by Kaye Blue
I looked where I could, spotted Melissa and her stockbroker rushing out of the exit.
I had told her I was going home so she wouldn’t be worried, and based on the dreamy smiles she and the stockbroker were giving each other, she’d have more than enough to occupy herself.
At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her, though it was sad to say I probably could have used the distraction.
We reached the ground floor, and I expected the group to move toward the exit, but again, they went in the opposite direction.
“The exit is this way,” I said.
He’d heard me but gave no outward indication of it. He just kept moving at a steady clip, focused, seemingly oblivious to everything that was happening around him, though I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that.
We went down a long hall and then finally emerged at another door.
It wasn’t marked, but based on what I heard, it led outside.
I felt some measure of relief as we approached it.
I was certain this was some kind of prank, someone who thought pulling a fire alarm in a crowded building was hilarious. But I couldn’t help but pick up on the tension of the men.
Especially him.
I didn’t know why, but he was on edge, and I couldn’t help but be affected by that energy.
But once we got outside, I’d go my own way.
As we approached the door, the group began to slow and finally came to stop.
He looked at the two men in front, who looked back at him, nodded, and then slowly open the door.
They glanced out then nodded again, and it was then that he started to move.
I did too, the tendency to follow him one that I clearly hadn’t broken.
Two men stepped out, as did he, then the three who were behind us.
I could hear sirens in the distance, the din of the crowd that was rushing out of the club, but the moment felt eerie.
Something was off.
I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. On instinct I reached for him.
He wrapped his fingers around mine, gave them the gentlest squeeze.
Then all hell broke loose.
Ivan
I should have let her go.
I’d realized too late, but now there was no choice but to go with it.
I squeezed her fingers gently, and then, in a blink, shoved her to the ground as hard as I could.
The next minute unfolded in what seemed like slow motion.
Before he could react, I had grabbed the gun of the guard closest to me and pumped two rounds into his chest.
He went down hard, but I didn’t focus on him, unwilling to lose the element of surprise.
I took out the guard to his left, the one standing next to him, then whirled, taking a millisecond to look at Tru to see that she was all right.
It was more time than I could spare, as the whiz of a bullet flying by my head and landing in the thick brick behind me proved.
Another shot. This one grazed my arm.
But I ignored the burn, the shock of the impact, and squeezed the trigger, taking out one, then the other guard before either could fire off another round.
Five of my men—traitors, sure, but my men nonetheless—lay dead around me, but I was only focused on her.
She stared up at me with wide eyes, her mouth agape.
It was though she was staring at a stranger, which, in more ways than I cared to think about, was true.
“You shot them,” she whispered, her voice wobbling.
“Yeah. You all right?”
She looked at me again, her confusion, her fear, apparent on her face.
I watched her as she fought to push back those emotions then reached down to help her up from the ground.
I counted it as a victory when she didn’t flinch away from my touch.
“Sorry about that.”
“You were trying to get me out of the line of fire,” she said.
I could see her wheels turning, hated that she was having to put even a second of her thoughts into that.
“Yeah. They wouldn’t have cared if you’d gotten caught in the crossfire.”
“But you do?”
The question made my heart ache.
“Yeah.”
I didn’t say anything else, didn’t know what to say.
Now wasn’t the time for explanations, but the situation should have spoken for itself.
This was exactly the kind of thing I didn’t want to have happen. I had refused to allow closeness with me to put her in harm’s way.
How fucked up was the universe that the one time I saw her in ten years, ten long years of longing and emptiness, this happened?
Or maybe the universe wasn’t fucked up at all.
Maybe it was trying to remind me that this was what happened when people got close to me.
Remind me that this was the thing I had been fighting to avoid all along.
“So…” she said, that one word speaking so many volumes.
“Let’s go.”
She looked at me, confused, angry, scared, but she didn’t protest.
I could hear the crowd gathering on the opposite side of the building, knew that in seconds, maybe sooner, someone would come to investigate the gunshots.
I didn’t want to be here when that happened and didn’t want whoever had tried to take me out to have another chance.
So I grabbed Tru’s hand, entwined my fingers with hers, and began to walk down the block.
Five
Tru
Some part of me wondered if I was having a vivid dream, certain that the chain of events that had just unfolded couldn’t be anything but.
To see him again, have him shoot five men in front of me.
To have him react like it was absolutely nothing.
All of that couldn’t be real.
But as easy as it would have been to think that, as comfortable as it might have been to believe, I knew it wasn’t true.
There was no way I could dream the weight of his fingers against mine, nor could I imagine the sense of comfort.
