by Denise Wells
Dopey is the only one of the seven dwarves without a beard. Or hair. And he’s mute. So it’s amazing, really, that the others hadn’t bullied or teased him.
Barry Manilow didn’t really write the song, “I Write the Songs.”
Snails can sleep for three years.
Elephants can’t jump.
It’s not a bad plan, spending my time trying to remember more of the useless information I’ve stored away in my little brain. I may not know how to kill a man with only my hands or solve complex math without a calculator or even where South Dakota is on a map of the US. But I do know that there isn’t a single state in the US with the letter Q in it.
And that Q is the only letter that holds true for.
Think about it, even X found a spot.
If I ever get out of here, I’m going to do something interesting with all the useless facts. Like maybe Daria would let me decorate coasters with random factoids for the bar. Or I could put together a bathroom book.
Do people even read bathroom books any longer? Now that we all have smartphones to look at?
I close my eyes to try to staunch the barrage of worthless information and questions coursing through my brain. Willing it to turn off and let me sleep for a little while. It’s the easiest, most effective way to pass the time. And all I really want to do lately is force time to pass swiftly as I can.
I pull the threadbare blanket tighter around me and try to think of warm thoughts. Fires, jackets, Reed’s arms, heaters, down comforters, sunburns, jacuzzis—
Until I hear the doorknob jiggle once again.
20
Daria
The hospital keeps me longer than I’d hoped, but I’m finally released after another couple days. I’m still in pain, but at least it’s not more than I can handle with the smallest doses of pain pills. I’d rather dull any pain with a bottle of vodka anyway. I’m not surprised Mack is by my side to drive me home, but I am surprised to see my father waiting in his limousine, engine idling, in my driveway.
“Who’s the douche?” Mack nods toward the limo. I can see where he’d say that. I probably even agree with him. Now that I know better, I realize such rides are for high school dances, weddings, and awards shows. Not everyday transportation. But to my father, a limousine with tinted windows and a uniformed driver is the epitome of wealth and grace in America, so that is how he travels.
In Russia he uses SUVs with bulletproof exteriors, I guess he’s not as afraid of being shot at here, which is foolish of him. There are times since he’s been here that even I’ve been tempted to shoot at him.
Mack pulls his truck alongside the limo. “Stay here,” he advises, holding his arm out in front of me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s my father.”
“Your father?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know?
“He’s the only person who would sit in front of my house in a limousine.”
“Wow, so I get to meet the folks, huh?” Mack smiles big. Of course, he sees the positive in such a thing before considering anything else.
“This is a big step for us, beautiful. I don’t know if I’m ready.” The look on his face tells me he’s joking, even though the words he uses ring true with me. It is a big step, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
“Just . . . stay silent and let me talk.”
Mack scoffs but doesn’t protest. He gets out of the truck and comes to my side to open the door and help me out. My legs are working fine, I’m just weak and sore. And my equilibrium is still off from having my bell rung, as Mack would say. Literally.
Instead of going toward the limo, Mack leads me toward my front door. I’m not sure that’s how I would have played it were I not injured, but I can see why he does it. He gets me into my house, on my turf, where I’m more comfortable and in my element. Then my father has to come to me. It’s subtle, but it’s still a power shift. And right now, I’ll take whatever I can get to fuel myself against my father.
Mack moves to put my things away for me as I get myself situated on the couch with a pillow behind my back and under my wrist. The stability behind me helps me to breathe better, which I appreciate. Even though we have my ribs wrapped as tightly as possible to help with both healing and pain.
Barely a minute goes by before my father is in my house and standing before me in my living room. Two of his men flank him on either side, both as large if not larger than Mack.
“Father,” I greet him, waving my hand toward one of the club chairs across the room from where I’m sitting. He chooses instead to sit on the coffee table directly in front of me. His pristine suit and shoes looking out of place amongst the dust that has settled since I’ve been gone. I’m sure he didn’t see it before he chose to sit there. If he had, he would have picked the chair.
My father does not like to be dirty. In negotiations and war, sure. On his skin and clothing, no.
“Daria.” He nods as though we are acquaintances passing one another on the street, not father and daughter sitting within two feet of one another in one’s living room.
Mack comes back into the room and notices the look on my face, his own immediately turning to a scowl as he crosses his arms across his massive chest and gives my father a once over. Father’s two guards step forward, but the mere palm of Viktor Limonov stops them in their tracks. Knowing my father, he loves wielding that sort of control over grown men twice his physical size.
My father barely glances at Mack before turning back to me. I shoot an apologetic glance to Mack before returning my attention to my father.
“You are hurt because of Ronan’s men,” he says it as a statement, but he means it as a question.
I nod an affirmation.
“Even after I told you I was handling it.” His tone is the same as before, so I nod once again. “You inserted yourself into a place where you do not belong.”
If my father were any other man speaking to me in this way, I would probably punch him square in the jaw. But because it’s my father, and they raised me to respect him above all else, I remain silent. Agreeing when I’m supposed to and refraining from interrupting every time I want to.
