Red Rocket

by Raine Miller

“Russia is really big,” I state as I look at the map while we await clearance to board the private jet Viktor has arranged for the day.

  “Is big, yes,” he answers, checking his phone.

  “Why are you so distracted?” I ask.

  “I am arranging a meeting in Sochi,” he says, that familiar frown on his face lit up by the screen of his phone.

  “Oh, something I should cover for Crush social media?”

  “No,” he says quickly.

  I’m taken aback by his abrupt tone. What could he be setting up, then? More time with the shady-suit guys who make him pee into a cup once a week? Oh, goody. Just the way I want to spend a tourist day with my boyfriend.

  By the time we board the jet, I’m too annoyed to be impressed. We climb on and I toss my stuff into an empty seat, then flop down, putting on my seatbelt and staring out the window.

  Viktor stands and stares at me, probably waiting for me to move my bag, but when I don’t he just sighs and takes the seat across the aisle.

  A pretty, blonde flight attendant in a slim, navy dress tells us the safety features of the plane and offers us something to drink or eat. I ask for a Sprite and she brings it, along with a basket of snacks to choose from, also delivering a beer to Viktor.

  “Pzhalyusta, ostav’te nas v pokoye,” Viktor growls at the poor woman. I have no idea what he said, but it didn’t sound nice.

  To her credit, she smiles and gives a short nod. “Proto nazhmite knopku, yesli vam ponadobitsya,” she says to him, all professionalism. To me, she switches to English and says, “Push the button if you need me.”

  She disappears as the plane starts to taxi down the runway. I glare at Viktor, who sips at his beer and looks at his phone, typing another message, to my further-increasing annoyance.

  As we get into the air, I finally ask, “What the heck is keeping you so focused on that phone?”

  Viktor turns the phone off and tosses it onto the seat next to him, turning his big body toward me. “I told you, is meeting.”

  “I thought we were spending the day touring Sochi? I wasn’t planning on spending the days watching you have meetings with shady dudes,” I complain. “What, you have bets to place that can’t wait?”

  “Why would I travel several thousand kilometers to place betting?” Viktor gives me a hard stare. “That is silly.”

  He’s so earnest with his question that I have to stifle a giggle in response. I want to be annoyed with him. He’s been focused on that phone all morning. But he seems genuinely confused about why I’m annoyed.

  I sigh dramatically. Viktor unbuckles his safety belt and crosses the divide, tossing my bag to the floor and taking the seat next to me. “I am sorry I have been distracted, but I have something important to do here.”

  “Do you care to share that important something with me?”

  “Not yet,” he says, pursing his lips. “Let’s find a movie to watch, yes? Or we can join mile-high club?”

  “The mile-high club? What is that?”

  He chuckles and raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Is the reason I sent attendant away.”

  It takes me a minute to catch on. “Oh. Oh! Have sex in an airplane?”

  He winks in response.

  I blush furiously at this. “There are pilots. Like, right on the other side of that door. And the attendant…”

  Viktor’s hand slides between my legs. His fingers push at my oh-so-sensitive spots through my jeans. My breath hitches and I hear that dark chuckle again.

  “She will not come out here unless we call for her,” he purrs against my lips.

  Needless to say, we spend much of the three-hour flight doing things other than watching a movie.

  Immediately after we land, I head straight to the very well-appointed restroom to clean myself up. I swear the flight attendant totally knew what we were doing, even though I was very, very quiet the whole time, and her knowing smile made me blush about ten shades of pink. My whole face is as red as my hair even now, as I brush through my hair, pulling it into a messy braid that falls over one shoulder.

  Viktor ushers me straight to a black town car once I emerge. As we ride, Viktor tells me that the Olympic venues have struggled in Sochi since the games. He says that Sochi was a natural choice for the Olympics, as it is a tourist destination already, sitting on the Black Sea with plenty of beaches for a summer crowd to enjoy. In the winter, it is fairly desolate, though, and when we pull up to one of the Olympic venues, I see what he means. There are people milling around with cameras, but all in all, it’s pretty much a ghost town.