I’d seen him snuff out human life, and even though it was in self-defense—something that I had seen with my own eyes—his reaction to it, or lack thereof, should have been enough to terrify me.
It didn’t.
I had been afraid, the thought of his broken, bleeding body in front of me one too horrible to contemplate.
And there were other things to consider.
Like the fact that if he hadn’t acted, I wouldn’t be alive either.
“So, they just would have shot me after you, right?”
I didn’t know why I felt the need to ask, but I did.
He nodded. Not that I needed the confirmation.
But whether I needed it or not, I had it, and I found myself tightening my grip on his hand.
Which was the craziest thing of all.
Because I had sworn I would hate him forever, viewed him as lower than dirt, despised him for the way he had treated me.
But despite all that, I was still seeking his comfort, and even worse, was happy to have it.
Somehow, his fingers in mine kept the panic at bay, helped me face the reality of what could almost have happened without losing it.
How fucked up was that?
I didn’t think there was a way to even articulate it. But as absolutely insane as it was, as much as it made me question myself, holding his hand, absorbing his strength, was welcome, desired.
Apparently, some things didn’t change.
A broken heart, physical danger, none of it was enough to get through my thick skull.
I felt the surge of anger, one mostly directed at myself.
He tightened his grip and then glanced over at me.
At first, I refused to look in his direction, but knew he wouldn’t look away until I did.
So I looked at him, scowled, but only saw concern reflected back at me.
Seeing that in his eyes made my heart ach
e.
It was as close to the person I had known all those years ago as I had seen. My reaction to him, how much I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and have him hold me, scared me more than anything else that had happened tonight.
I had to end this, walk away.
There were the five dead guys to consider, but I had to think of myself.
He was dangerous, dangerous to me, to the life that I had managed to build in the wake of his devastation.
Every second I spent with him was a threat to that.
Using will that I didn’t know I had, I ripped my hand out of his.
“We need to part ways.”
My voice came out weak, like a begging suggestion and not an absolute necessity.
He dismissed it effortlessly.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I hated the whine in my voice, hated that I was even entertaining this, but what else could I do?
“We have to get somewhere safe so I can figure out my next move.
“Your next move has nothing to do with me, Peter.”
We had made it several blocks away from the club, and at the sound of that old name, he looked at me again, his expression softer.
“Ivan,” he whispered.
I glared at him, desperate for my anger, my resolve, to come back, to not leave me vulnerable.
It didn’t.
I didn’t speak, but I practiced the name in my head, saw that it fit.
Not that I had any plans on using it.
“Congratulations,” I said, glaring at him.
Which did no good either.
He simply smiled, kept going.
I caught up with him before I realized I had even started to walk.
I was disgusted with myself, but not surprised.
All those years ago, Peter—Ivan—had slipped into my life and broken through all of my resistance.
Why should now be any different?
Maybe because he had broken my heart, abandoned me without so much as a good-bye? Maybe that should have given me the strength to fight back against those feelings if I couldn’t rid myself of them entirely.
But it didn’t.
“Where are you going?”
“Your place.”
“My place?” I mimicked, my face screwing up in a scowl. “How do you know where I live?”
“I don’t. You’re going to tell me.”
“And why the hell would I do that?”
I stopped, and after taking one more step, he stopped too.
He turned, ignoring the traffic and pedestrians that moved around us, his gaze focused on me.
I was proud of myself when I managed not to squirm, kept my eyes locked on his.
“I’m in trouble, Tru.”
“Yeah, clearly. And this is my problem how?”
I was proud of myself that I managed to keep some conviction in my voice, conviction that I certainly didn’t feel.
“It’s not. And I don’t want to make it your problem. But…”
He trailed off, then shook his head.
“No. You’re right. You should go home; forget you ever saw me.”
“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I said, the sneer taking my voice up an octave.
“No, no I wouldn’t.”
His voice was quiet, sincere, and yet another bit of my undoing.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, swallowing back the alarm that spiked in my chest when I saw the rusty-brown stain on his shirt.
“It’s nothing.” He waved away the injury.
“Always the fucking tough guy,” I said.
He smiled faintly, and I had no doubt as to what he was thinking.
I’d always had a habit of worrying over him, which was reasonable since he’d always seemed headed for trouble.
That should have been a thing of the past, but old habits die hard.
“You don’t get to just walk away,” I said, coming back to the present, and ignoring the contradiction—and stupidity—of what I was saying.
“It’s best that I do.”
“And you don’t get to decide what’s best either,” I said, my voice lethal.
