The Hollow: Preacher Brothers, 4

by Snow, Jenika

  I didn’t think I could cry any more tears after that, but they’d fallen seamlessly for this woman. This woman who was terminal and wanted to spend her remaining time on this planet helping me. The plan sounded straightforward, and I had a modicum of hope that maybe—God willing—I could pull this off.

  While everyone was on the back property waiting for me to walk down that aisle, where most of the security guards would be as well, Marina would cause a diversion in the front with the help of some of the kitchen staff.

  The commotion would hopefully draw the remaining guards to the opposite sides of the house, and then that’s when I’d slip out the side staff door. There would be cameras, but Marina assured me the car was not traceable and that I’d be safe. I prayed this all worked.

  We hadn’t had a large gathering like this where everyone would be in one central location before. That was the only reason I thought I might be able to pull this off.

  There were three large pounds on the door, and it startled me, causing my heart to jackknife in my chest and a cold sweat to burst out along my forehead.

  “Shhh,” Marina whispered and grabbed a tissue, blotting my forehead. “Being nervous is one thing, but this reaction will tip them off.”

  I nodded. I had to calm myself if I wanted any kind of chance of making this work.

  There was another hard rap on the door, and the deep voice on the other side said, “It’s time.” It was one of my father’s men.

  I looked at Marina, and she gave me a sympathetic but strong smile. “It is time, little mouse.”

  I nodded and licked my lips.

  It was time.

  6

  Frankie

  I was on beer six, or maybe it was seven. I might not know the number I’d consumed already, but I did know I was getting good and fucked up.

  Best thing about being hollow... just about anything could fill the void for a short time; that was… until reality set in.

  What filled my loneliness?

  Occasional drinking and constant fighting.

  The buzz from the booze numbed me. The pain from the fights made me feel something more than the... nothingness. And although after the fact, I felt even worse, I gladly took these moments in which I wasn’t pretending like I had my shit together.

  I finished off beer six or seven and gestured to the bartender for another. He wouldn’t tell me I had enough, ‘cause he didn’t give a fuck.

  Tonight, I’d gone over to Ricky’s, a piece-of-shit establishment on the outskirts of town. There was always someone here, willing to start shit with me for no reason. And I channeled that anger, let it build in my gut until it exploded, and I let it all out on them.

  And tonight, I was feeling especially volatile, thinking what a dead end it was to try to find Nadja, knowing I’d never see her again.

  There was a live band playing tonight, the cover songs old ones from the south. The bartender put another bottle in front of me, and I tipped it toward him in a silent thank you right before I lifted it to my mouth and chugged it.

  I looked over my seat and scanned the interior. The dance floor was scarred and worn, a few women dancing suggestively in the center. Their clothes couldn’t even be called scant. They wore them to get fucked. There was an old pool table off to the side, the felt worn and dingy in many places, the frame scuffed and slightly broken.

  This place was a fucking dump, but it was perfect for the reason I needed it.

  I’d find someone just as fucked up as I was who had no qualms about getting into a back-alley fight.

  I stayed for another ten minutes, disappointed that tonight there wasn’t some bastard willing to start shit with me.

  And I was so damn tired that I didn’t have the energy to start anything myself. I was so worn-out, and it went well beyond the physical kind.

  I paid my tab and headed out, hoping like hell one of these drunk fuckers bumped into me. It would give me an excuse to lash out. But everyone kept a wide berth. Maybe I was letting off aggressive vibes. I certainly felt on-edge, projecting that anger, that threatening menace.

  I pushed the door open, and it squeaked on its hinges before slamming shut behind me. I should’ve called a cab, or hell, even one of my brothers, but instead, I found myself taking a right and just walking. The air was cool, the promise of fall in the distance licking over my flesh. But it felt good after the stifling humid heat in the bar.

  I walked for about five minutes, nightlife all around me with no intentions of slowing down despite it being the middle of the night. Bars were in full swing, music blasting from the interior.

  A few shady-as-fuck restaurants were slinging out pizza slices and flat cola. Even if it was on the outskirts of town, there’s still plenty of iffy businesses willing to take your money and serve you shit in return.

  I was getting drunker by the minute, but it felt good to let reality leave me. I’d just keep walking, and when I couldn’t anymore, I’d call a cab. I wouldn’t bother my brothers. They had their own lives now, women to keep them warm in the middle of the night.

  I walked for five minutes, letting everything and anything move through me, trying to take away that emptiness I felt. It never helped, yet I still tried, still searched. I was getting to the end of the shit part of town, and although I could easily walk back home, it would be one hell of a fucking hike.

  I was about to cross the street, the alley to my right dark and thick, the stench of old garbage permeating through the air. I ran a hand over the back of my head and was almost clear of the alley when I heard a soft, very female whimper come through the air.

  I stopped, everything in me tense as I looked to my right. I couldn’t see shit, just a few feet in where the glow from the streetlight spilled into the inky darkness. Then there was still silence, forced, and although I could’ve kept walking, played it off to my drunken imagination, I knew better.