  We wander into the hockey arena and he talks about his time as an Olympic athlete. He has funny stories, and stories that make me cringe. He really was a different man when the Winter Games were held here. I tell him so and ask him if he feels the same.

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and bows his head. “I was just thinking this the other night, Scarlett. I am different than just a year ago, really. Las Vegas has changed me. You have changed me.”

  “Me?” I ask incredulously.

  “You. Realizing I could have hockey and love both. And have friends like loudmouth Tyler to hang out with. I was very concentrated on hockey and nothing else. I am realizing I missed so much by focusing too hard on sport. A life with no love or friendships is not much life at all.”

  I bite my bottom lip and look up at him. “No, it isn’t, I agree.”

  He gives me what I would consider a shy smile. My man is so freaking sexy…and sweet. I told him I knew I loved him when I was sleepy and sex sated. But I also know that I meant it. And hearing him use the word again makes my heart leap.

  “You know, you’ve changed me too, Viktor.”

  “In a good way I hope,” he says quietly as he pulls me into his arms and just holds me close against his solid warmth.

  “Most definitely, and in so many ways. You made this trip possible for me and helped me to find the confidence to believe in myself and to learn that I am going to be okay. I can move forward now with my life and let go of all the bad things in my past. For that help, I will always be so grateful to you. You helped me to find love again too—”

  I don’t get to finish my speech because the man I love—who also loves me—is kissing me senseless out in the open at the very public Sochi Olympic village. Neither of us care a bit.

  Somehow, seeing Stephen’s face on that screen allowed me some strange closure that I didn’t even realize I needed. The biggest thing is knowing that there aren’t men out there ready to bust down my door ready to finish what was started two years ago. The knowledge nobody is going to take my money or blood (or worse) as payment for my father’s debts—has totally freed me. And Viktor is the person who made that knowledge possible.

  We don’t stay long in the Olympic park. Instead, we head down to the tourist areas near the beach to get lunch. Viktor says he wants to take me to a traditional Russian restaurant and ushers me into a darkly lit place that smells of meat and cabbage and bread. It makes my stomach grumble. Viktor says something in Russian to the hostess, and she nods, beckoning us through the main seating area, and into a private dining room.

  Only we’re not the only people here. No. There is a man. He has thick, brownish-red hair and his eyes…they’re my eyes.

  The word that comes out of my mouth is barely a whisper. “Dad?”

  Mike Woods was my world growing up. He was the life of the party, loud and funny with eyes that were alight with mischief. It’s part of the reason he so easily slid into the party scene, his wide smile always a fixture at the card tables. He was a showman, always working an angle, always trying to dazzle people with jokes and stories. He always had beautiful women trying to get his attention.

  And yes, my father often took me with him to card games. We didn’t do normal things together, like go to the park or travel to the beach. No, a fun father-daughter night for us was getting dressed to the nines and watching a Vegas show, having a big, buffet dinner, and
then heading to an underground card game on the Strip somewhere. Me, a tiny little ghost being “babysat” by one of the hostesses away in the background coloring or watching TV while he cleaned up against opponents who took his affable nature for granted.

  Mike Woods was a shark, and I loved him. I savored every minute I had with him.

  My mother got sick when I was six. She had bone cancer and while I have photos of her, red-haired liked me, I don’t really remember her as a healthy, vibrant young mom. My father’s sister, Aunt Jodie, raised me. My dad gave her custody after my mom’s death when I was twelve, so I lived with her and my two older cousins, Matt and Rob. Aunt Jodie and the boys provided a pretty normal childhood, but it was in stark juxtaposition to the every-other-weekend visits I had with my dad after Mom died.

