Whiskey Sharp--Jagged

by Lauren Dane

  Richie Dolan’s level of aggression took nothing and no one else into account. The man was utterly about himself and how he felt about any given situation. It simply never occurred to him that the damage his behavior caused his victims was anything but his due. His righteous win.

  And that’s what it was. This guy was in some sort of competition he’d do a lot of damage to win. He wanted to impose his will on an adult child he barely knew. Because he wanted Rachel to submit to their authority and let him make her choices.

  Her independence was what Richie thought was her illness. He wanted to crush that and have her fall in line. Could his ego be that tied up in Rachel working for the FBI? Was it something else? If he could get at whatever underlying thing was driving their father, Vic might be able to figure out how to deal with him.

  In the meantime, one of Richie’s recent targets was Vic’s mother. “Are you all right?” he asked her. Yes, she was a strong woman, but it had to have been a little upsetting to have a raging guy twice her size up in her space that way.

  “I grew up in Soviet Russia, Vityunya. I know how to deal with bullies. This will have been caught on our camera system? For the security?”

  “Yes. Let me go switch out the data card so we can show it to Rachel. I imagine her lawyer might want it as more proof of what her dad is up to.”

  He went into the small office where Evie did their books and handled the switch to a new card, labeling the one he put in a pocket to give to Rachel when he saw her later that evening.

  His mom met him in the doorway. “Your father will not be pleased to hear of this so let me tell him. No use getting him worked up over something already handled.”

  His dad was one of those people who had what appeared to be a bottomless well of patience. He was a good man. A solid man who would usually seek the peaceful solution.

  But, as many found out, once he was pushed too far, he would burn things down in defense of those he deemed under his protection. He was a badass and truly scary when he got to that point so Vic was just fine letting his mom handle that.

  Agreeing, Vic headed back downstairs to finish work and to call his cousin’s fiancé.

  Seth cursed, pissed off on Rachel and Maybe’s behalf. “This fucking guy. What the hell? Everything you told me you’re doing is exactly right. Make sure they’re documenting all the times the parents have been showing up too.”

  “He threatened to call immigration on us,” Vic said, tone dry.

  “What did he say when you informed him you were all citizens? What a fucking asshole this guy is. Of course he’s a bigot on top of everything else.”

  “I didn’t tell him. I don’t owe him any help or information. And sure, he can’t actually get us deported because we’re all citizens, but he still threatened to try to ruin a family. And why? Because I’m dating his daughter? The one he wants to control like her independence means nothing to him? He’s a piece of shit.”

  “I completely agree. Keep an eye out. Rachel is former law enforcement, trust that she’s going to know what to look for to build a case. And to keep herself secure or if she had to, she could handle this guy. She’s in excellent shape.”

  Perhaps. But her heart wasn’t as well defended as her body and mind. Rachel hurt for her sister. Felt guilt for all the years Maybe had to live with their parents after she went off to college. For better or worse, they’d been her parents and she wanted things to work out.

  And now she’d begun to accept they weren’t going to. At least not the way she’d hoped at one time. There was no going back from the damage Richie Dolan had wrought.

  Richie wasn’t going to win. Not this time and Vic wasn’t sure how he’d handle it, except he knew it would be negative.

  “I wish I could do more. He’s skirting the line, but staying on the side of it that keeps him out of trouble,” Seth said.

  “She’s coming over to the house later today so I can teach her to make you golubtsi,” his mother said some minutes later as she came down to get a basket of black bread he’d only recently put out.

  “Let her have her lesson with you first. I’ll come over after my workout so I can talk with her. All right?”

  “And also then you can eat some food?” she asked, amusement on her face.

  “Of course. I’m economical that way.” He hugged her. “If he comes around again and I’m not here, call the police immediately. Seth said you can call him directly.” His mother wasn’t going to treat Seth like her own personal police officer, but both would like the interaction with the other, each liking to feel useful and protective of family.

  “Will you tell her before you see her tonight?” his mom asked.

  “I sent her a text saying I wanted to talk with her later about some stuff regarding her dad. She’s working on Evie’s tattoo today, so she’ll be too busy to take a phone call until she’s done with work and by that point, I’ll just come to your place. Which is a long way to answer that you can tell her some if you like.”

  He’d go straight to his parents’ house once he finished his workout with his climbing and backcountry volunteer rescue buddies. There’d be food and Rachel and he’d be able to tell her face-to-face. Gauge her reaction far better than he would have on the phone.

  In the meantime, as he punched dough and did his work, he considered how to approach her that night with everything that had happened.

  No one was going to take away Rachel’s freedom again.

  * * *

  THAT AFTERNOON BEFORE Rachel could even get to the top step, Irena opened the door and ushered her inside. “Come in, Rachel. Are you ready to cook?”

  She figured she’d get an idea of whatever Vic had to tell her if it involved Irena. Otherwise she’d have to wait at least another two hours until he finished his workout.