He said nothing, and I didn’t give him a chance to.
Instead, I started walking, mentally calculating the fastest route to my house.
This was madness, but I tried to pretend it was an opportunity.
I had things to say to him, things that I wouldn’t have a chance to again.
And he needed me.
Whatever had happened with those guys wasn’t good, and right now he was alone.
Helping him was what I would do for anyone.
Including him.
Not because he deserved it, but because I prided myself on being a good person, and at the very least, I would get answers.
I kept walking, got about half a block away, and was almost convinced he wouldn’t follow.
But he did.
He caught up with me quickly, and I didn’t look at him or speak again, not sure what to say, and even more, not wanting him to change his mind.
So I walked, trying to ignore my excitement, my fear, everything but the next step in front of me.
Even still, I had to marvel at the wonder that was this man.
No one, nothing, had the ability to affect me like he did, and the instant I was with him, it was like the years had never passed. But this would end soon, I told myself. I would ask my questions, get my answers, and then he would be gone.
And I would be free.
It was a simple as that.
Or at least that was what I kept telling myself, hoping with all my heart that I might eventually believe it.
Ivan
What the fuck was I doing?
I didn’t have an answer, knew that there probably wasn’t one except being a dumb ass.
My guys, the ones who were closest to me, had just tried to take me out.
Which meant that someone with reach and power was out to get me.
Which meant Tru shouldn’t be within a five-hundred-mile radius of me.
Now, I was going back to her place.
I tried to tell myself that was the smart thing.
After all, I didn’t know what I was dealing with, didn’t know who was after me or what they had in store. And if nothing else, I trusted her.
Maybe I shouldn’t have.
She hadn’t even known my real name until five minutes ago, but I did.
Trusted her with absolutely everything, including my life.
There was no better place for me to be.
I’d be quick about it, get cleaned up, find out what was going on, and then never see her again.
No one would even know I had been with her.
All perfectly reasonable.
All excuses, near lies.
Yes, there was a threat, but there was nothing unusual about those.
It was just a part of my life, something I knew I could handle.
But being with her…
That was something else, something that I couldn’t let go of, reason, everything else, be damned.
Being with Tru was like being able to breathe, and I wasn’t ready to be without her.
Not yet.
“I’m three blocks over,” she whispered.
I didn’t respond but kept pace with her.
That was good. We were far away from the club and on the opposite side of the city from my own base of operations.
No one would think to look for me here.
So I reminded myself that this was the best place, that I would be in and out before any trouble came to her.
We walked the last three blocks quickly before Tru turned to a walk-up.
She keyed in her code and then we went up.
She stopped on the third floor.
“3E,” I said as she pushed the key in the door.
“Yeah,” she said, a flash embarrassment crossing her face.
“That’s still your lucky letter?
” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, though she didn’t say anything else.
I stepped inside, watched her close and lock the door, smiling at the memory.
I had never heard of lucky letters before I had met her, but she had been a believer, and her enthusiasm had been infectious.
I’d always teased her about it, how a grounded biology major could put so much stock in that kind of thing.
But she’d just brushed me off, told me not to doubt the power of things that I couldn’t see and didn’t understand.
I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but over the years, I had come to know how right she was.
What other explanation could there be for the way I felt about her, the fate that had put her in my path?
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” she said, sounding positively miserable.
I nodded and then looked around the apartment as she went to the back.
It was small, a one-bedroom, not fancy, but it had tall ceilings, tall windows, shiny wood floors.
I could instantly see that it was her space, see her in the colorful rugs, vases, and other decorations. It was tasteful but not overdone.
Except, there was something off about it, something almost sterile.
I realized that there were no personal pictures around.
Back at her dorm, and then later, when I had convinced her to move in with me, she had put up pictures everywhere.
I realized that most of those pictures had been of us, felt sad that she didn’t have them anymore, but then relief that she hadn’t found anyone to take my place.
Or at least I hoped she hadn’t.
“You seeing anyone?” I asked when she emerged from what I presumed was the bathroom with the first aid kit.
“Don’t ask me any fucking questions,” she said, slamming the first aid kit on the table.
“I’m going to presume that’s a no,” I said, to which she responded with a glare.
“The years didn’t change everything, I see. You’re still an arrogant prick, aren’t you?”
“Afraid so,” I responded.
She gave me what I knew to be a grudging smile, then nodded toward the two-person table.
I walked toward her, unbuttoning my shirt as I went.
Her eyes widened with shock, then desire, and then finally understanding when she looked at my arm.