  I rolled my head around on my neck, cracked my knuckles, and felt the blood rush to my muscles. It could’ve been just a couple trying to fuck in an alley, but my instincts told me that’s not what it was.

  I’d been searching for a fight, and it looked like the perfect opportunity came up. I started making my way into the alley, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness but not penetrating it fully.

  There was a row of dumpsters to my left, some crates and boxes to my right. The back doors for the two buildings were across from each other, and the farther I walked into the alley, the stronger the stench of decay and trash filled my nose.

  And then I heard another soft whimper before a very male grunt.

  On the other side of the dumpster was where the noise came from, just five feet from where I stood. I rolled my shoulders, felt the adrenaline rush through my veins, my blood moving through my muscles, making them bigger, preparing me.

  “Come out, come out, motherfucker,” I said low, deep, letting all that rage and sinister anger I felt come out in those words.

  I didn’t actually think he’d listen, but I was pleasantly surprised when a lanky, very clearly male form stepped out from the other side of the dumpster. He didn’t speak, but I could feel him eyeing me up.

  “This doesn't concern you,” he muttered.

  I didn’t break my focus on him as I said clear and loud, “Sweetheart, get out of here.”

  A moment later, I saw the female he’d clearly pinned up against the nasty brick wall dart away, moving past us so fast she was almost a blur. I heard her cries, felt them fill the air. It made me angrier that this fucker made her feel that way.

  But I didn’t move, and the asshole didn’t try to stop her. This bastard was going to get the shit kicked out of him, and I was going to enjoy every single moment.

  “You should’ve just moved along, buddy.” His voice was raspy, like he’d been a smoker for the past twenty years.

  I couldn’t see his face clearly because of the thick shadows, but he had the body of a tweaker, long and thin as if his source of sustenance was in the form of
a needle or pipe. He kept fidgeting his hands at his sides, pulling at his shirt. I’d seen enough junkies in my day to know he was probably strung out, thinking the female was an easy target.

  One hit and he’d go down harder than a bag of bricks. Shame, since I wanted this to last a little bit longer, but I wasn’t going to be picky with my fights.

  Standing here in this alley with the darkness surrounding us, the thick feel in the air and mixing with the reek of decay, took me back to that night when I nearly lost Wilder. It had been months since it happened, my brother fully recovered, living his life with his female, finally happy and at peace, but I was sucked back to that moment when I thought I’d lost him forever.

  I never claimed to be a good man, never pretended like I did honorable things. I broke plenty of laws, had done illegal shit over and over again. I was a professional fucking thief, stole for a living, frightened people in order to get what I wanted. My childhood was fucked up, abuse and violence a staple as a kid. But even through it all, as I stood in this dirty fucking alley, I thought of her.

  Nadja.

  She was able to bring me back from the darkness that tried to consume me. Even all these years later, she was the light to my darkness.

  7

  Nadja

  I left the bedroom, my hands shaking so badly I had to grab my dress, curling my fingers into the material to steady myself. I was counting slowly in my head, something to keep me focused so I didn’t trip and fall, so that I wasn’t obvious.

  Although my nerves could absolutely be played off that I just didn’t want to be here, that I’d been against this from the beginning, my father was a smart man. He’d be able to see there was something else, something deeper.

  I stopped at the top of the stairs and closed my eyes, breathing out slowly. And then I reached out and grabbed the banister, the smooth, glossed-over wood firm and cold.

  I could hear commotion in the kitchen, the clattering of dishes, the hushed voices as everyone scrambled to make sure everything was prepared. I couldn’t see out back, but I could assume everything was perfect, right down to the chairs being placed evenly, everyone waiting for me to give my life away to a demon.

  But then again, all the people in attendance were monsters themselves, connected to the organization, no pity for the less fortunate or vulnerable.

  I didn’t know the details of what commotion I was waiting for, my signal that the plan was set in motion, but Marina said it would be obvious. I knew I was to head toward the back, where the French doors would lead out to the garden, where my father would be waiting to walk me down the aisle. Like he cared. Like this tradition was something he’d been wanting to do since I was a little girl.

  No, he looked forward to giving me away to a monster of a man just so his ties could be even stronger.

  I could see a few men at the bottom of the stairs, men who worked for my father. Although they wore dark suits and looked like normal wedding guests, I knew they had guns beneath that expensive material, weapons hidden that could snuff out a life as easily as taking in a breath.

  I started descending the stairs, exhaling slowly, my heart racing like hummingbird wings.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I continued to count, focusing on those numbers and not what was going to happen next.

  Once at the landing, I was facing toward the back, where my father was waiting. I saw him waiting by the French doors, his back to me, his hands pushed into the pockets of his tuxedo pants, his body looking stiff, severe.

  Sweat beaded at my temples as I prayed whatever distraction was to go down would happen soon. Once I was out those doors, there was no chance of me making it to the staff side entrance.

  And as I moved toward my father, as I heard the music from the live band outside, my focus was on staying calm, staying safe and smart.

  I can do this.