  She kissed Irena’s cheek after hanging her coat in the front entry closet. She also left her shoes under the bench and that’s when she noticed there was a labeled slot for her things now. And in it sat a pair of slippers.

  “You needed slippers for the house. Those are warm. Put them on and come into the kitchen with me,” Irena called over her shoulder as she left the room.

  Her own slippers.

  Funny how such a seemingly normal thing felt so freaking wonderful. Like she was one of them now.

  In the kitchen before she could even thank Irena, she was handed an apron. “You don’t want to get food on your nice clothes.”

  The jaunty white apron was emblazoned with a demand to kiss the cook. Pavel wore it when he was at the grill and it always made her smile.

  “Thank you. For the slippers too.”

  A wave of a hand was the reply to that.

  The double ovens were already preheating so the room was warm enough that Rachel shoved her sleeves up and then washed her hands before joining Irena at the big island where all the ingredients and tools she’d need were already waiting.

  Irena made no secret of examining Rachel’s wrists and up the forearm where the worst of the scarring was covered by one of her tattoos.

  “Liberté? As in the French for freedom?”

  Rachel nodded. Liberté scrolled up her inner right forearm. It had been her first tattoo.

  “To you this means?” Irena asked.

  Being with Irena was comforting and one of the reasons was she never played around. She said what she felt and she didn’t play any games. There were never moments where she had to obsess about what Vic’s mother felt that she might not be sharing.

  “I broke free of several things. Not just being held captive. But moving from one sort of life to another. Leaving the anchor of what I knew to come out here and be the master of my own fate. To do this on my own.”

  Gently, Irena cupped Rachel’s hand and ran a thumb over the scars. “This is where he hurt you?”

  Swallowing hard, Rachel no
dded, holding her arm up a little by way of example. “I was in a sort of manacle. It cut into my skin and got infected. It damaged the muscles.” She shrugged. It hurt less and less that she wouldn’t have the same range of mobility anymore.

  Irena’s mouth flattened and her eyes went very hard. “I am sorry.”

  Rachel sucked in a breath at how much it meant to see that sort of reaction on her behalf. “Thank you.”

  “You broke your hand to get free, Vicktor says.”

  They began to lay out the cabbage leaves as they talked. It was easy to talk about the details when she could focus on something else. Learning how to cook a dish Vic loved was something she wanted to do. Just a little thing. Hell, he cooked for her all the time. It’d be a nice change of pace to be able to cook for him.

  “I had one chance.” Her last chance. “And it required me to dislocate my thumb and two of my fingers to break free of the cuff.”

  “You are unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. Strong. Like a warrior.”

  A smile bloomed on Rachel’s face as the compliment filled her with pleasure.

  Subject closed, Irena began to order Rachel through the rest of the steps of the recipe.

  It took her a while to get it to roll without tearing the cabbage or leaving it too loose so the meat spilled, but eventually she got the hang of it.

  Irena was all business, but she wasn’t harsh or scary about it. That steady confidence was something she recognized in Vic.

  “Vicktor always requests these on his birthday. Now you know how to make them for him,” Irena said.

  “I have no doubt he will always like yours best.”

  Irena laughed. “I am his mother, that is how it should be. Come, sit while they cook and have tea with me.”

  In the dining room, they sat at the table and drank tea. Outside a winter wren sang into the fading day.

  “Your father came to the bakery today.”

  Which obviously had to be what Vic wanted to talk to her about. She fisted and unfisted her hands a few times. Humiliation slinked through her at the thought of what he may have done or said. What these people she had come to care for so much might think of her because of it. Sometimes it felt as if she wore her father around her neck like deadweight. He was always there in the background. Menacing her through his lawyer and harassing the people in her life to get to her.

  “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. What did he do?”

  “He is all words and aggression.” Irena made a face. “Tell me about him.”

  Rachel wanted to get back to the subject and get more details about what had happened but Irena wasn’t one to be rushed to a point. She said what she said on purpose.

  “He thinks I need him and my mom to run my life. That I’m too sick to be in control so they have to. They want to wall Maybe out as well. Make me move in with them or into a private mental health facility for months.”

  Irena sighed. “And before, with your sister?”

  Though she was sure Alexsei and Vic had given them the basic overview, Rachel ran her through what had happened with their father’s coworker who’d been obsessed with Maybe and how their parents had made it Maybe’s fault and had resented her closeness with Rachel as some sort of impediment to them.

  “They want to push her away from you so they can control your life. Choosing one child over the other. Bah. Who does this? Children are a gift. They should be grateful for both of you.”

  People did it all the time. It wasn’t that rare, though it was certainly sad.

  “What did he say?” Rachel fought humiliation.

  “Vicktor will tell you all the details. But I will say it’s not important. What is important is that I let you know he came and that it didn’t matter. He wants to sow the seeds of trouble. Don’t give it to him. We know who you are.”