  When I graduated high school, Stephen and I had already met through poker via my dad, and soon he moved to Vegas. The three of us—Stephen, my dad, and I—were like peas in a pod at first. But Stephen got moodier, darker. His addiction to gambling grew along with his addiction to pills. And my dad grew nervous and jittery. Sometimes I’d find the two of them whispering, both of them frantic until they saw me, when they would straighten up, smile, and act like nothing was wrong. I was so naïve, so blind, that I had no idea that they would both be missing from my life in only a couple of short years.

  So now I’m standing in a restaurant in Russia, half a world away from that life, and I’m seeing my father sitting with a bowl of borscht in front of him. He stands and holds his arms out. He looks fit and slick in a dark suit.

  “Baby girl,” he says, and there are tears in his eyes.

  I don’t even realize Viktor is holding my hand, but I look to him for guidance. For an explanation.

  “I told you we would find him,” Viktor says.

  I turn back to my dad, mouth hanging open like a fish. My father steps closer and I’m being pulled into his hug. Feeling him, solid and real, I let myself fall apart. Tears flow down my cheeks and I pull away, worried I’ll mark his nice suit. I feel like a little girl again, somehow. It’s a very strange sensation.

  “Dad…how are you here? Why are you here?”

  He gestures for us to sit down, so we do. I can’t stop my knee from bopping up and down, nervous energy coursing through my body as I wait for an excuse, a story, an apology, anything.

  He smiles at me then nods at Viktor. “So, this big guy’s your boyfriend, I assume?”

  “Yes,” Viktor interrupts forcefully. “I am.”

  My dad holds out a hand and says, “Mike Woods.”

  Viktor shakes his hand. “Viktor Demoskev.”

  “Oh, I know exactly who you are. The Mad Russian—Demon Enforcer—one big, scary, solid sonofabitch. Doesn’t let a puck go by without a fight.”

  “You are following hockey?” Viktor asks him.

  “More than just following,” my dad says, looking at me. “But let me talk with my daughter for a minute before we get to that.”

  He turns to me, takes both of my hands in his over the top of the table. “My sweet Scarlett. Oh, what a beautiful, young woman you’ve become. It pains me that I haven’t been able to write or call.”

  “I thought you were dead.” And something in my heart breaks a little at having to say the words. I was always afraid to say them out loud, because if I did it would make it true.

  “I know, princess. I know, and that wasn’t fair at all, but it was safe. I needed you to be safe, and that meant you couldn’t know anything.”

  “Have you had someone watching me all this time, Dad?”

  He nods once, his lips in a tight line for just a moment before a familiar lightness returns to his face. “I had to know you were safe. Princess, I had all kinds of issues. Tax evasion being the biggest one. That was brewing even back when your mama died. Her hospital bills were mounting, we were in debt, and I started playing just to make ends meet. But the allure of it was strong and it became a lifestyle. And the lines of right and wrong blurred pretty badly.”

  “But you just…left,” I say. At first my voice is soft, quiet, but I feel an unchained rage fermenting as I let it out, my voice getting stronger. “You just disappeared. I was assaulted by thugs and then I lost Stephen. I was so alone, Dad. I was in the hospital when he died. It turns out he died for you. So you and I could be happy and free of all of this crap, still you were gone.”

  “Honey, you have to believe I tried to do what was right for you. Always. Having you stay with your aunt Jodie? It was because I knew this life wouldn’t be for you. Wasn’t right for a little girl. I wanted to give you a chance to have just a normal life. No gambling. No casinos. No bookies.”

  “But you pulled me into it,” I say accusingly. “You made it feel special, like it was our place together. And then with Stephen…”

  My voice breaks at his name. I pull my hands away from my father and scoot my chair closer to Viktor. He puts his arm around my shoulder and the weight of it grounds me, reminds me that this is a public place, that I need to calm down. I need to take a deep breath.

  “Why did you involve him in all of this?” I ask once the storm cloud had lifted.

  “That kid was a born-for-numbers genius.” His tone is unapologetic. “He was gifted in math, Scarlett. Gifted. And he loved the game. He was like Rain Man, though certainly prettier and easier to talk to. He ran with it. I tried to slow him down, but he caught fire. The World Series, that was crazy. And he offered to help. He knew I had tax debt. He knew I was in a rat hole, so we came up with a plan. I was going to disappear, come here, start over in legitimate business. Then, once my debts were paid, we were all going to live here, together.”