  The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. As my father turned around to face me, the cold, detached look on his face, I could hear nothing but my own heart pounding. It filled my eyes, everything else tuned out, tunnel vision claiming me.

  And as I stared into his eyes, ones so unlike mine in every possible way, I wished to a God who wouldn’t hear me, who wouldn’t spare me, that my father would just disappear.

  And then I heard it.

  The sound of glass shattering.

  My ears buzzed from the noise, and a second later, the warm, wet feeling splashing across my face had me sucking in a breath. I was frozen, only able to blink as I realized my father had been shot, that the coppery taste filling my mouth was blood.

  His blood.

  I gasped and stumbled back, my father’s eyes going blank as he fell to the floor, the bullet hole right through his heart. I looked down at my chest, expecting the bullet to have gone through him and into me, tearing through my father and taking my life as well.

  But I was whole.

  Crimson covered the white dress, splatters spraying outward, almost as if a promise of what my life was.

  Carnage.

  I felt my mouth open, a silent scream bubbling up in my throat. Men rushed from behind me and jerked open the doors, spilled out, guns raised, shouting, firing without asking questions. And it was then reality came rushing into me.

  I heard and saw what was happening. The guests were scrambling, screams and shouts coursing through the air. Gunfire echoed all around, the smell of blood so thick it coated the inside my nose. I couldn’t move as I watched it all play out, men dressed in tuxedos and suits wielding weapons taking out high-ranking bratva guests.

  This had been planned, premeditated. This had been their chance to get everyone gathered.

  I didn’t know what this was all about, the details, the reasoning, but I knew this was a power play. And as I stood there staring with what I knew were wide eyes, I saw him.

  Maximillian standing in the center, a gun in each hand, this sick, sinister smile covering his face. And then our eyes locked, and I watched that smile grow, watched him wink before turning and firing, killing anyone within his vision.

  I felt someone grab my hand then, pulling me back. I snapped to attention and saw it was Marina. She looked terrified as she spoke, but I couldn’t hear the words, could only see her lips moving.

  “Move now, little mouse.”

  I heard her then, almost as loud as the bullets shooting through the air.

  “This was part of the plan?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

  She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. “No. Seems as though others want to take over, and your father and others are in the way.”

  She’d know better than I would. Being around all the bratva, serving them, the men seeing the staff as nothing but robots who didn’t listen, didn’t comprehend what was going on. But they were wrong, so wrong. The employees heard everything. They absorbed everything.

  She ushered me into the kitchen, where I could see staff members scrambling to hide, to not be seen for fear a bullet was for them next. I’d seen some running out the front door, others racing toward the opposite direction of where the carnage was happening.

  We made our way toward the staff entrance.

  Marina stopped us once we were there, turning to face me, her skin ashen, her eyes wide, but she seemed… calm.

  “You go all the way to the side gate out to the garden door. You keep running, Nadja. You keep moving. I don’t know what is going on, but you need to escape.”

  “Come with me,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.

  She gave me a small smile. “No, little mouse. My place is here, with the people who have become my family. I stay and help them. But you… you must leave. You must go, because I fear even more for what they will do to the daughter of Petrov.”

  My heart raced and I licked my lips, looking toward the staff door.

  “You’ll be okay. You’ll make it out and survive. I feel that in my heart. Now go.” She pushed me toward the d
oor, and I ran.

  I ran as hard and fast as my feet would carry me in these God-awful heels.

  8

  Nadja

  Three months later

  I stared at my reflection, and even after all this time of having completely changed my features, something I should’ve been used to by now, the girl who stared back at me seemed like a stranger.

  Gone was my long black hair, and in its place was a honey-brown-colored bob. My bangs swooped to the side, almost covering one eyebrow, and the ends of my hair curled inwardly slightly. I looked at my green eyes, ones that would soon be blue after I put the contact lenses in.

  For months, I stayed at the safehouse, hoping to hear some kind of news, something good. Thankfully, Marina hadn’t been caught in the crossfire of the horrific disaster that happened at the wedding, at least not while I’d still been in Russia and gotten updates.

  She’d been able to fill me in on what happened, or at least what she heard through the rumor mill.

  Talk was my father had been working on a play to overthrow part of the bratva regime in order to elevate his status. It wasn’t hard to believe. My father was a narcissist, thought the world revolved around him. He wasn’t a patient man, didn’t want to climb the ranks organically. So him taking out other high-ranking officials made sense. But what didn’t make sense was that Maximillian was the one who’d been ordered to take the hit out on my father.

  Had the order come down from above?

  Had Maximillian gone rogue?

  Either way, that was a dangerous option, and one I wouldn’t think the bratva or Maximillian would let me go unscathed for. Maximillian either wanted me dead, or worse. And the things he used to say to me, the possessive look in his eyes, told me it was the latter.

  I’d stayed in that safehouse for months, too afraid to even breathe let alone leave the house. And once Marina and the people she knew secured me a passport under a new identity, legal documentation in order for me to leave the country, and enough money to survive for a short while once I was in America, only then did I leave.