“I do not see how I can feel for you in such a situation, no? Such insolence you have, especially for a girl.”
I shake my head. He’s not saying anything I don’t already know. I put myself in a stupid position and am suffering the consequences. Mack stiffens at my father’s words. I can feel the fury rolling off him in waves from here. I want to reach for him, but he’s on my right side, the arm that’s all busted up. I settle for a glance in his direction, hoping he understands what my look means.
“You look to the boy for guidance?” My father’s voice rises with each word. “The American? And not your own father?” He makes a noise of disgust and waves a hand in my direction, turning his head away from me. “I cannot look at you now.”
“He’s not a boy,” I say, needing to make a point in Mack’s favor. My father can say whatever he wants to me, but he does not get to come in my home and disrespect my man, who before today, he’s never even met. “He’s a man. All man. My man. And you will respect him in my home.”
My father scoffs. “The man who cannot speak for himself?”
“Oh, I can speak for myself.” Mack’s deep voice resonates through the room. “But your daughter, who I love and respect more than anything in this world, asked me to stand back and allow her this opportunity to speak with you.”
My father’s face reddens as he stands to face Mack, who unfortunately continues talking. “You say one more negative word against her, father or not, I will take you down a notch or twelve myself. Got it, old man?”
Aw, fuck.
My father gets in Mack’s face, at the same time holding his hand up once again so his thugs stand back. Almost making me laugh. My father is a formidable man, no doubt. But in a physical altercation with Mack, he would never come out the victor. Not without weapons. I scan my fath
er’s body to see if I can spot a hidden gun. The last thing I need is him shooting Mack out of anger.
The two men puff out their chests, literally and metaphorically. If this comes to blows, who do I want to win? Mack is the man I love, but my father is my father.
“Hey,” I interject, trying to stand. “Can we just take a breath here?”
“Babe.” Mack turns to me and settles me back against the cushions, my father forgotten. “Don’t you move. I’m sorry. I’ll back down.” He holds his palms up to my father in a surrender pose. My father smirks in return before taking a step back in retreat. He really can be an asshole at times.
Maybe most times.
I turn to the asshole. “Yes, I went against your wishes and surveilled Andrei’s place. Because I’m pretty sure he’s holding my friend Quinn hostage there.” I don’t tell my father I know it’s really Ronan. Or what I’m planning to do for him to get her back. My father need not know that. Not now, not ever.
Mack follows my lead and remains silent.
My father considers what I’ve told him. It won’t be enough for him to back out of anything he’s said or accused me of until now, but it may be enough for him to lay off from here on out. He stands and heads for my front door, turning only once he’s pulled it open, to say, “It would be best you figure it out soon, Daria. I plan to take his entire compound out.”
“When?” I ask.
“Soon,” he says as he disappears through the doorway.
Fuck.
21
Mack
I should get a fucking medal for how well I handled myself with Daria’s father. The man is a self-righteous, sexist, narcissistic prick. The next time anyone puts that look on my girl’s face, no matter who it is, I’ll take them down. No one makes her doubt herself like that. If they can’t help build her up, they don’t belong in our lives. Plain and simple.
It took practically an act of god to get her to take some pills and rest for a while. I think she wanted to rush right off to Andrei’s, storm the place, and rescue Quinn before her father does anything rash. But we need a plan. Not to mention more firepower and muscle.
I send a text to Al to see if she and the other girls can come to Daria’s. It was weird meeting them all at the hospital, knowing what they do, having it in the open, and being outside the bar setting. Not that I saw them that often at the bar, but when I did, even after I found out about Daria’s little nighttime activities, it was easy to just leave them in that bar role in my mind.
No need to go confusing things by turning the cocktail waitresses and the bartender into human lethal weapons.
My phone beeps with a new text.
AL: Have Darlings, will travel.
I chuckle even though it’s not that funny. She’s an odd one, Alyssa. Sometimes I’m convinced she’s talking in code and really she’s just making a joke that only she understands or finds funny. Have blank, will travel is an idiom that’s been around forever. And since most of us try to shy away from using them in normal conversation around Daria because she hates them, I’m surprised Al is using it in text.
Which makes me wonder if it’s code for something. Like Daria and Ronan with their food order texts. If it is, her efforts are lost on me; I’ve no idea what it means. But I’m happy they will be here soon. If nothing else, maybe the girls and I can figure out the best way to find Quinn, infiltrate Andrei’s place, and if she’s there, get her out. If she’s not, then stick to the original plan of grabbing Andrei and his guys and delivering them to Ronan.
Although, shit, maybe the better plan is just to let Daria’s father bomb the entire place if Quinn isn’t there. Take them all down. Ronan wouldn’t get his hands-on, face-to-face retribution, but it would take care of Andrei. And all the other men.
Plus, if that were to happen, then Daria can remain resting on the couch and take the needed time to heal. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.