  “That’s all news to me,” I say sourly.

  “I know.” His face falls from its usual, jovial mask. When I meet his gaze, he looks…haunted. “I didn’t mean for Stephen to take the fall for this. I didn’t mean to leave you all alone.”

  Viktor, who has been quiet through all of this, leans forward in his chair. It’s a simple action, but the meaning is not lost. He is my protector now. I am not alone anymore.

  “What happened with Stephen?” I ask. “Why the drugs? Why were the Russians after him? They came after me, Dad. I ended up in the hospital because of all of this.”

  My dad takes a deep breath and then lets it out as he sits back in his chair. He runs his palms all over his face. “Stephen started firing big money. He played the percentages and had every overlay in his favor. I don’t really know how much you truly understand about making bets and playing sports, but he was amazing at it. Football, basketball, fighting, horses. He understood the odds, knew how to hedge his bets, when to parlay. He did everything right, and I’m not overstating it when I say he was a pure genius. His genius helped me get out, get over here, get hidden. It helped me build a business and pay off debts really quickly. But then…he just went on an epic cold streak. The winning stopped. The money stopped. And I was here. I couldn’t do much to help him from so far away. He got obsessed with turning the tides, but—”

  “Did someone you know have him killed?”

  “No, honey, never. Stephen was working a lot of bookies. Our guys understood who he was, what he could do. They were willing to wait for things to tick upward. But I know other collectors came calling with threats a few times.”

  “Dad, he was up sometimes twenty hours a day, obsessed with the bets and the games. He was using crazy amounts of drugs to stay functional. It was…”

  I let out a noise that’s somewhere between a strangled cry and a growl.

  “What did the police say after he died?” my father asks.

  “They said suicide. Too much speed in his system. His heart gave out. But Dad, he wasn’t suicidal. I may have been naïve to everything going on, but I know that about him. I know he loved me. He loved you. He wouldn’t have killed himself. And in the video…he left a video telling me you were alive here in Russia. I just got it recently.”

  “I know about the video, princes
s. I sent one of the guys to make sure it was placed into your hands as soon as I saw you were posting from Russia.”

  “You knew I was here?” my question is high-pitched and sounds hysterical

  “You knew I had someone watching, honey.” His answer is so simple, so concise. He takes a sip from his water glass.

  “They were knocking on the doors in the video, Dad. He seemed worried. You saw.”

  “And the police told you his heart gave out,” Dad says. He looks genuinely sad now, all of his showman glow gone. “He wasn’t murdered, sweet pea. Those guys were just wanting to check and make sure he was still working to make them money. They were well aware of the drug use and were trying to keep him alive. But addiction is brutal that way… He just…his body just could not handle all the stress he put on himself. And I feel responsible every day for it. I owed that kid. He deserved better. You deserved better. I’ll never forgive myself for how things went down.”

  “So…you made it easy for Viktor to find you, then?” I ask. “For what? To get me to tell you I forgive you?”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me, yes.” His shoulders slump a little but then he straightens himself and looks me right in the eye. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett. So sorry for everything that happened and for hurting you for even one minute. But things are different now. And you’re this amazing woman with a great job and a tank of a boyfriend. This guy is a hockey legend over here, did you know that?”

  Viktor snorts at this.

  “And you’re supposed to be all legit now?” I ask, disdain and disbelief coloring my tone. “Why are you here, Dad? What the hell are you doing in Russia of all places?”

  He winces a little at the sharpness of my question. I realize, in the moment, the shine of my dad has worn off. I didn’t understand everything that was going on with him and Stephen. I was so young, only eighteen when everything started. I knew very little about the world. But now…now I realize I can survive on my own. I’ve been working and paying my own bills. I’ve decided when and who and how in all aspects of my life. I think my dad sees that now, too.