  If she’d been granted the protection order she might have been able to add the bakery because that’s where her...boyfriend worked. But she didn’t have one so she’d need to work with what was possible right then.

  “I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.” Irena took Rachel’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “He does not intimidate me or my son. He doesn’t know you. That is his flaw. He doesn’t like it that Vicktor is in your life. Especially when he found out Alexsei and Vicktor were related and close.”

  Rachel had no idea why. It wasn’t as if their father cared about Maybe unless it was to harass Rachel.

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “Not physically and he has no power otherwise. He knows not to come back or we will call the police. I will not allow it. I will not have that man come into my bakery and threaten my son or you, for that matter. I wanted you to know he showed up and I wanted you to know we’re on your side. You’re one of mine now.”

  Rachel breathed out long, centering herself. “It means more to me than I can say that you would consider me one of your family. I’m so sorry he came to the bakery. And I’m terribly embarrassed and hope it won’t influence how you feel about me.”

  “I’d be an awful person if it did. You had nothing at all to do with it.” Irena hesitated, as though she had more to say but wasn’t sure if she wanted to say it.

  “Please. I’d like you to share your opinion with me. I’d like to hear your perspective. It’s nearly impossible to offend me, if that was your worry and it probably wasn’t. I mean.” Rachel clamped her lips shut. Her hands up in entreaty.

  Irena cackled and rapped the table three times in quick succession. It was a thing Rachel noticed she did from time to time to underline a point.

  “Your father is a type. I knew them growing up. He’s a bully. Throws his weight around. Always tells you how much he’s done, how hard he works. Everyone else steals but he is special and deserving.”

  “Yes, that’s him all right.”

  “He confuses control with love. He can’t control your sister so he’s got no room for her.” She broke off in a long stream of Russian that Rachel got the feeling was all pretty derogatory. Irena huffed as that ground to a halt and then she began again. “As I said, it wasn’t about you. It’s about his inability to control you and the way you’re thriving now in this chapter of your life. He doesn’t know how to accept it even though he doesn’t agree with your choices. Your father can’t bully me. I’m immune to men like him.” She narrowed her gaze for a moment. “Any decent parent would be proud of you and Maybe. Any decent parent would see how wonderful and strong you are. He does not know what a gift you are. But I have seen you nearly every day for over three years now. I know what you are. I’m proud of you.”

  Fighting back tears, Rachel lost the battle when Irena got up, circled the table and pulled her into her arms. Irena swayed slightly, rubbing small circles on her back until she got herself back together.

  Irena handed her some tissues and tugged her into the kitchen where she imperiously pointed to the sink so Rachel could wash her hands before they checked the golubtsi.

  Irena, standing at the oven, said, “He made several mistakes, including the fact that we have a camera in the bakery at the storefront where he came in. So the entire tirade is on video. Vic saved it for you immediately. I don’t think you should watch it alone. Or at all. But you’ll want to because that’s who you are so Vicktor will bring it for you to watch.”

  “Do I smell golubtsi?” Vic called out as he strolled into the kitchen. “And watch what? Look at that. Two of my favorite women.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and then hugged Rachel before giving her a smooch smack on the mouth. “Oh, is this the inaugural batch from your lesson?” he asked Rachel.

  “It is. We were just about to try it. You must have radar,” Rachel said.

  “When it comes to food, my children know when to just happen to pop by. Get plates for us, Vityunya.”

  “I’m starving and who knows how long it’ll be before Alexsei smells th
ese on the wind and shows up?” He dished up three for each of them and spooned the sauce and dolloped a little bit of the crème fraîche on top.

  Nervously Rachel cut into hers and forked up a steaming hot bite of what turned out to be pretty delicious. And now she had another comfort food meal for the winter menu. Especially since Vic liked them so much.

  “Home run,” he told her, holding his fork aloft a moment more.

  “I had a good teacher and I get the feeling I could make these a hundred more times and they’d still not be half as good as the ones your mother makes.”

  “That’s true. Don’t take it personally, she’s the best cook in the world.” Vic winked at his mother and she waved a hand at him as she tried not to smile and failed. “What should she not watch?”

  “The video from the incident with her father earlier today.”

  Rachel shouldn’t have been so wildly flattered at the anger on his face. She should have been ashamed of the butterflies it gave her that he was that mad on her behalf.

  He made her giddy that she inspired those things in him. That it riled up such an easygoing personality. That he found her—and their connection—worthy.

  “I don’t think you should look. I will tell you all he said. It’s not healthy for you to see,” he told her in a growl.

  Though she was still touched, Rachel wanted to laugh. He had no idea the sort of video and pictures she used to have to look at as part of her job.

  She’d want to see the video to gauge her father’s body language, hear his tone. She’d better be able to figure out what he was really up to once she was able to do that.

  “I can see you’re going to demand to look. But I’ll be with you. To annotate so to speak. I don’t know how a person like him could have had two awesome children like you and Maybe. It must be some sort of trait that skipped a few generations or something,”