until we get wherever we are going.”