I laugh even as I think that, knowing that Daria will never go for it. She’ll wake up the minute the girls are here, drugs or no drugs in her system. And she’ll never let us go anywhere without her. It’s not in her nature. That, combined with the belief that she’s invincible, Daria would rather risk setting her healing back weeks than miss this little trip with us.
For a moment, I consider drugging her for real. Like something that will knock her the fuck out. Eventually, someday, maybe she’d forgive me. But on the off chance that she wouldn’t, I throw that idea out almost immediately.
The girls let themselves in after knocking once, whether by key or picking the lock, I’m not sure. Regardless, I make a mental note to get Daria an alarm system installed ASAP. Not that I’m worried about the girls, I’m not. But if they can get in, I’m assuming someone else could too.
Al peeks her head around the corner from the entryway, her blond hair swinging in front of her face before she tucks it back behind her ear. “She asleep?”
I nod.
Al motions to the kitchen, and I stand to follow them in there. It won’t block the noise from our conversation altogether, but it will dull our voices some if we talk softly.
I take the seat closest to the living room so I can hear Daria if she wakes. Al takes the chair to my right, with Jen and Roxie directly across from us at Daria’s jutting kitchen island that doubles as an eat-in kitchen table. All three look at me, waiting to hear the reason I called them over.
“Daria’s father plans to take out Andrei’s compound.” I expect one or three to gasp or make some sort of sound at that. But each remains still and silent. “We think Quinn might be there.”
Al nods.
“What’s the plan?” Roxie asks.
“That’s why I asked you here,” I admit. “I don’t have one yet.”
Al pulls a notebook from somewhere on her person and a pencil from behind her ear. “All right then, let’s make a plan, shall we?”
Even though Daria woke up mid way through our impromptu meeting, she agreed to let us do all the groundwork at Andrei’s while she remained in the SUV as the lookout. Honestly, I’m a little surprised she was willing to be in a vehicle outside Andrei’s compound again so soon. But this time we chose a spot at the rear of his property where the truck can remain mostly hidden from the road, while still giving Daria a decent view of the grounds.
To say that I’m impressed by her girls’ skills would be an understatement. There’s something to be said for having less body mass when trying to scale walls or crawl into tight spaces. The disadvantage of having an estate as palatial as Andrei’s is that once you are inside the perimeter walls, it’s impossible to monitor every single access point to the domicile. He has the bulk of them covered by security cameras, but Al found us one that gets us in inside a matter of minutes.
Traversing the space inside, however, is another story. It’s a literal maze of hallways and interconnected rooms once you leave the main level. Like the open space of the ground floor has to be countered by dozens of walled-off spaces. I realize that much of that is to hold women prisoner and/or make it harder for them to escape, but it’s still mind-boggling.
Not to mention that I’d been here twice before and never knew all of this existed.
Al did though.
How she gets her information is scary to me. Both her skill and the amount of intel she’s able to amass in a relatively short amount of time is miraculous. The bureau could clean house with someone like her on staff. Not that I’d tell them that.
I bring up the rear of our single-file line snaking its way through the house with Al in the lead using some kind of moving floor plan on her phone that gives us directional guidance and thermal imaging.
I want to ask her where she got it, 'cause it’s cool as fuck.
Both Jen and Roxie monitor either side of us, their heads pivot in tandem as though on a fifteen-second timer, leaving me to guard us from behind. Not to continue to make comparisons, but the bureau could learn a lot from efficiency such as this. These girls remind me more of m
y old Delta Squad than anything I ever encountered after leaving the military.
“All clear northeast and southeast ends. But fuck if I know what’s going on to the west.” Daria calls in an update. The signal is faint but still clear, luckily. I kept pinging her every few seconds when we first got down here to make sure we still had a connection. Worried as fuck we’d lose comms with her and something would happen.
I was tempted to stay with her in the truck. But the very idea pissed her off, and I don’t need to raise her stress levels right now. It often amazes me just how much I’m willing to give and bend for the woman. I’m certain there is nothing she can ask of me that I won’t do.
Rapid gunfire ahead has us immediately halting and flattening ourselves against the wall. We aren’t hidden by doing so, not by any means, but if someone comes around the corner and down the hall toward us, we stand a better chance of getting them before they get us.
I hear someone roar, “Fuck!” right before all hell breaks loose.
22
Reed
I want no part of whatever they have planned for Andrei’s little girlfriend tucked away down here. I’ve already told them I won’t hurt women, if they won’t respect that, then I’m out of here. Fuck Viktor and his plans. I barely have an inkling of what I’m supposed to be looking for anyway. Viktor told me I’d know when I found it, that this Ronan guy is a major douchebag, and my crime-fighting senses could sniff it out.
Like I’m fucking Scooby-Doo or something.
Viktor already knows about the trafficking, he knows about the drugs, and about the money laundering. I mean, what else is there? I know they all have their “territories” so maybe along with that they have their own career crime modes they have control over. I chuckle to myself at the thought of career crime modes. What a stupid thing to fight about. As though there isn’t enough crime out there for all of them.
